Hello again! I come bearing Schnee family baggage, Tyrian being Tyrian, and Ozone trying really, really hard to be Ozone.

97. Rotten Eggs

Willow tipped her head back, grimaced, and swallowed. The burn went all the way down her throat and pooled in her stomach, leaving a sick churning feeling behind.

Qrow Branwen, she had recently discovered, had awful taste.

Winter didn't like it. Neither did James. He hadn't said anything, but she had seen it clear as day on his face. She'd been clear with them, though—she couldn't stop now, not while she was surrounded by dragons. It hurt like being torn apart, and she could already feel herself slipping. She'd return to the manor in a heartbeat rather than let herself fall back to that place, that all-consuming emptiness that had paralyzed her as Jacques got to work molding their children.

Branwen had cleared his throat and, without looking at her or anyone else, extended a hand with a metal flask dangling from a leather cord. She'd taken it without much thought, because it hurt too much to wonder at the way his dragon had perked up at the gesture. She would run out eventually, of course, and then she'd start in on the much finer scotch James kept for special occasions. But somehow it felt important to drink the swill first.

She'd taken three swallows today. The first when she woke up that morning, to fortify her before she spoke to Glacier. The second to give her enough courage to face Steele. Now, Specter was finally alone.

Willow approached his stall slowly, forcing herself along step by step. She'd thought it would get easier, and in a way it had—he was rather less intimidating than Steele. But the other two had left her raw, and she wasn't sure she could do this without losing her grip.

If she didn't do it now, she never would.

She opened the door and said, "Hello." He picked his head up, startled, the tail of a frozen tuna sticking out of his mouth. There was a heap of frozen fish between his forelegs. His eyes reminded her of Glacier's—like windows to the place she was trying so hard not to go.

Specter swallowed the tuna in one massive bite, then sheepishly wiped fish scales off his muzzle. "Lo."

Willow stepped closer. It took a second to make herself speak, and when she did the words came out stiff and, to her ears, horribly insincere. "I'd like to thank you."

He whistled and cocked his head to one side, leaning in a little to get a better look at her. A shiver went through her.

"Thank you," she said again. It sounded only a little better. "For keeping Weiss safe."

That seemed to clear up the confusion. Specter bobbed his head and said, "Ice gud."

"I love her. I do." Willow looked down. "But I can't love her like you do, anymore. So... please. Don't leave her alone."

Specter let out a low whine—one that didn't quite hide the sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind him. Willow tensed. She stepped around the ice dragon's bulk, hoping against hope that it wasn't Weiss. And, well, she really ought to have been more careful what she wished for.

"Sorry," blurted her daughter's faunus teammate. "I didn't realize you were here."

Instinctively, Willow stepped closer to Specter. "How long have you been standing there?" she demanded.

Blake's ears went flat, just like dragons' sometimes did. "I was just here to get Specter. I didn't mean to overhear." She hesitated, like she was struggling not to say something. "And I—I don't want to overstep, but... I don't think that's true."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think being hurt means you're broken. Or that being broken means you can't love anymore."

"Thank you for your insight," she snapped. Blake flinched back, looking wounded—as if the response hadn't been warranted. Maybe she thought Willow didn't know.

No one had told her, of course. No one wanted to upset her. But it hadn't taken long to notice the way everyone was very careful to avoid talking about Ilia in front of her. She'd asked Whitley point blank, and he'd confirmed it. One of them, living in the Dragonry without so much as a locked door to keep her away. And when she'd asked why, she'd learned that it was because Blake had defended her.

Anger felt strange after all these years. Strange, and good.

"I was just trying to help."

"Staying away from me would be a better start," Willow said coldly. "And if you really wanted to help, you could stay away from my family, too."

She was so caught up in the feeling, the spark in her gut warming her right to her toes, that she didn't notice Specter moving until he'd stepped between them. Willow waited for him to turn away from her, towards the stranger... but he didn't. He hissed at her and said, "Nno."

Willow's mouth fell open. "I—"

"Lake gud." Specter craned his neck to lick the faunus. "Sstay."

"I know," Blake mumbled. "I wasn't going to..."

He snorted, apparently satisfied, and went back to eating his fish.

Willow stumbled back to the stall Glacier slept in, the flask in her pocket now empty. He picked his head up when she entered and let out a questioning chirp.

"S'fine," she slurred. "Go back to sleep."

Whitley was curled up in the crook of his foreleg, and didn't stir when she sat down. She wasn't even sure why she'd come—except that she wanted an ice dragon to look at her like she wasn't a stranger.

He gathered her up with his free paw, tucking her against him and beside her son. Whitley sighed in his sleep. Willow thought that would be it—a hug from a dragon to keep her sleepless for the next few nights.

Then Glacier started to sing.

She recognized the tune in an instant. "No," she whispered, more harshly than she'd meant to. But Glacier didn't understand, or didn't want to listen, and the ripple of the song lodged itself in her chest like the blade of a knife.

Snowflake had liked to imitate waterfalls, when they traveled up north in the tundra. The sound of glacier runoff as it flowed under layers of ice. Clean and bright and achingly cold. She'd hummed it to her children as a lullaby before—

Willow tried to stay quiet, at least. But then she remembered that Snowflake had never taught him that, he'd been too busy playing outside in the snow, and it hadn't been her, either. Weiss must have sung to him. And then she made a noise that hardly even sounded human, and Whitley woke with a start.

He sat there, stiff and silent, while she wiped frantically at her eyes. Then, gingerly, as if he wasn't entirely sure he was doing it right, he put an arm around her. She leaned into his chest, marveling at the quiet strength of him. Where had he come from, this broad-shouldered young man who smelled like sweat and dragons?

She supposed it didn't matter. Willow was just grateful that he'd turned out nothing like his parents.

Steele watched Willow moving through the water barn—first slowly, in the direction of Specter's stall. Then quickly, her head low, on her way out. That time Winter was with him when she passed, back from another meeting with the General.

"What's she doing?"

"Tank 'oo," Steele replied. Winter's brow furrowed in confusion. "Lo ssaid tank 'oo."

"She talked to you too?"

He nodded.

Winter sighed and sat down beside him, leaning into his flank. Steele curled around her. "Did she say what prompted the thanks?"

"Win ssafe."

"I see."

Steele glanced at her hands. Sure enough, his rider was clenching her fists until they shook, and her shoulders had gone rigid. He nudged her with his nose until some of the tension went away. "Mad?"

"No."

Steele huffed and shifted so that he could look directly at her. She glanced at his face, then away, then back again. "I'm not angry. That would be ridiculous. I'm just... frustrated, that she's decided to pull herself together now."

He hummed, still unconvinced.

"I'm not angry."

She sounded angry.

"I know it's been hard for her!" Winter burst out. "I can only imagine—and I'd really rather not imagine—but she wasn't exactly a pillar of stability before that, either. And it's great if she wants to start making amends. I'm glad."

Steele gave her a skeptical look.

Winter turned away, and reached up to scratch under his chin. "She was right to thank you. All of you. Glacier certainly did more to raise Whitley than she did." She grimaced. "I didn't—I shouldn't be so bitter about it."

"Talk more," Steele said. "Gud."

"It's not." Winter scowled. "It doesn't matter. I don't want or need her approval, and I didn't do any of it so someone would pat me on the back for it." The scratching under his chin stopped as she gestured agitatedly with both hands. "And I know I wasn't what they needed either, I know I left and I messed up and I don't deserve... but how was I supposed to know what I was doing?"

She stopped. Seemed to realize for the first time that she was breathing hard, and that she'd run a hand through her hair so violently that she'd knocked the bun askew. "Never mind," she muttered.

"Nno." Steele licked her face. "Win gud. Win try."

She took a deep breath. Got to her feet. Redid the bun, and straightened her uniform jacket. "Come on," she said, her voice crisp and calm. "We need to get some practice in."

Justice was starting to hate dragon carriers. This one was small, too—it had barely enough room for the four of them and their riders. At least Ilia was with him, and of all the students that could have come along, he supposed that Ruby was better than most.

But it was dim in the hold, and he was bored—once the initial takeoff was over, and there was no more risk of the Council trying to shoot them down, there wasn't really much for them to do. There was a lot of turbulence for a while—according to Mercury, who had gone to ask the pilot, some of the Flight Squad loyal to the Council had tried to tail them.

Once that was over, though, they were just sitting there. Not really looking at one another. In total silence. Finally Justice couldn't stand it anymore. "What's Tyrian like?" he asked.

Whisper's head picked up. She glanced at Neo, then at Ilia, as if to say, Aren't you going to stop this?

Ilia caught the look. "We need to let them talk," she said. "It's not good for them, otherwise."

Neo shrugged. Mercury might not have even heard—he was staring into space, as if he could see through the craft and all the way out to where the meeting was happening.

Jade didn't move from where she sat, right in front of the doors, her tail twitching with readiness. "I don't want to talk."

"I do," Rudder admitted.

Whisper yawned and said, "He's creepy."

Rudder stared at her. "Huh?"

"He asked what Tyrian's like. He's creepy."

They chatted for the rest of the hour-long airship ride to the tip of Solitas. It was... nice, Justice supposed, but odd. As if he was meeting complete strangers. Gigas and Flux and Harbinger, and even Harpy, felt more like siblings in some ways than they did. He finally got his wish, to be able to actually talk to Rudder, and he kept catching himself wishing Flux was there to trip over his paws and shock him.

Then the airship finally landed, and it was time for them to separate. The others followed after Justice on foot—Ilia had a thin metal device hidden under her shirt, to record everything she head, and it also sent a signal to Ruby's scroll telling them where she was. They were too close now to risk flying, not until Justice and Ilia were a little ways ahead of them.

The meeting place itself was dark and empty. Justice pawed the ground nervously, while Ilia double-checked the coordinates on her scroll. Then the wind changed, and he caught a whiff of static. His head whipped around, and he found two glowing blue eyes staring at him from the blackness of the trees.

What was it with hybrid hatchlings and sneaking around in the dark?

Ilia jumped, then called out, "Are you flying with us or not?"

The hatchling stepped forward, into the thin moonlight of the clearing. He cocked his head to one side and chirped, "Hello."

His rider was less friendly. A violet hood covered most of his face, except for a flash of yellow eyes. A gust of wind stirred his cloak, revealing a scorpion's tail wrapped around one of his legs. "You're late," he said. Not accusatory, exactly, but somehow his wide smile was more unsettling.

"If Cinder wants me to skip covering my tracks next time, she'll have to tell me so." Ilia gestured at the saddle. "Come on. Can your dragon keep up with us?"

"She will fly alongside." He swung up into the saddle. Justice felt Ilia tense the moment he settled in behind her. She chose to buckle him into the straps on her left side, so that he wouldn't need to hold on to her.

"Where are we going?"

"Beacon." Tyrian's tail flexed and brushed against Justice's hindquarters. He let out an involuntary snort—the stinger had accidentally brushed against a place where his scales were particularly soft, right by the joint of his leg.

"Here we are, my Goddess."

Ozone purred and rubbed her head against Tyrian's legs. She had to crouch down to do that, now—she came up almost to his chest. Too big, he told her, to follow him further onto the campus.

Her ears went flat. She'd never been away from him for more than a few minutes before, and now he was going to wander away with some stranger? Ozone whined, making him turn towards her. "You've done this before," he said. "Don't you remember?"

She didn't. But it would hurt him if she told him, so she only nodded. "That's good," he murmured, stroking the top of her head. "It's coming back to you."

So she sat calmly while their riders left—but Justice did not. He snarled and said, "No!" and grabbed Ilia by the back of her shirt. She pulled away and shot him a stern look.

"We'll be fine. We only have the Beacon guards to worry about. Don't we?" He winced, and settled back onto his haunches. Then the two faunus were gone.

While they waited, Ozone wondered if she'd been alone in the dark like this back when she was older. If she tried, she could always put together bits and pieces of the things she'd forgotten. Maybe she had. Maybe it had been when they were at Haven, after she'd moved out of Tyrian's room. She might have tried to sneak out and find him and gotten lost, and then she'd cried in the woods and he'd heard and come to find her.

Yes, that sounded right. Only sometimes, when she pieced a memory together, it would turn out to be wrong. Then Tyrian would tell her how it really happened, and she'd try to remember that instead. It was hard, and confusing, but it made her rider happy.

She glanced over at Justice. There was smoke curling out of his nostrils, and his gaze was fixed on the distant silhouettes of the Dragonry buildings.

"Don't worry," she said. "Tyrian is good at sneaking past the guards. And if any of them try to stop him, he can just kill them."

Justice did not seem reassured.

Tyrian still hadn't told her which building they were going to. Ilia had a feeling she knew, but she took care to stay behind him, making turns only after he'd already led the way, in case he'd notice she had more of a hunch than she should about what they were about to do. It helped that she didn't actually know where Beacon's hatchery was.

She felt unpleasantly exposed without Justice at her side—especially when moonlight glinted off the end of Tyrian's tail. He didn't seem to be armed, besides that... but he didn't need to be.

It's fine, she told herself. Just get him talking and run.

Hard to do while they were infiltrating. They slipped silently past several guards armed with rifles. Tyrian was quicker and quieter than he looked, and obviously knew the route. Finally they came up to the hatchery building, where three guards stood outside every entrance.

Tyrian tapped her shoulder and signaled for her to climb up on the roof. He followed her expertly and moved on the slippery, slanted tiles as if they were flat ground, with his tail swinging behind him as a counterbalance. She struggled to follow.

There was something on the roof, maybe a temperature control unit, a great boxy thing that stuck out near the edge. A shadow detached itself from the unit. Ilia's heart flipped as she saw a rifle swinging around, and her foot skidded on the tiles. Then there was a soft whistling, and the guard slumped to the ground with hardly a sound. She hadn't even seen Tyrian's tail move.

He gestured to a panel on the ceiling, behind the temperature control unit. She unscrewed it, lifted it off, and dropped noiselessly to the ground below. Another guard leaned against the far wall. She shrank against the rows of incubators, blending instinctively into her surroundings. He was bored, inattentive, and when his head turned to one side she was able to slip behind him and put him in a hold until he passed out.

"He's down," she whispered, when Tyrian followed her.

His tail flexed. "Dead?"

"Yes," she lied, and kicked him under a table.

"Oh!" His eyes lit up. "You are good, aren't you? Cinder will be pleased."

"What do you need me to do?" The wire was cold against her chest, where she'd hidden it under her shirt.

Tyrian withdrew a needle and a vial of clear liquid, tinged slightly purple, from a pouch on his belt. "Just a little extra injection, that's all." He put it down on the table with the guard underneath it, and stuck the needle inside.

Ilia's mouth was dry. "Why?"

He hummed. Drew up a tiny portion of the vial's contents. "To weaken the council, of course."

"But... the new students won't care about deformed dragons. They'll just wait for new ones."

Tyrian shook his head sadly, though his frown didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, yes, they're awful, aren't they? Just awful." He pulled out the needle. "A cruel thing to do to the little ones. Better that they wait, isn't it? Come along at a better time, with better riders."

Ilia felt a surge of nausea. "They're going to die."

"This way is kinder," Tyrian said, and flicked the needle to shake out any air.

"Then why?" Ilia blurted. "What's the point of the glycinimide, when they're just going to be culled later?"

Tyrian glanced up at her. He was still holding the needle loosely in one scarred hand. His smile was back, stretching at his cheeks and hollowing his eyes. "Oh, that would be a slow thing indeed. Very cruel. That's why I'm using my own... recipe, this time." His tail curved up, over his shoulder.

"O-oh."

He put the needle down on the table. "You're such a smart one, aren't you? Very smart."

Ilia couldn't reply. Couldn't even breathe. She needed to run, but how was she supposed to leave him alone in here with the eggs?

Tyrian stepped closer. She flinched away, and he tutted softly. "What's wrong, little chemist? Aren't you curious?" The stinger twitched and flexed. "It won't hurt them one bit. Just a little prick, and the body stops moving. Then it stops breathing. Quick and easy."

The stinger drew back. Then a gunshot went off, and Tyrian jerked sideways. A red stain spread across his sleeve. He howled and grabbed his arm, whirling towards where the shot had come from. The guard lay there, his rifle in his hand, fumbling to reload for another shot.

"You bitch," Tyrian snarled, and charged him. Ilia didn't think—she lunged for the purple vial on the table, snatched it up, and bolted for the door. There was no second gunshot. Only a pained gurgle and heavy footsteps behind her.

She shot out the door, heedless of the armed guards. The door slammed into one of them as it opened, knocking him onto his back. The other two cried out, too startled by her sudden exit to aim until after Tyrian had come tearing after her.

The moment she was out in the open, she screamed, "Justice!" at the top of her lungs. No one shot at her—the only gunshot was in the distance, from one of the guards on the other door. When she risked a glance behind her, the three she'd just run past were dead.

She blended into the background as best she could—which made Tyrian the better target for their rifles. Only one seemed to hit him, making him let out another strangled curse. Then she heard dragons galloping towards her from every direction, many of them howling. One sounded wilder than the others, more panicked. She sprinted towards it.

An earth dragon got in her way. It was small, almost as young as Ozone. Ilia vaulted right over its back while it let out a confused bark. Its rider was there, too, a tall brown-haired boy who threw a rock at her as she passed. Missed.

Tyrian was still behind her. The boy tried to grab him, but wasn't fast enough—which probably saved his life. Another dragon poked its head up over a low wall. This one was fully grown, but obviously had no idea what was going on or which of the two strangers it was supposed to be stopping. It opted for both, and pounced on Ilia first. She ducked out of the way, but its tail came around and knocked her over.

She heard Justice's frantic barking as she hit the dirt, and rolled blindly towards the sound. Tyrian snarled. The dragon let out a pained howl and scrabbled backwards, almost stepping on her as it went. Ilia rolled to her feet and saw that it was limping, one foreleg bleeding from a small gash. It stumbled and sank down onto its side, breathing heavily. Tyrian jumped over its limp tail and advanced on her.

Justice came into sight then, with Ozone sprinting along beside him.

"Kill her!" Tyrian shouted.

Ozone's wings fluttered in confusion—but she obeyed. Ilia threw an arm up to protect her head as the dragonet collided with her. Every muscle in her body seized the instant that they touched. She crumpled to the ground again, and this time she couldn't even move to get up.

Teeth closed around her. She let out a panicked scream—but they never clamped down. Instead she felt herself being lifted up and slung over a saddle. Her saddle. Ilia fumbled under her shirt and thumbed the distress beacon on the wire. Then, spent, she collapsed against the saddle.

Justice mantled his wings to fend off Ozone. She pursued only as long as they were on the ground—the second they took to the wing, she veered off to defend her earthbound rider.

The Council dragons had no such problem. They streaked after her—she counted four of them when she risked a glance over her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and pressed herself against Justice's neck, listening to the crack of gunshots. He grunted, and a dark spot appeared on his shoulder.

Come on, come on...

Shadows appeared on the horizon. Ilia groaned in relief and felt Justice's frantic wing beats speed up. Jade was in the lead, with Rudder and Whisper on either side of her, trumpeting her challenge at the Council riders. Justice dipped a wing and wheeled around.

The clash was short and confused. Justice collided with one of the Council dragons and set them both spinning through the air. By the time Ilia could figure out which way was up, Jade had already shoved one of the enemy dragons into the treeline and Whisper had snatched the rider off of another. Rudder blasted an older water dragon with spray and scratched its nose when it tried to counter.

Whisper tossed the rider. They pinwheeled through the air, prompting their dragon to dive frantically after them. Justice clawed at the belly of the dragon that he'd been grappling with. At first she thought he was trying to kill it—but he'd cut the straps on the man's saddle instead. He slid sideways.

"Go!" Ruby shouted.

Rudder and Whisper turned tail at once. Justice lingered—Ilia put a hand on his neck and shouted, "We've got what we need, remember?" She went dizzy with relief when he obeyed.

Jade hovered for several long, agonizing seconds. Long enough that Rudder hesitated. But Ruby bent in close and said... something. Ilia couldn't hear it over the wind. Then, reluctantly, she turned away from the enemy and followed them into the dark. One dragon could still follow them, but it hung back rather than rushing into a fight where it was outnumbered.

Ilia looked down. The vial of poison was still clenched in her fist, and the wire seemed undamaged. They'd accomplished their mission, and Tyrian hadn't poisoned a single Council egg.