Chapter 20: Indoctrinating the Mind.

We are the product of our upbringing. Our choices, our struggles later in life simply revolve around us choosing to either accept or reject it.

The last several months at Beacon, or really her entire excursion out of her suntouched homeland and into Vale, was turning out to be an incredibly bizarre and, in a way, enlightening experience for Pyrrha. For instance, she could not have imagined a starker contrast in cultures and everyday routine if she tried to than that between Mistral and Vale. She was fully aware that the kingdom, finding itself quite literally between the remaining three, was bound to be a diverse and multilayered place, yet she could not even fathom the temperature and the tempo with which life boiled and brewed under the lid of the melting pot that is Vale. Of course, the Kingdom of Mistral was not some backwater deserted shore, either, and had its own fair share of peak hours, especially in the capital and in most of the larger coastal cities, but this… Where Mistral lulled its own citizens and occasional tourists to sleep with its starlit sky and the silence interrupted only by the rare critters chirping their serenades at each other, the thick darkness of the night enveloping one's weary eyes in a comforting blanket, the inhabitants of the metropole here have long since forgotten what stars look like due to the incredible amount of light pollution produced by the city, its heart starting to beat even faster come nightfall, with nature completely drowned out by the sounds of commerce, music and civilization. Instead of shrines, ancient and not so ancient arenas, temples and holy sites she would instead wander the sprawling mazes of shopping malls, entertainment centers, festivals and nightclubs, though naturally those were present in Mistral as well, just in fewer numbers and closer to the outer borders of the city, where construction was unfolding in full swing.

Why, the very people of their respective kingdoms would seem to hail not just from different countries, but from entirely different worlds if put under close observation by some curious, otherworldly lifeform. It's true that Mistral, even in the eyes of its most patriotic, delusional inhabitant wearing the thickest rainbow-tinted glasses, was home to plenty of miscreants, misfits, criminals, dimwits, greedy, cruel, and outright petty people, with the added local flavor of religious zealotry padding the actions of some of the more… tilted lowlifes. Perfection, after all, exists only in poor fiction and religious texts that had wormed their heretical way past the Church's inquisitive glare. Yet in every law-abiding citizen of the kingdom (and, let's admit it, even in some of those that dared cross the line of permitted) one would, with enough time spent digging into the farthest corners of their psyche, unearth a deep faith into the teachings of the Light and an even deeper sense of duty before their own country and, maybe more importantly, their fellow countrymen, mayhaps born of a millennia-spanning realization that in this cruel world, the only surefire protectors against its horrors would be the Light and they themselves. And it showed! It is no rarity to see members of one of the many communes inhabiting Mistralian cities helping each other out on a daily basis, or indeed for the aforementioned communes to band together in the time of need; all for the betterment of their city and consequently the entire kingdom.

Vale, however… Pyrrha could not judge for the entire kingdom, having only visited its capital city, and perhaps the sense of belonging to a wider group other than oneself was more prominent in the more remote areas… but what she saw of city of Vale so far reminded her of a gigantic hive where each and every bee feverishly darted around not to improve its home's well-being, but instead to secure a place under the sun for itself. Streams of people heading down the streets in seemingly the same direction, yet upon closer inspection it would turn out that each individual in them was completely oblivious to the humans around them, completely lost to their own pursuits, whatever those might be. A maelstrom of flesh swirling of its own volition, swift to pull those without a clear goal and unable to navigate among the crowd into its frenzied spinning, eventually washing them up on shores better left unvisited.

Pyrrha shuddered to think of the sheer amount and variety of different credos, lifestyles and, quite frankly, absolutely outrageous beliefs practiced by Vale's citizens, having had a run in with enough to make a sample. It was… unnerving, honestly. She could not for the life of her figure out what makes the people roaming the streets outside a nation and not simply an assortment of people who happened to have found themselves living in close proximity other than the standard attributes of the government apparatus. Indeed, of the qualities she had the time or the insight to observe amongst the local populace, the only one that had persisted between most was a feverish, almost reminiscing of the withdrawal of a drug addict in its intensity, urge to experience as much of what life had on offer as was possible to accomplish in the comparatively short lifespan of a human, so long as it didn't interfere with the desire of others to do the same. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it was foolish of her to think any less of a nation that gave birth to a language known colloquially as Common, a tongue so easy to comprehend that in today's society being unable to communicate in it bordered on illiteracy, all while still possessing enough complexity to inspire someone to master it. She wouldn't know.

Still, if there was one thing that transcended borders and oceans, it would be the tendency of people to worship those stronger or more successful than them, regardless of their caste, social standing or wealth. Why, she hadn't spent two days at Beacon before none other than Weiss Schnee, whatever she might seek away from her homeland, tried to get her tangled into her intricate web of connections and questionable alliances. Indeed, not even amidst what was supposed to be her peers and potential superiors could she escape her status as a celebrity, even if hers, unlike many, was well and truly earned, which did not prevent it from haunting her in the most unpleasant manner every living day. Anywhere she stepped, she could hear the chatter of the surrounding crowds lower by several dozen decibels, pairs upon pairs of eyes tracking her every movement with pathological precision; the pure reverence in the voice of those she talked to felt somewhere in the middle between jarring and outright appalling to her, perhaps part of the reason why her social interactions had almost become limited to her own team. Truly, the best testament to how burdensome her fame had become to her in the last years would be the examples of the few individuals that did not fall to the ground to kiss the soles of her boots before her: a band of lowlife bullies, an actual violent psychopath, somebody whose emotional range may very well be limited to a state of complete indifference and mild shock caused by one of his partner's sociopathic exploits or ramblings and a girl to whom books seemed dearer than people! No wonder that Pyrrha had come to treasure the day she was assigned to Team Juniper for her training; of all the people, she did not expect somebody like Jaune to completely disregard her renown after recovering from the mildly shocking realization that the person he was talking to had once done a promotion for a brand of cereal far more popular than it deserves to be.

Now, of course, Pyrrha had her suspicions. After all, what normal human wouldn't? A candidate for enrollment into Remnant's utmost elite Hunter academy showing up for the initiation trial with a completely dormant aura? Worse even, without any notion of the concept?! That couldn't be right, simply because it bloody couldn't. Still, with a little help from her side Jaune's obvious shortcomings in the martial area had been somewhat mitigated, just about enough to get him this far without arousing suspicion, or so she hoped, at least. And so Pyrrha was more than eager to toss that gnawing thought aside in favor of the more… pressing matters, like studying and training. And of course, any issue ignored for a long enough time will eventually fester into something of far more exuberant proportions. Last night was… rough, to say the least. And not just in the sense of her suspicions coming to life in what could possibly be the worst way imaginable. Getting the short end of the stick of Jaune's normally non-confrontational behavior hurt. A lot. In fact, a lot more than it should have. She couldn't help but think that Jaune's willingness to overlook her fame led her to be too willing to pay in kind and overlook something that should never have been overlooked in the first place. She did not know what to do about this.

And then, of course, there was… him. It's not like it was the first time the dreaded name Silva had up and appeared from the middle of nowhere; Pyrrha knew her history well enough to be aware that this was pretty much the exact way the late CEO of Silva Armaments had made his entrance to Remnant something along the lines of forty years ago. Yet to have heard the name of the long-presumed dead heir of that wretched line uttered at the team assignment ceremony after fighting alongside him in complete ignorance felt… Jarring. Bedazzling.

Terrifying.

Their first 'acquaintance' on the next day had done nothing to improve the situation, either, for a multitude of different reasons. Being equipped with cutting-edge armor, enchanted weapons and possessing martial aptitude on par with her own was one thing, even if she, for the life of her, could not figure out where or how he could acquire any of the three. Quite another was seeing – and having to fend off – this solid hundred kilograms of muscle, bones and steel hurl itself at her with such unrelenting savagery she was, possibly for the first time in a fight, afraid not of defeat, but of quite untimely death, and considering how close that fight turned out, that fear may not have been unsubstantiated. It's not that it was Pyrrha's first encounter with someone throwing themselves into the fight with reckless abandon, either. Plenty of opponents encountered by her in the countless fights in various tournaments and simple spars adored the berserker mentality of swinging for the fences and hoping something sticks, and honestly, she couldn't blame them, as it was, in a way, the fighter's equivalent of 'maximum output for minimum effort applied' approach. Sure, the strikes were more often than not easily predictable and, as thus, avoidable, and sure, forgoing defense completely never is a good idea when it comes to human-to-human combat, but if for some reason any blow connected with the adversary, there was a good chance there was not going to be left much of said adversary other than a heap of shattered bones and torn muscles. Simple and efficient.

How she wished she could say that was all there was to how the Atlesian fought.

Nothing about him fit the description of a berserker. A scythe, much less a pair of sickles, are hardly a weapon one could swing about with much efficiency. The armor, while very hardy and exceedingly well-made, was far too light to rely on as the only means of protection, covering only his chest, back and the outer side of his arms, clearly intended to intercept an opponent's weapon at the base of the swing rather than taking the full brunt of it. And as much as his style of actual combat was laced with overwhelming aggression and brutality, calling it 'reckless' would be the gravest of mistakes. True, of the several sparring fights she had had with him over the course of the semester, she hadn't seen him assume a defensive posture once, yet even as his weapon blurred in a blindingly swift onslaught of attacks, feints and sweeps, he would almost always have split it in time to intercept an incoming strike, or even drop his scythe for a split second to grapple the attacker, interrupting the swing just barely after it began. True, the momentum of his scythe spinning at what would have to approach supersonic speeds, combined with the energy of his own aura brimming on it, allowed him to deliver devastating blows even through the coverage of her aura, and attempting to guard against them with a shield would be an absolute nightmare without her Semblance, yet none of them could even be considered wild flailing or mindless swinging. Every step, every dodge and every strike was aimed and executed with precision to rival her own, and each was delivered with the cruelest of intents in mind. In a way, it reminded her of things she rightfully considered mythical explanations of mental illnesses; ancient tales of men corrupted beyond recognition by a dark and devious force came to her memory whenever she looked at the empty orbs of pure abyss residing on his face. Indeed, whenever that steel mask rested upon his face, the Silva she knew and, if not liked, at the very least respected, transformed into something even more terrifying: a puppet possessed by its own power and, worst of all, reveling in that possession.

"…We're going to initiate you into the ranks of the Church."

I'm sorry, what?!

To say that Darius' proposition came across as a surprise for both Pyrrha and Jaune was to underplay things immensely, but while Jaune, still propping himself up on his elbows, simply raised one of his eyebrows in confusion, Pyrrha's shock was exponentially more apparent, for multiple reasons. For one, or three, it was the simple fact that the proposition came not just from an Atlesian, who, as a people, were rather disconnected from the Church on an ideological level, not just from a Silva, who, arguably, represented everything terrible about the nation, but from somebody like Darius, who, while never seen or heard speaking ill of the religion in general and the Church of Light in particular, seemed to be the perfect antithesis to an overwhelming majority of its teachings. Secondly, as it stood right now, conscripting Jaune into the ranks of the Church, even as a simple member of the militia, was pretty much impossible due to a multitude of different factors, the time of the year being one of them. Lastly, there came the uncanny realization that his suggestion was not without merit. But how would HE know that?!

"How?!" exclaimed Pyrrha.

"Why?.." asked Jaune, scratching his head quizzically.

The Silva shook his head, slowly rubbing his temple as he tried to get his eyes to focus once again, and muttered:

"Yep… that's about how I expected this conversation to go," as he finally managed to gather his thoughts into a coherent shape, he sighed. "Alright then. Who wants answers first?"

"We can't do this! Certainly not before the exams, at the least," Pyrrha refuted. "The rites only take place once a year during the summer solstice!"

"Irrelevant, thankfully," Darius rebuked. "Luckily for us, this is one of the few things in the ritual that is done purely for the sake of symbolism. We can do it pretty much as soon as Jaune can stand on his own two feet."

"That's… not what I meant," she explained, grabbing her head with her right hand. "The details of the ritual are closely guarded by the Church, and the candidates into the higher clerical ranks are selected and trained from childhood. We can't just deliver Jaune to the doorstep of the local church and ask them to initiate him!"

"Indeed. Which is why we won't."

"Wha…" Completely at a loss for words, Pyrrha's second hand joined her first one, grabbing the left half of her skull as she tried desperately to muster any coherent word, or even thought. She was thankful that she was sitting already, otherwise the sheer absurdity of the events happening around her would likely have her on the floor. "You… you can't be suggesting we initiate him without the approval of the Church… that's…"

"That would be heresy, Pyrrha. I know. No one likes apostates," the Atlesian nodded, looking at the young Mistralian with understanding, and even a hint of pity. "That's not what I suggested. I will acquire the mandate, and we will initiate Jaune when he gets better. We don't even necessarily have to go into Vale. I have a place in mind."

"But… how?"

"I will ask them nicely."

"Darius!" It was at this point that Pyrrha realized she was completely and utterly fed up with the Silva's mind games and stood up in a singular motion, swift as lightning, to look him directly in the eyes, which she accomplished solely due to the fact she was still on her stilts. Yet as their eyes met, she realized that not only was Darius anticipating her to lash out at him any second now, but that it would actually be him staring at her, the torn edge of his irises cutting up every layer of resolve in her like a polished knife. Without even changing his expression, much less flinching, he spoke, and Pyrrha could feel something cold grip her heart as something shifted in the depths of the Silva's pupils.

"Pyrrha, please," Darius said, and in fact, his tone, although unnervingly even, was closer to pleading more than anything else. "I understand you are confused how I even know about any of this. I understand you are outraged at me for hiding how I came across this knowledge and at the fact that I'm suggesting something just one step away from a sacrilege, even though it really isn't. But please, understand that this is the only answer I can give you. The Church will never say no to a new recruit, especially in the Valean domain. Iam not doing it with malignant intent, I'm doing this to help a friend of mine. So can we please drop the 'how' part as unimportant?"

Still completely speechless, Pyrrha slowly sat back down, her eyes mindlessly drilling a hole somewhere in the doorway area and her mind utterly blank.

Wonder what father will have to say if I get excommunicated for this.

"I hope that settles that," the Atlesian cleared his throat, redirecting his attention to Jaune. "Now for the main part. You have questions, Jaune. Hopefully they'll be easier to answer than Pyrrha's."

"Thanks for remembering me," Jaune nervously chuckled, clearly feeling as the third wheel in this discussion despite being its main subject. "Why are we doing this, exactly? I mean, I've got my Semblance now according to you, what's there to worry about?"

"Eh-h…" he pressed his lips together, and evidently his jaws as well, as Pyrrha could see the muscles slightly bulging beneath the skin. "Wrong wording. Your Semblance has just manifested in a spontaneous outburst. The problem with it is that you cannot control it at will and will be unable to fully do so until it… incubates properly."

"Meaning?.."

"Semblances can take anywhere from a couple weeks to months before the user can wield them at will, in however primitive form. Worse, you may – and likely will – experience more outbursts like these that will be outside of your control, and it's pretty much impossible to even attempt to predict how those will turn out," Darius explained, slightly easing up. "Essentially, you have three choices: you could take a gamble in hope that your Semblance matures quickly and whatever outbursts you may have will be short and insubstantial, or won't happen at all, which I highly doubt. You could also slap a dimeritium bracelet on your wrist and wait out several months, but do remember you're still expected to perform like a Hunter. Or we could do it my way… though do keep in mind that, in a way, mine is just as dangerous as the former two."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jaune recoiled, and his eyebrows shot up in alert.

"The ritual poses a great danger to an individual who is… unprepared," with her shock slowly subsiding, Pyrrha decided to speak up again. "It's not immediate, mind you, you won't even be harmed during it. It's that the initiate may very well suffer long-term… ailments, if they go into it with impure intentions… Oh, I should probably start from the beginning, shouldn't I?"

"Probably," Darius nodded, taking a step back and leaning against the wall, providing space for Pyrrha. She spent a minute gathering her thoughts, structuring all her knowledge of the clerical rite into a coherent form, then spoke.

"Every member of the Church of Light, whether a militia fighter or a priest, which, mind you, are oftentimes one and the same, must undergo the rite of initiation at the end of their training. As the Church itself puts it, 'the candidate's soul is put before the Light for judgement, and those who are deemed worthy are rewarded with great might to bear the sacred flame ever forward'."

She noticed Darius' nostrils slightly dilate, pushing the air out of them in a slightly sharper exhale than his normal breathing pace, albeit his stature and expression hadn't changed in the slightest. She chose to ignore it for now. After all, even if she chose not to, it's not like there was anything she could have done this instance to make him repent.

"The process of the rite, its details, are sacramental, and are protected very fiercely by them. They are a mystery. Yet… it works. Those who complete the ritual are welcomed into the ranks and, with time, find themselves with a power they had not had before. Like healing, for instance. Have you ever wondered why so many clinics and hospitals find themselves in close proximity to a church, if not part of the infrastructure?"

Jaune, who was frozen still during Pyrrha's monologue, listening intently, blinked a couple times to shake off the confusion that befell him after the question, then slowly nodded:

"I… guess it makes sense, now that you put it that way."

"But that's just the beginning!" she exclaimed. "A priest of the Light is a symbol of justice and hope. Their mere presence inspires discipline and lifts the spirits of anyone around them, regardless how desperate their situation. It's… incredible, really."

"That… sounds too good to be true," unsurprisingly, Jaune took the new information with a hefty dose of skepticism, as was befitting a non-Mistralian and someone who was rather removed from the Church for most of his life. This fact, however, had done nothing to knock Pyrrha off-balance. It wouldn't be her first time opening a nonbeliever's eyes to the glory of the Light. What she did not expect and what definitely caught her off-guard was the Atlesian intervening once again, and even though his posture hadn't changed a bit, still leaning on the wall of the room, his voice was as grave as the very soil.

"It is true, and it isn't always good, Jaune," Darius shook his head. As Pyrrha slightly shifted her eyes to look at him, she found his gaze firmly affixed in one spot, directed somewhere in the area of the window, both immovable and completely unfocused at the same time. "And it's very serious. Tell me, Jaune… why did you come to Beacon?"

"Wha…" Jaune blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? To become a Hunter."

"A Hunter's life is not an easy one, Jaune," Darius spoke, eyes still looking into nothingness, and his voice, despite bearing the weight of the entire world still, was growing more and more hollow and distanced with every word. "Nor is it a safe one. Years of training. Learning. Breaking yourself over and over; first to unlock your aura, then your Semblance, then to get that one move right, then..."

He sighed.

"And your decision couldn't have been weighted and calculated, because let's face it: you came here knowing nothing about our trade. Surely it was spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment idea that got you completely obsessed? You didn't bother even researching the terminology: your sole focus must have been to just get yourself into the academy this very year, before you came to your senses. Right?"

A second passed, stretching into a full-blown minute in the complete silence reigning in the room.

Jaune nodded.

"Why?.."

"Because… what were my other options?" word by word, Jaune confessed. "Think of it: Vale doesn't have a decent military; I may be smart, but not smart enough to seriously get into science and there's no way I'd make it in politics with the types like you or the Schnees sitting at the top. Seriously, what else was I to do with my life?! Get a nine-to-five desk job? Get a 'startup' going? Stay at the farm and plow the earth from dawn till dusk?!"

For a moment, Darius seemed to lapse back into reality, briefly exchanging glances with Pyrrha. In a way, she could see where Jaune was going with this, even if relating to him was incredibly hard by now. As an heir to a long line of warriors and servants of the Light, she couldn't really see any other future before her other than what had become her present, and something in the Atlesian's eyes told her that was about what Darius felt as well. Yet while she remained silent still, partly because she failed to think of a proper way to rebuke, partly because she was morbidly eager to see where this conversation was going, Darius continued talking.

"A life of mediocrity is safe. You don't run a daily risk of being horribly murdered by Grimm. You are uninteresting to the ones in power seeking to use you for their own goals. You get a place to call your own… in most cases. You, more often than not, don't get people declaring vendettas on you left and right."

"Yes, of course, because the ones in power don't use regular people for their goals," Jaune sneered, clenching his teeth and fists in equal measure. "Absolutely not. And it's not like you can get stabbed in a dark alley because some thug thought he wanted your wallet and no one else's. No-o-o, that's unthinkable. People die all day, every day, Darius, you'd think you'd know about this. And in most cases, their names are forgotten right after the funeral, as is everything they have ever done. At least as a Hunter I can die knowing I was doing the right thing, not because life rolled the dice and chose me to get the shaft."

"So it's the fame and glory you want?" He raised his eyebrow and slightly tilted his head, in a way asking 'really?' with his less than subtle body language. "Because you won't find any glory in death. Not at the paws of Grimm, not at a thug's dagger. But you can't deny the latter is that much less likely to happen to a civilian than the former to a Hunter."

"I don't care about glory!" Pyrrha didn't know if getting to this point was Darius' intention or not. For all she knew, it might have been. Completely enraged, Jaune was finally driven to the point of screaming, all while Darius remained completely still. "What I care about is not living my life as a fucking nobody and not being that one guy the family forgets about and quietly crosses out of their records!"

After the outburst's abrupt ending, his face, previously crimson as a ripe tomato, slowly started returning to its original hue as he meekly concluded his point:

"Blindly poke into my family tree. If their face wasn't burnt out of the photo, you'll see someone riddled with all kinds of medals and honors and whatnot. Can you even imagine how it feels growing up knowing there's no way you'll ever measure up to them unless you take risks like these?"

For a full five seconds, Darius stayed silent. Then he shook his head.

"I… cannot."

"Case in point," he bitterly chuckled, sliding his sliver across his face. "Why did you even bring this up, Darius? I thought I made myself… pretty clear last evening. And even if not… Why does it matter now?"

"Because that's what you'll be asking yourself during the ritual," he shrugged. "The rite of initiation is, first and foremost, a moment of self-reflection. It is in that instance that you get to take a good, hard look at what you truly are… and then decide what it is you're going to do with it."

"Not getting it," Jaune mused. "How does that translate into… whatever Pyrrha has described?"

"There is… great strength in passion. In any emotion, really," the Atlesian replied, soon proceeding to elaborate on this obviously insufficient answer. "As I said, the candidate takes a moment to reflect upon themselves. What they are, what they could be… and then they make a choice. One that is entirely up to them, yet… it changes them. It becomes something more than just a goal they've chosen to strive for. It becomes their passion, their obsession, almost. Something worth dying for… And the Light sees that. And it grants those who ask for its help with great power."

Pyrrha was… stunned. Shockingly enough, less so because some Atlesian was just up and revealing what would have to be the most sacramental secret of the Church, but the sheer, unadulterated reverence in his voice when doing so. Indeed, even his expression shifted from simply being frozen in a grim scowl into something she never thought she'd see on him. In this moment, the Silva seemed… devout. Peaceful, even. And it was mind-boggling to witness.

"You know…" Jaune remarked, evidently equally impressed by the rapid change in Darius' behavior. "Never thought you overly religious."

"Well… you live and you learn," and just like that, it was all gone. Once again, the figure leaning onto the wall of a modest-sized infirmary room reverted to the expression befitting an Atlesian: calm, sharp, and calculating. Although…

Darius sighed. "There are drawbacks, of course. The ailments Pyrrha mentioned… they're not someone being rejected for the 'impurity of intentions', quote-unquote. The Light is benevolent, not judgmental."

"Instead?.."

Darius sighed.

"Looking at oneself from the side is… hard. It's harsh, it's disillusioning and it is, at times, outright grim. Some see themselves as too far gone to be worth redeeming, falling into despair. Some are unable to deal with the harsh truth, succumbing to insecurities and fear. Some give in to their urges, their ambitions, their dark, intrusive thoughts that dare not show their ugly maw otherwise, becoming puppets of their own aspirations. A human being is far, far from perfect, and when brought to light, those imperfections hurt to see. And seeing the good things about us becomes increasingly hard due to how glaring the bad ones are." He rubbed his temples, exhaling deeply and looking Jaune in the eyes. "That's why I brought this up. You have to go in with a clear, resolute knowledge of why you do this, lest you fall prey to yourself."

The next minute was spent in silence.

Finally letting go of the wall, the Silva concluded. "If there's one thing I can guarantee you, it's that it will change you. For better or for worse. I'll give the two of you some time to think it over. Don't rush it."

"I… don't think it'll be necessary, Darius," to Pyrrha's surprise, Jaune immediately shook his head. And, frighteningly enough, she could hear the same gravitas echo in his voice that previously weighed down Darius'. "I've made my choice when I came to Beacon. Don't think now's the time to withdraw commitment. I'll do it."

He slowly nodded.

"So be it. In that case, I have some matters to take care of in Vale. Two things. One: no one outside your team must know of this. I hope it's obvious why."

Both nodded.

"Secondly… Pyrrha, if you'd indulge me a moment?.."

What's he want with me?..

"I promise it won't take long."

Shrugging, Pyrrha left the small chair beside Jaune's bed and followed Darius outside the room. After walking a decent distance away from Jaune and now standing just outside the exit from the infirmary, the Atlesian turned around, addressing Pyrrha's quizzical stare.

"Since we're really doing this, there are also some things I must tell you specifically, as the closest person to Jaune there is in this academy."

"And that means?.."

"Pyrrha, please," Darius sighed in exasperation. "Don't play these games with me. Not right now. You're partners, for starters, and the only one not catching the stares you throw at Jaune is probably the guy himself, and I suspect even he is starting to notice things." .

"What. Is. Your. Point?"

"Thank you," he nodded. "My point is: first of all, you will be conducting the ritual."

"What?!"

"Please, listen carefully," he pleaded to her, the sheer rarity of the occurrence reason enough for her to temporarily calm down. "The reason why you have to do it is complicated… on a spiritual level, more or less. You will watch him struggle first-hand, and you will also see why. With how much time you've spent learning and training with each other, you're as close to a mentor-figure to him as it gets."

Pyrrha conceded. Indeed, the two of them had spent an inordinate amount of time simply… conversing on topics, more often than not starting with Jaune asking Pyrrha to bring him up to date of what would typically count as common knowledge amongst graduates of any self-respecting combat school. In that, Darius' proposition was not without merit.

"The other, most importantly, is what will happen after the ritual," Darius continued, lowering his tone. "As I said, eventually you will notice… changes about him. Behavioral changes, most notably. His interests will likely begin to shift, maybe dramatically, maybe even to the point of unhealthiness. I… I implore you… to keep close watch on him and make sure that whatever changes he may go through do not result in a self-destructive personality shift. It will be hard for him. He'll have intrusive thoughts, he may start to doubt his reasoning, his decision, his very essence. You need to make sure he trusts you enough to confide in you, and you have to keep him from spiraling down because that's what the ritual tends to do to people in the beginning. Please."

The sight before her was… disconcerting. Darius, although still keeping on the façade of an unshakable monolith, was very clearly cracking down under the weight of a growing pile of concerns upon his shoulders, pretty much permanently keeping his hand on his left temple by now, and his manner of speech was slowly crumbling down, giving way to hastened sentences and less refined structures.

"If you're so uncertain in how it will affect him, why did you even suggest it?"

"Because he is my friend, and I want to help him. I just… I just don't see a better way to get him through this year without his Semblance killing him or him getting booted out. Do you?"

"I… I don't. Of course. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you. I have to go now. Many things to get done."

Yet as he was about to leave the medbay, Pyrrha had decided that this may very well be her last chance to at least get a glance of the truth, calling him out.

"Wait."

With the door in his hand, he turned around.

"Tell me… who are you?"

He took a deep breath, and an equally deep exhale, slowly shaking his head, looking at Pyrrha, yet never entering eye contact with her.

"If you're asking me this, you have to realize I can't answer you. But then again… You probably understand the answer even without me saying, don't you?"

Then he left.

He wasn't completely right. Pyrrha still could not understand what ridiculous twists and hoops of fate could lead to someone like Darius Silva obtaining this kind of knowledge.

But at this point, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to know.