Posted on FanFiction: April 28, 2019

Updated: September 14, 2019

New A/N: This chapter used to be short, topping at 4k or 5k. Now it has reached 10k. There was just so much information I'd been unable to write down the first time through that some readers found the beginning confusing. I hope this new version fixes that.

Old A/N: I hadn't written stories for a while, and though a part of me wished I resumed one of my older fics (that one's at the endgame now), fresh ideas kept calling for me, and this is one that called the loudest. Much of the story will be focused on ASOIAF's book continuity since, sanning the Internet being the Internet with spoilers, I haven't watched a single episode of the TV show.

/ — — CHAPTER 1 — — \

A Dragon Reborn

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( I ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

Her mind was awhirl, finding rational thought difficult to grasp, and the only thing she was certain of was this mantra that kept resounding almost by instinct: Don't anger Father.

Yet it seemed she had. The blow on the side of her head shot a painful throb to her nerves, keeping her on the ground, dazed, defeated. She blinked a couple of times, took slow deep breaths, looked for something to distract her mind from the pain.

Something was happening out of sight, but her focus was still inward. Her vision began to clear after blinking the tears away. A firepit was in view, atop of which was what should be a large pot smelling of stew close to being ready. Instead the pot was overturned, spilling its content to the dirt floor where the puppies and piglets scurried to eat the mess. Next to that was a small table, which memory said to have some bowls and utensils upon its surface, yet right now one particular bowl was on the ground, shattered, and the rest laying haphazardly near it. Again, she could sense something was happening somewhere to her right, something that brought a bout of fear in her stomach. Rational thought soon returned, like a snowstorm passing their home.

Home?

Wait, who was she?

It's… it's Yang. Yang Xiao Long. I remember now.

Summer. Mother gave me that name. I was her light in this cold world.

What is this place?

I don't know this place. I remember heading to Atlas with my team, but…

Home. It's where we live.

Who's we?

My sisters and I. Mother. Father. Mother is—

Wait, what is this? What's going on?!

"I'm sorry! I shan't do it again. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Mother angered Father. She deserves this.

What? Dad would never do that to Mom. No, wait… that's not Mom. That's not Dad either…

Blood in her veins pulsed loudly; she could hear her heart beat, strong and fierce and desperate. The pain from where Father had hit her was pulsing, too, rhythmic, swollen, and excruciating. She tried to move her head to get a better look at what he was doing. Overhead, she could feel several eyes upon her. Silent observers of this beating, of a graying old man hammering fist after fist onto a defenseless crying woman while she, a child of ten years, lay close to them, having failed to stop him.

Why did she try to stop him?

Nobody stops Father. Whenever the drink addled his mind and he felt one of them offended him, it was only right he beat the rebellion off of them. It was only right. It was only—

Except it's not.

How could she be sure? This was all she ever knew. This was her lot in life, and if not for Father, then her brothers would've come out of the dark woods and take them all long ago. He was their shield, and as such deserved this much control over them. He knew better.

She saw Father's back and could feel the rage wafting from it. He loomed over Mother's form, both hands made into fists as he beat her over and over. Blood from her broken nose, blood from her split lip, blood from the wound on her forehead—that was from when Father threw his stone cup at her, when Mother accidentally tripped from trying to avoid a rowdy puppy crossing her way and spilled their dinner.

She deserved it. So did she, herself, for trying to stop this punishment.

This isn't right! He keeps this up, he'll kill her. Stop him!

Somehow, she mustered the strength to sit back up. The ache in her head continued to throb, much louder, much fiercer. Flashing images. A young girl with red hair holding a scythe almost twice as big as her. Another with hair as white as snow. Another with dark hair atop of which were two ears that should belong to wolves not humans (cats, not wolves, CATS). Then there was a mirror and she saw herself—golden hair reaching her waist, red angry eyes, and only one arm.

Her left hand instinctively grasped her right forearm, knowing it should be there yet at the same time believing it should no longer be there. Not after what Adam had done.

But who's Adam?

No one to fear. Not anymore.

Her head throbbed. Her memories were all over the forefront of her mind, like an incessant snowstorm. She remembered her mother being kind and gentle, if a little cynical, but she also remembered another mother who was also kind and gentle and had silver eyes and baked cookies like no other. And she also remembered meeting a third mother (her real mother) who was cold and dismissive, her red eyes showing nothing but discontent and disinterest at her. She remembered having a sister, so many sisters, young and old; yet she also remembered having just one sister, whose power and presence trumped her own, inheriting the same silver eyes as the second mother. She remembered—

No more! No more! Get out of my head!

She wanted to stop thinking and get some rest. But Father was still punishing Mother. It had been too long, too much already, yet he was still there, standing over Mama Willow, who was now showing plenty of bruising and a lot of oozing blood.

She didn't know what came over her. She blamed the other person in her head taking control over her body, grabbing hold of the scalding pot with her bare hands, walking towards Father, and then slamming the pot straight onto his back.

The throbbing got worse. Both head and hands, which smoked from the burns on it. The smell was horrible.

Her ears picked up screaming. Multiple sources, and she was certain her own was one of them. She saw herself picking up the pot again as Father lay on the floor next to Mother. He tried to get up, but he was having trouble doing so. Mother crawled away from him, crying all the while. She lifted the pot over her head, somehow numb from the heat and the nauseating smell of burnt flesh. Father looked over his shoulder, straight at her and the pot above her, and maybe for the very first time in this new life, she witnessed fear in his eyes.

He screamed, the fear overtaking all else, and she took great satisfaction from it before slamming the pot directly onto his head.

He had gone silent, but the screams still came. From above, from Mother, from the dogs and pigs, and most frighteningly, from her own mouth. The headache was at its peak, feeling like someone were shedding her scalp with a knife. She wanted to massage her forehead, but bringing up her hands just made the nauseating smell harder to ignore.

"Mm… ah…" She called out for Mama Willow, or at least tried to. Everything was spinning, and the pain was slowly fading.

She was out by the time her head landed on wet mud, asleep through the aftermath, asleep through the fear and turmoil, only waking when it was time to set changes to what was once known as Craster's Keep.

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( II ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

The next time Yang felt conscious of her own thoughts, absent of pain-inducing discrepancies, she was lying in a small, soft bed where the cold seems to nibble at her feet, which had slid out of the thick, woolen blanket atop her. She tried to sit up, but a rush of pain coursed from her head and hands. Hissing, she gently peeled the blanket off her torso and inspected the state of her hands. They throbbed like mad and proved difficult to clench without shooting another pain rush.

Bandaged, bloodied, and still smelling faintly of burnt flesh, she should've known how holding onto a scalding pot with bare flesh was a bad idea.

It's all right, she thought, trying to find the bright side to this. At least I saved Mother.

… Mother?

Yang blinked, briefly looking into her memories, wondering if she was misremembering something, but all that did was trigger a nauseating onslaught of concepts, images, and sounds she'd never experienced before. This time, she hissed louder, putting her hands, palms up, on her forehead. It felt like a dozen needles being pricked through the back of her eyes going outward. She stayed that way for a while, unsure how long, but when she finally lifted the knuckles from her head, she felt warm sweat cooling on her skin.

It was surreal to think that she'd been reincarnated with memories of her past life, but that seemed to be the case, unless she'd been a very imaginative child, living another life in another world after Father hit her in the head, creating very innovative concepts like guns, computers, long-distance communications, and fast modes of transport, while conjuring disturbing ideas of racism, corruption, genocide, and the varied creatures of Grimm.

Not to mention the shattered moon in Remnant. Her eyes moved to the window, where sunlight poured in as if to complement her awakening while opposing her thoughts.

"Summer?"

On instinct—more out of habit than startle—Yang moved her head to the right. A small child peeked up from the top of the loft's ladder, her face scrunched in concern. Blue inquisitive eyes, a face lacking baby fat, and blonde hair tied into a single braid placed over her left shoulder, she reminded Yang so much of how she'd looked at that age. Yang grasped for a name to fit the face as she replied with a raspy "Good morning."

As if that were a secret signal, the girl's eyes widened and shouted below, "Summer is awake!"

Beyond the loft, the main hall burst into chaotic activity, voices speaking over each other, some hurried footsteps, the yelping of puppies, and Kelpie—the little girl—climbed the rest of the way up the ladder to make room for another to ascend. The ladder shook about with each step that Yang worried it'd slide off before the climber reached the platform. Kelpie crouched near her, smiling, blue eyes twinkling, and gave her a brief hug.

"I thought you'd never wake up." Kelpie's knee landed on her hand.

Yang winced but did her best to keep her voice at a whisper when she said, "Ow, ow, ow…!"

"Oh!" Kelpie quickly pulled away, shame-faced, just as another face appeared atop the ladder.

"Oh sunshine…" Summer's mother, a young woman named Willow, climbed the rest of the way, crouched where Kelpie had crouched earlier, and checked the bandages on her head and arms. "How are you feeling?"

Other than feeling like this is some kind of wild fever dream where I'm reborn with the name of my stepmom and my mother here, right in front of me, shares the same name as my teammate's mom… "I feel fine."

Willow frowned. "You don't sound fine to me. Kelly, go down and fetch some water."

Kelpie nodded. "Yes, mother."

As she watched her little sister (who is not Ruby) walk to the ladder, Yang felt a hand on her forehead.

"Your fever broke, at least," Willow said.

Having her face this close, Yang could now clearly see the damage Craster had done. The bruises were dark, the scab on her lips dry, and the swelling under Willow's left eye small, though Yang suspected it wasn't always that way. It had time to heal. The various bruises on her face and arms were already taking on that pus-like yellow at their edges. Anger coursed through her for every bruise she saw, yet she was content with knowing that the monster would never hurt another soul again. Although a part of her worried over the lack of remorse she felt.

How long was I out? Yang wanted to ask, but what came out instead was: "How long have I been asleep?" Almost like on reflex, like a last-second correction.

Willow's face scrunched, and here Yang could see the great resemblance between her and Kelpie. All here in Craster's Keep had considered each other sisters that Yang almost forgot that in this new life she was living, she wasn't the only child Willow conceived. There were ten years worth of memories in her mind now of life in the frigid North—although technically this ten-year-old brain had just "remembered" nineteen years worth of memories of an adventurous but tragic life in a world called Remnant that somehow became the dominant personality now—and barely any time to carefully sift through everything. She'd have to play things by the ear, and currently, thinking over the patricide she'd committed, things were quite uneasy within Craster's Keep. It was certainty not based on facts but gut feeling.

"You've been in bed for four days now."

She knew she needn't ask, but was compelled to anyway. "And what of father?"

"Dead," Willow said, brushing her hair with her hands.

"And the others?" Yang paused, her mind suddenly conjuring tales of tall, looming creatures in the forest with an appetite for flesh and a penchant of raising the dead, and then corrected her question with, "I mean, the rest of us?"

"We're all…" Willow stopped, looked away, took a deep breath. When her eyes met hers again, she said, "We're handling things as best we can. Just know that no one blames you for what happened."

She was away from the Remnant culture she knew, but whether it was in a Grimm-infested world or an Other-infested world, the taboo of patricide was the same. Would she have done the same with her old father, Taiyang? She remembered no remorse ever passing her heart at the time she threw down that pot nor did she feel it ever afterward. What did that make her? She looked down at the sheets, and felt like wrapping herself in them, never to come out. "I murdered father."

"No." Willow grabbed her face, making them look eye-to-eye again, but leaned her face a little so that the worst of the bruising was prominent. "Summer, you saved me. Craster looked ready to kill me if not for you."

Yang understood that, saw firsthand the assault on her, the blood, the screams, the drunken fury, but it did little to take away this feeling of indifference. No remorse for the death, but no elation either, as if the murder was a natural progression of things here. Callous. Cold.

"We'll get through this," Willow said. "Just remember that no one blames you for what happened."

It was a lie, she knew. Summer, the child in her, had wondered so many times why nobody in their family killed Craster long ago. Kill him in his sleep, steal his axe and whack him in the head with it, make him choke, bury his face in the firepit. As much as the child fantasized about ridding evil from this world (and she definitely believed Craster was evil), on an instinctive level she somehow understood why no one dared to defy Father. He had all the cards. He was respected enough by other freefolk to not raid his home. The Night's Watch trusted him and always warned them of keeping their hands to themselves. But most importantly, he helped keep the cold ones away. The cold ones and the sons and brothers they received as tribute.

Willow hugged her, doing her best to avoid touching her bandaged hands. "Everything's going to be fine."

It was a lie, an obvious lie, but for right now Yang didn't care. She hugged this woman back as she put aside everything to focus on this moment… because she doubted mother and daughter would have this time of peace again.

She still had her Aura, funnily enough. She didn't know why she thought being reincarnated meant her Aura would disappear; it was a physical manifestation of her soul after all. But to be fair, she hadn't experienced reincarnation before, so there was no telling which part of her disappeared and which remained. Memories, yes; Aura, now a yes; magic, no.

Remembering more of the events that led up to her death, it was impossible for the mantle of the Spring Maiden would follow her in the next life. It had always been a temporary arrangement, a contract made and upheld in life, and in the moment of her death, the contract became null and the mantle moved to someone else. Her last thought had been Ruby. Yang hoped that had been enough. Hoping was all she could do now, here. The rest of her friends would have to save Remnant without her.

What mattered now was picking up the pieces shattered from that night. The eldest women had been in talks with each other, agreeing and arguing for days since she'd been knocked unconscious. Even when she was awake, none had come to a definitive agreement on what to do. Some of the women wanted to leave Craster's Keep forever, but with no idea on where to go or how to get started (or avoid the sons and brothers in the forest come to get their revenge, a few of the young ones whispered). Other women chose to stay here, try to wash away the bad and start fresh where they've always lived, but were unable to provide a solution for when the crows or other freefolk come to visit. The former would be business as usual, but the latter would be business as hostile takeover.

"We'll take up arms and defend our home," said one of the younger sisters, barely any older than Yang's current body was.

"With what, sticks and stones?" One of the elder sisters replied. If Yang recalled correctly, she was the eldest of the group, having been here to see her daughters and granddaughters become Craster's wife. Ferny. It was hard to gauge how old Ferny really was, given the state of their living, the terror of Father, and life in general. Yang could only guess by appearance, and she looked to be a woman pushing fifty soon. "What good will that do, child?"

The young girl took a step back, feeling overwhelmed from all the eyes set upon her, waiting for a response. When she chanced a look at Yang, something seemed to click in place and she managed to regain a bit of her confidence. "Better to live on my feet than on my knees!"

Ferny scoffed. "You mean die on your feet. Look at us, here, girl." She gestured to the gathered women and children along the firepit, as she herself sat on Craster's spot. "We barely look intimidating enough to scare the dogs. Our weapons consist of nothing more than sharpened sticks and dull iron. They have spears and arrows to spare. Can you live with yourself knowing that everyone here will die should we raise a hand against a more powerful group?"

The girl backed off, eyes to the ground, biting her lip.

"I know it's not the most desired choice," Ferny said to everyone. "It's not even the safest choice, but the candle is burning, and it won't be long before news spread of Craster's death. They'll come, then. But for now, we need to prepare for it. To those who wish to leave, you may do so; I will not fault you for it. To those who wish to stay, harden your hearts for what is to come."

Yang looked at the people around the firepit. Faces, young and old, showing defeat before the battle even started. Many had already made up their minds, Yang knew, and whatever remnant of a family this place had left would shatter when the first groups pack up and leave. The odds of survival were not at all in their favor, but in this world where might meant living, there was little to nothing these women and girls could do against the coming forces that want to claim Craster's Keep as their own.

"I intend to fight."

Several eyes honed in on her, wide and surprised. Yang swallowed the small lump in her throat and stepped forward. Her mother had a grasp on her elbow, but Yang wrung it away. I need to say my piece, she tried to convey to Willow without saying a word. She doubted it went through, because how could it? Yang's personality was more dominant than Summer, ten-year-old child of Craster, and far more forward than Willow would've been used to. Still, Yang had no time to placate, but to antagonize.

"I am not about to sit down and watch our home be taken from us."

Antagonize the defeatist attitude of her sisters.

"I've had enough of it from that monster. I am taking my life into my own hands from here on."

Antagonize the submissive frame of mind ingrained to them by dear ol' Father.

"And if anybody out there has a problem with that, then too bad for them. I'm not backing down without a fight."

Antagonize those who would cause them harm.

Ferny looked at her with narrowed eyes and tight lips. She put her hands on her knees and slowly stood up, never breaking eye contact. "Are you so arrogant after killing Craster that you believe more death will solve all our problems?"

Yang had a witty response ready, but she doubted this household was qualified in detecting the subtle beats of sarcasm. So instead, she said, "We do not kneel. You and mother always say that to us. It's what differentiates us from the crows and the southerners." She looked towards the girl who spoke up first to defend their home. "Gilly has the right idea. I'd rather live on my feet than die on my knees."

Ferny scoffed again. "You've switched—"

"I know what I said," Yang interrupted.

The group whispered amongst themselves, beyond surprised at the abrasiveness she showed. From what she remembered of Summer's years here, it was not so different to how Yang had been at that age, tough, vengeful, and far too expressive with her emotions. This defiance was unprecedented, considering her obedience under Craster before a potshot killed him, but not beyond possibility.

She expected Ferny to get angry, but all she did was smile before saying, "Then you are twice the fool Gilly is."

Yang soon understood. Ferny saw no meaning in continuing this discussion with a child. Yang might have killed Craster, but that was like shutting down a kingdom's defense system because Watts had uploaded his virus into the central servers. She saved them from peril, but she also opened them up to another kind of peril. More so, the elder woman didn't know what Yang knew, how much help she could truly give to her sisters so they no longer have to bow their heads for another man, how much power she held within her soul.

She clenched her fists, just wishing she could punch this doubt away and—

Her eyes widened as she looked down at her hands. Her bandaged hands, clenching and unclenching with full sensation in her nerves… but no pain.

Mother said the burns won't heal for another fortnight. A plan was slowly taking root. I don't know the extent of my Aura in this new body, but it doesn't hurt to try.

"Willow, take Summer to rest," Ferny said, putting the discussion and the meeting to a close. "It's clear the medicine is mucking her brain."

Willow nodded, stepped forward, and soon hurried her feet when Yang started removing her bandages. "What are you doing? Stop that!"

She was midway to her unwrapping when her mother grabbed hold of both arms. "Let me go!"

"Stop it, Summer! Don't remove the bandages."

Willow was being gentle with her grip, fearing she'd hurt her. Yang managed to wiggle out of her grasp and continue unwrapping her bandages till she got the one on her left arm completely removed. "Look!"

Everyone did so. Most didn't understand, but Willow, Kelpie, the older girls, and Ferny, most importantly, saw what was unsaid. Skin, healed and unblemished, on her palm. They had all seen the state of it three days prior, the flesh cooked and the skin completely burned off. Such a devastating injury was impossible to completely heal in a short time. Yet it had healed and left no scars behind.

"You don't doubt my conviction," Yang said, stepping towards the firepit, whose edges was lined with a tiny wall of rocks. She grabbed one nearest her, near the fire, and if not for her Aura insulating most of the heat, she'd be feeling the blisters forming about her palm. Raising her arm up to shoulder level, bits of ash falling through the gaps of her fingers, all saw the smoke coming from the rock, its surface long blackened by fire after fire throughout the years. "But you do doubt my power."

She made sure Ferny was looking straight at her before she clenched hard. Her new body was frail, unused to extreme physical exertion. But if it had garnered the strength to lift that scalding pot and threw it down to deliver the killing blow on their father, then crushing the rock would be simple enough. It took more effort than she was accustomed to, like trying to squeeze metal than stone, all while the sensation felt new and old at the same time. It had been over a year since she lost her right arm, and though it'd been replaced with a well-oiled and -functioning piece of Atlesian tech, it still felt like having control of a limb gone numb. The contours of the rock, the heat pounding on her Aura, the tips of her fingers going pale as she tightened her grip… she could see and feel all this.

With a loud crunch, the stone gave out. Shards fell to the ashes in the firepit. She opened up her palm and showed what was left of the rock, its brownish interior standing out against the rock soot and her ash-stained palm.

"Summer…?"

The whispers got louder, and a new emotion took root in the eyes of the crowd: fear.

"Tens, hundreds, thousands, it doesn't matter to me," Yang said, her voice cutting through the others without the need to shout. Unbidden, she then unwrapped the bandages on her other hand. "I'm making my stand here. Be they crows, freefolk, or the cold ones." With the bandages off, she struck her fist and palm together, the sound thunderous in the silenced hall. I've done this song and dance before. Died doing it, too. But hey, live like every day's the last, right? "I will protect our family."

Questions would need to be answered, defenses would have to be prepared, and a leadership would have to be put in place. These would all come in time, one by one, and if her goal for this family's solidarity was successful, she'd ensure they'd have nothing to fear again.

(FERNY)

"I will protect our family."

How long ago had she heard those very same words from a man who whispered sweet, plentiful lies into her ear? She was unsure.

If anyone else had said them to her, they would've been scoffed out of the house. Words were just words, in the end, and she'd rather not be fooled twice.

Yet…

There was fire in the young one's eyes. It'd been there when she brought that pot onto that damned Craster's head with a satisfying squelch. It unnerved her then, and it unnerved her now, following the display of strength the little one showed. Ferny once suspected some divine intervention had occurred on that night, that the Old Gods, tired of Craster's conferring with the cold ones, had come into Summer's prone form and sought to end the bastard's countless blasphemy. It seemed too good, too heavy-handed for the Old Gods to have a hand in, so Ferny tossed away the thought as nothing but wishful thinking.

Now…

It felt like Ferny was seeing Summer for the first time. A young one, a month or so away from her eleventh nameday, who had yet to be tainted by the profane incest this so-called family endured throughout the years, who had never been tainted, as her mother was an outsider before Craster took her to wife. Instead, she'd been tainted a different way, the slaying of one's own kin. The price of blood for blood. Yet now Ferny had been made to wonder just whose blood truly runs inside Summer's veins as something akin to fire began to rise from the tips of her shoulder-length hair. Fire that didn't smoke, but its presence was felt regardless, her daughters stepping back, guided by their primal instinct of danger. Ferny hid a gasp when she gazed upon her eyes once more.

Red like blood. Red like weirwood leaves. Red like embers. The fire in her eyes, fully manifested.

Fire… The fire to fight back the cold…

This was a sign, Ferny knew. Still, it was a change to what the Old Gods had always done, which was to be mere witnesses to the acts and deeds of the freefolk. The uncertainty gave her doubt, but the power resonating from Summer was unmistakable. And her enemy was clear.

Ferny began to smile, and within that smile was a feeling she thought she'd never experience again: hope for the future.

"Maybe," she said, moving her eyes along the hall, watching the various expressions of the young and old, "the gods haven't abandoned us after all." She brought her gaze back to Summer, whose name now held more meaning than ever before. "Very well, Summer. I trust you know what we need to do, then?"

Her lopsided grin showed youthful arrogance but with the power to back it up.

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( III ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

Six years later…

The gale was mild today, moving downwind so that her mark wouldn't catch her scent. A pair of deer, a doe and a fawn, bringing forth a memory of watching a movie of a similar premise. Though sentimentality wished to stay her hand, she also knew that food was a little scarce this month, more so when she'd heard that the Night's Watch were ranging near their settlement. After their last two visits, she wanted to ensure her sisters wouldn't go rationing their portions for the little ones.

Within her, she summoned the mindset of her old self, how she had experimented with several different weapons before deciding her own fists would be best. She had been an impressive shot, both in guns and archery, and so she brought forth that talent to reality. Her bow was out, arrow nocked, breath steady, targeting the neck. The doe's ears twitched, swerving its head to where she heard the distant noise… and unintentionally dodging her arrow.

She clicked her tongue as she rummaged her quiver for another arrow. The doe's head swerved again, this time towards her hiding spot, and in the next moment bolted away from the clearing. The little one followed swiftly, and both have disappeared into the dense forest before she could line the next shot. She cursed under her breath and debated on chasing after the prey. It'd be spooked, its guard up, making the hunt a lot more difficult, which meant more time needed to bring back meat and she'd been at this for hours now. Her eyes tracked the sky beyond the holes in the canopy of leaves and branches, easily judging it to be closing in on evening. She disliked it, but she'd have to return home empty-handed.

Then her ears picked up a deer's scream in the distance. Right where the earlier doe had fled.

When she came upon the animal's corpse, her little sister Kelpie had her knife sunk inside its neck right next to the arrow. The fawn was nowhere in sight.

"Caught it," Kelpie said, grinning at her.

Yang couldn't help chuckling. "At least you didn't step in any twigs this time."

Kelpie was unusually silent, a blush slowly coming to her cheeks.

Yang rolled her eyes, recalling the deer's swift turn before her own arrow could hit it, a sign its ears caught a sound that spooked it. "Quite the lucky day for you, Kelly."

She pulled the knife and arrow out and handed them over to her sister. Kelpie was three years younger than her, but out of all the young ones who'd tasted what it felt to be free of beatings and hunger, she was the only one dissatisfied. Yang could see in Kelpie's bright blue eyes that she sought for something bigger and grander than what they had now, that there was more to the world than snow and a sea of trees. This was why Yang chose her to hunt with her. The older girls—those who'd stayed anyway—were content with their good fortune, so Kelpie, feeling like the odd girl of the bunch for having a want of more, buried them inside. She reminded Yang so much of her old self, an adrenaline junkie striving for both thrills and adventure, and to see someone have that drive but no outlet, Yang decided to give her one, which was practical for both Kelpie's adventurous spirit and the family.

She smiled widely, even as her little sister bowed her head and stared at the bloodied arrow she held in both hands. "Three years ago," Yang said, "you could barely pull back the bowstring."

Kelpie looked up, frowning. "Huh? What brought this on?"

Yang shrugged. "Just… reminiscing."

"You're sounding like an old lady again, sister."

Yang laughed. With two sets of memories, she did feel more like a woman in her thirties, but as always, she kept that tidbit to herself. Moving back to the dead deer, she grabbed under it with both hands and hoisted it up her shoulder. It was still bleeding, but that mattered little. Getting home before night time, however, mattered a lot more. No one had seen a wight for years now, but just because they were out of sight didn't mean the danger had passed. Besides that, there were dangers in the forest other than the undead.

"Well," Yang said, gesturing to the deer on her shoulder, "can Mother Ferny do this?"

Kelpie rolled her eyes—a habit she learned from Yang. "Always with the muscles…"

As they walked back home, Yang said, "Just saying… this deer was in the middle of bolting out of here. And you shot her through the neck."

"Like I said, luck."

"It's not just luck, Kelly." If Yang could, she would've patted her head, like how she used to do with Ruby. But Kelpie positioned herself to Yang's right, the same side on which she carried their meat for the next few days. "You've got real skill with that bow. Keep honing it and you'll likely shoot a crow mid-flight!"

"That is impossible, sister."

Her eyes swept up to the tree branches, and as per usual, a solitary black bird perched itself there, its gaze more intelligent than all of the flocks she'd seen. In another life, she would've found some solace in them, but now, with zombies and wargs lurking in the woods, she grew to distrust them. This one most of all. Its gaze followed her every step, and it was downright unnerving. "Only if you believe it is!"

The conversation dwindled after that. Their priority now was getting home with the provisions intact. They found the game trail they traveled from and made their way back. Nighttime was fast approaching, and the forest was already acting on it. Night bugs sang their songs, the snow crunched underfoot, and the winds howled across sentinels, oak, and—one that never fails to put a wry smile on her face—ironwood. Halfway through their journey, they walked past a small grove of weirwood trees and at the center stood the tree with the widest trunk, which had been roughly carved to portray a face. Her sisters and mothers called this a heart tree, but Yang saw no heart in its creation. Whenever she looked at it, she could only think of an expression of endless agony, with the way it cried and drooled blood-colored sap from its holes. She once wondered aloud what the sap drooping tasted like and was quickly dissuaded from trying it. Before Craster's death, none were allowed to come here and pray to the heart tree. After… well, Yang had been surprised how religious Mother Ferny had been. Free to worship the Old Gods without fear, if Ferny wasn't busy tending to the chores and problems back home, she'd make the journey here and just pray, always dragging someone to accompany and guard her. Usually Yang. And usually trying to have her join in praying.

Yang hurried her steps. She never got used to the heart tree's crying visage. It reminded her of those who suffered for her—

The blood coming out of her mouth…

Coming out of her red eyes.

The fear in those eyes.

The dark feathers falling around them.

The grip in her hand weakened.

Slackened.

Her eyes slowly closed, never to open again.

The mantle was passed on.

—and she wished not to remember.

They exited the grove, white and red giving way to black and green. The wind picked up. It hit their faces and swayed the branches above, making them groan like old furniture. She chanced a glance upwards, searching for a hole in the canopy so she could gauge how much time they had before complete darkness would come. Everything above was enveloped in branches and evergreen leaves so layered, much less feeling sunlight, she doubted even raindrops would get through it. As it was, they were relying on night vision and complete familiarity in this section of the forest to get themselves home. It wasn't total darkness, but the shadows had overtaken the presence of light that it was difficult to find the scratches and lines she and her sisters had put on the tree barks. Yang was looking at one familiar tree, double-checking if they were still going the right path, that she sensed the danger quickly.

In a show of unfeasible strength, she grabbed the deer on her shoulder with both hands and hurled it to a lurking shadow to their left. The shadow retreated, but it hadn't given up yet. The silhouette and glowing yellow eyes led her to believe it was a shadowcat. They were fast, they were silent, and in recent weeks, they were hungrier than usual.

"Let's go." She put her hand on her dagger's holster, watching and listening to the forest around them.

Kelpie took out her bow, nocked an arrow. "Not without the deer."

This was no time for posturing. Hungry zebra-tigers were an absolute pain to fight. "Kelly…"

"It's just one shadowcat. We can take it."

A second shadowcat pounced behind Kelpie, as if to mock her. They tumbled to the ground, its growls fierce, her screams desperate. Yang pulled out her dagger and shoved the animal off her sister. Kelpie rolled herself away, clutching her left arm and leaving red tracks along the snowy path. The dagger sank into the beast's shoulder, and the shadowcat yelped before swerving its tail right at Yang's head. She blocked it, and it felt like Mercury's unhindered roundhouse, shooting pain through her arm, momentum through her body. Her grip on the dagger came free as she fell down, shoulder first.

She rolled out when the shadowcat went for another pounce, claws barely missing her. Bereaved of any conventional weapon, Yang resorted to the quiver on her back. The arrowheads were small, the shaft brittle, but it would have to do. The shadowcat eyed her with its bright yellow eyes, growling deep as it tried to circle her. Yang breathed deep, exhaled, and hefted her arrow-dagger up to her chest, ready to stab an eye should the black tiger decide to try its luck once more. Her dagger was still on its shoulder, three-quarters embedded into its tough flesh. From her peripheral vision, Kelpie was doing something, and though curiosity and worry wanted to know what it was, Yang's instincts demanded she keep sight of the enemy.

Two girls in a dark forest, stalked by hungry creatures with dangerous glowing eyes. It'd be a lie to say this situation didn't bring forth old memories. This time was different, though. Yang or Kelpie couldn't rely on an Uncle Qrow to come and save them. These weren't Grimm, their hunger more out of desperation than wanton destruction. And above all else, neither she nor Kelpie were defenseless little girls.

Yang came to the tiger first, denying it a chance of another attack. The beast went low as if to pounce. She focused solely on its descent, so it came too late for her to react when the first shadowcat leapt out of the darkness behind the second, claws out, mouth open, eyes filled with hunger, heading right her way. Dodging was impossible. Yang had just time to blink before she felt large claws digging into her fur shirt. Her free arm, covered in Aura, came up to stop its mouth from lunging for her neck. By then, her back reacquainted itself with the snowy ground, and she decided to introduce this cat with her boots, tossing its momentum ever forward and driving its back on a tree trunk. Her stomach felt a chill, but she had no chance to check the damage before the second shadowcat was on her too.

She grabbed its neck as it wildly swished with its claws and tried to wiggle itself out of the hold. This time, Yang remembered the arrow in her hand and she drove it right into the beast's eye, which popped like a balloon. The beast's struggles got wilder, its screams almost deafening. She could push the arrow deeper, but her eyes noticed the dagger still on its shoulder. Yanking it free distracted the shadowcat enough for Yang to roll them over so that she was now atop, left hand still choking it, right hand holding the dagger. With a war cry, Yang plunged the dagger deep into its neck. The beast's scream degraded into gurgles and wheezes, its struggling into sporadic flailing, and in seconds it was still.

Yang stood up, high on adrenalin, covered in blood, and hooked with a need to kill the other. The still-living beast glared as it crouched low, growling. Old instincts began to kick in; she clenched her fists and assumed a boxer's stance. She could feel her Aura blazing inside her. The accumulated kinetic force she both gave and took fed her Semblance with power. The grin came naturally as she gestured for the shadowcat to come at her. It bared its fangs, slowly backing away, and when she was about to give chase, an arrow flew true and pierced the right side of its neck. The beast turned its attention to the archer, eyes glowing with rage and hate, and Yang took this chance to dash forward. It only had time to take one small step back before Yang punched its face once, twice, thrice, and then kicked it back onto the ironwood tree. The bark cracked, almost masking the tiger's bones doing the same.

The shadowcat was still alive, but did not rise back up. All it could muster now were whimpers and heavy breathing. A small cloud of snow began to form around it as it squirmed, paws pushing at anything and everything when death was close at hand. Yang couldn't stomach the sight anymore. She took another arrow from her quiver and ended the beast's suffering.

"Gods, that hurt." Kelpie moved towards Yang, while clutching her bleeding arm.

"Here," Yang said, "let me see it."

Kelpie grit her teeth as Yang ripped the sleeve surrounding the bite wound. And despite the pain, she laughed. "Mother's going to kill you for that."

"Unless you'd rather we amputate your whole arm due to infection…"

"I'll stop. Sorry."

"I'll stitch in a new sleeve myself, if you'd like." She gathered remnants of her dwindling Aura and concentrated it on her hands. "Hmm… doesn't look too deep. How does it feel?"

Her eyes tracked the thread of steam rising from the wound. "Like I'm being burned."

"Pretty normal, then." Her utility belt, though made rough and simple, had the bare essentials for survival out here. A small container filled with homebrewed disinfectant, another with styptic powder, and some sterilized bandages she made out of spare fabrics. She fished these out and applied them on the wound quickly. Kelpie gritted her teeth, but voiced no complaint.

Aura would be a godsend right now. But out of all the people in this land, she was the only one gifted with it, even if it wasn't as strong as it had been in her old life. The best she could do was transfer a negligible amount to kickstart the healing process on overdrive, but wounds do not get repaired without a price. The hunger and fatigue wouldn't come until a few more hours, but Kelpie could now worry less about a wound that could last at least two weeks.

"What were these shadowcats doing all the way here?"

Yang finished up tying the bandages. "Look at their stomachs. What do you see?"

"It's…" She narrowed her eyes. "They're… starving?"

"The deer blood must've smelled divine to them. There hasn't been that much game around here for months at least." Something's spooked them out of here were the words she refused to voice. Maybe she didn't need to; the cause was plain as day. She was thankful that the only glowing eyes she'd seen today were yellow. "Come on," Yang said, as she stood up, "let's get a move on. We're burning daylight."

Kelpie stood up as well, mildly testing her bandaged arm, and unable to hide the winces she made. Despite that, she said, "I'll carry one of the cats."

Yang grabbed her shoulder. "Whoa whoa, not with that arm, you won't."

"They're about the only meat we've gotten for weeks, like you said. That deer won't be enough, not with the Night's Watch visiting the Keep."

Yang stopped her words before they got out of her mouth, then sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I'll carry them."

Kelpie looked from one shadowcat to the other and then to the deer they'd caught earlier. "All of them?"

Yang could only give her little sister a long, tired grin.

-o- -o- -o- -o- ( IV ) -o- -o- -o- -o-

Summerkeep.

It was a name suggested to replace Craster's Keep, seeing as dear ol' Father was burned to ashes and said ashes were buried in an unmarked grave outside the perimeter, but not everybody liked it, even if Mother Ferny was the one to propose it. Yang herself liked it least of all. She found it undeserving and embarrassing, despite seeing the humor in naming it like so in a land of ever-winter. In the end, the other elders decided to just call it The Keep.

The Keep came into view the moment Yang and Kelpie exited the Haunted Forest. The perimeter's grounds were surrounded in a palisade, its logs made solely of ironwood, a wall of protection against whatever dangers that lurked beyond the area, alive and dead both. The Keep was built along an incline, so a few logs had to be elevated to leave a gap big enough underfoot to get rid of the runoff that would build and drown the garden there. Looming above all this was the foreboding red comet, casting a bright swollen scar across the night sky.

"The Night's Watch have already arrived," Kelly said, pointing at the black makeshift tents scattered about the front of the gate, several firepits gifting light and shadows to the forest while blowing smoke to the sky.

Yang said nothing as they stepped closer to the gate and felt the eyes of many on her, the meat she hauled on her shoulder, and the two limp carcasses she dragged across the snow and mud with her free hand. She also said nothing as they got to the gate and Fiona, who was on guard duty today atop the wall's battlement, waved at them with a strained smile. Yang hugged the deer tightly, cheek feeling the rough pinpricks of its fur, just so she could free her hand a little to wave back. A group of black brothers were walking out, and they stopped and stared at the sight of her and the haul. The giant white wolf next to them sniffed at the deer, then the shadowcats, but thankfully kept its paws to itself.

The Keep saw a flurry of activity with the arrival of guests. The only thing that came close to this orderly chaos was when a murderous band of freefolk came to take over The Keep a year ago. They were repelled, of course, but not before incurring deaths on both sides.

Little of the main house had changed since it came under new management, so to speak. It was still half-buried to the ground, needing a small climb down and ducking below the main doorway better fitted for a child than an adult. As the Keep welcomed more freefolk who chose peace over conflict when they first came here, the house expanded from the back. What was once a small storeroom for the farming tools, its size no more than a closet, was broken down to become a doorway for a dorm room of sorts which provided beds for the increased population. Part of the dorm room expansion included a dedicated kitchen.

Her mother, Willow, was stirring the large cooking pot when they entered. Yang smiled. Willow returned it, and though the scars she suffered from that beating six years ago marked her face alongside the wrinkles, they did little to mar the radiance in her smile. Then her tired eyes looked down and her whole face transformed, its expressions switching from joy to shock to horror to resignation, in that order.

"What did you do this time, Summer?"

"We're back!" Yang said, dropping the deer on an open table. The shadowcats she left outside, lest she be scolded for dragging mud inside the kitchen. "Got enough here to feed us for the next week or so."

Willow gave her an impatient look.

Sighing, she gazed down at her torso, which donned nothing but a self-made primitive sports bra. Say what you will about medieval underwear, those things can't properly support my growing twins. "We got pounced by a couple of shadowcats. One of them scratched Kelly's arm. Since I didn't want to ruin their fur, I covered them up in my shirt and dragged them back here like that."

"Gave some crows an eyeful," Kelpie said, mimicking the bug-eyed look of that black-haired teen with the bastard sword. "It's like they haven't seen a naked woman before!"

"Nearly naked," Yang corrected. While she had shame, she was still more used to Remnant's level of shame, and her current getup was the norm for her back in her academy days. Really, the leather bra was akin to a tank top whose hem ends above the midriff. Nothing fancy, it covers everything except her abs, and the sex-starved men in black were free to look and just look. Anything more, they'd be seeing stars and eating food through a straw for weeks.

"Come here, Kell," Willow said, moving away from the cooking pot, "let me have a look at that arm."

"It's fine," Kelpie whined. "Summer patched it up."

"Do you think it's fine?" she asked Yang.

"It… could use a more thorough cleaning to prevent infection…"

"In other words," Willow said, looking back at Kelpie, "not fine. Don't give me that look, girl. Would you prefer we cut it off when it's infected? Or maybe the beast that bit you was rabid, would you like to be put down as a maddened monster?"

Kelpie, annoyed, grew defiant. "I've had worse."

"No excuses. Come on, let's go to my room."

Kelpie groaned.

Yang eyed the pot hanging above the blazing fire. "What about dinner?"

"Oh right. Be a dear and keep watch of it before I get back."

Yang would much prefer to wash off the blood on her immediately. She was beginning to stink of gore. But all she said was, "All right."

As though she could read her mind, Willow said, "I'll see if I can ask one of your sisters to take over early. You need to get washed up."

Yang smiled. After the wash, she could use a long nap.

"And once you do that, see to the guests in the hall, no arguments."

Yang groaned.

Guests.

Dear ol' Craster welcomed the Night's Watch with an air of civility few other freefolk offered the crows. What was left of the Craster brood in the Keep thought to keep tradition, with a little coercing from Yang herself. They were prime defenseless territory at that point in time; no need to make enemies or drive away what help they could get due to prejudices. The day of her 'waking' was a little blurry now, but she could still recall things in general, and one such memory was her somehow convincing everyone to stay, reinforce the keep, and prepare for whatever comes their way. And then on the next day, a band of crows had come, seeking Craster but finding just his ashes and bones under an unmarked grave, the soil still fresh and soft from the recent digging. The talks were tense, as the task of negotiation with the crows fell to the eldest widow, Ferny, who was shrewd but overwhelmed from the recent violence. That night, many of her sisters slept with one eye open, afraid that a crow would come for them in their beds, despite the assurances of their leader that they'd be civil.

No incident happened as far as she knew, although it didn't mean her sisters had all gone celibate. Without a certain someone claiming them as their personal property, some of the more adventurous girls—though not in the same kind of adventuring Yang did—got close to crows that stroke their fancy. They often got harsh scolding from the elders, and more than a few close calls with pregnancy, except for five girls who recently gave birth. No crows claimed them as their own.

Yang was still sore with the Night's Watch for that. But on the plus side, she now had four nieces and a nephew to spoil. The eldest, just a month away from her third birthday, was ready to get a name, though Yang had somehow already christened her as Saph and the youngling always responded to it. Orna, the mother, thought it bad luck to give her a name so early, but Yang would not back down. She disliked the "nameless baby" tradition of the freefolk, even if it was done to avoid a strong attachment should the infant not survive past toddlerhood. She was the only one to do so, as everyone else called the children "baby" or "infant" or "whelp" (for Saph specifically, since she preferred the company of puppies than her cousins).

After her wash, she stepped into her little private cove to get changed. The moment she stepped inside, she instantly knew someone had been in here. Neatly folded on her bed was long blue and green dress she rarely wore, if at all.

"Willow…" Yang shook her head and sighed, one hand on her hip. On the one side, it was a little insulting her mother would choose what she wore at her age. On the other side, she was too tired to rebel. She put on the dress, eyeing the intrinsic needlework done on the hems as she slid her arms into the sleeves. There was no mirror to help her judge how she looked, but knowing that this particular dress wasn't form-fitting for a "top-heavy" girl like her, she grabbed a leather belt from her armoire and tied it around her waist. She did what she could with combing her hair, taking care to apply force on the tangles without making her scalp hurt.

What I would give for some shampoo about now.

Appearance-wise overall, she hadn't changed much from her old self. The only thing of note would be the color of her eyes, which were once blue but slowly morphed to lilac as she aged. Her only theory was that it might've been a mutation created by her Aura. She was unsure why it happened, could only guess that it must have something to do with her reincarnation and this world's lack of Aura among others, animals and people alike. She'd tested what her Aura could do throughout the years and surmised it wouldn't withstand even more than one direct blow from an axe. Good for passive healing or reinforcing her fists like invisible gloves, but not much else.

But just earlier, in the forest…

It was small, almost imperceptible, but she knew her Aura was stronger than before. I could be just imagining things. A part of her, though, didn't believe that. She knew her Aura, her limits, and that fight with the shadowcats showed she surpassed those limits. But the questions left unanswered were why and how. What changed?

Suddenly there was a knock from the doorway.

"Summer," Kelpie said, her arm now heavily bandaged and strapped to a sling, "mother asked me to call you."

Yang arched an eyebrow. "Does she need me for something?"

"She wants you to see to the guests."

"Ah."

"Quickly."

"All right."

"Immediately."

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "I get it, Kelly. I'm heading down now." She stood up from her bed, checked her dress one last time, and followed Kelpie to the main hall.

She wouldn't remember about the mystery of her Aura's growth until something came crashing down from the roof and set a man on fire.