"Can you fetch me some water? I'm a bit thirsty," Qrow waved to one of the soldiers, standing before all the new recruits, many of whom were still students.
Standing here in the middle of the forest wasn't exactly a conventional place for teaching. But the students were supposed to be elite Huntsmen, those who could fight on any terrain. So Qrow quickly put that worry to rest. Doing so, however, would only lead him to realize how truly nervous he really was standing before them all, being a Valean teaching these Atlesians.
He saw some of his own people in the crowd as well, but he knew well that even before Atlas took over, he wasn't exactly the most qualified person to be a teacher.
Training Rubio was one thing, but an entire class…
"Ahem, as I was saying," Qrow licked his dry lips, "a very important skill that you'll need to master is the ability to extend your Aura to your weapons. Have it traverse the surface of the steel. This can be um… accomplished much easier if you have mastery over your weapon and your fighting style, treating it as an extension of your own limbs."
"In my case, my fists are my weapons," Oliver interrupted, "so easy money, am I right?"
Qrow turned his head to stare daggers at the arrogant young man, but ultimately decided to ignore him, resuming the lesson:
"Gravity is one of the most important components of the mechanics of Aura. One of the Advanced Aura techniques is to strike without making contact. If you are able to create that vortex of gravity between your weapon and your target, the amount of energy you can exert will be incredibly dense, resulting in devastating damage. Now, I realize the curriculum would normally ask you to practice on wooden dummies, but I think we're going to speed things up today and just move onto some sparring, trial by fire."
"Now that's more like it!" Oliver cracked his knuckles.
"Fall back in line, Forest," Ghost ordered.
"Bah, you're no fun."
"You'll get your turn," Lisa patted his shoulder, "don't worry."
"So," Qrow glanced around, "do we have any volunteers for the first match?"
Surprisingly, the one hand to quickly raise above all the other recruits did not belong to an Atlesian nor a Valean. Matter of fact, the person in question wasn't even a student.
Over on the left side, emerging from the crowd – came Blake Belladonna.
A young woman who hid so well in the shadows of the people all around her, sporting a stylish black leather long coat worn over her black vest and white collar long sleeves shirt underneath. A rather fancy getup that made her look as if she were a butler, or as if she were attending a ball. The golden buttons and belt buckle of the attire certainly helped in giving off that high-class vibe, alongside the tie she wore, her dark purple trousers, and boots that looked as if they were tailored using silk woven from the moonlight.
Blake walked up, presenting herself before everybody without an ounce of fear. Scanning all around with her shimmering yellow eyes, hiding unclear intentions behind that stoic expression. The pair of cat ears above her head would barely even move as they smoothly blended in with the dark color of her long flowing hair.
"Well this is a surprise," Qrow then cleared his throat. "I didn't realize… you came."
"I hope you don't mind," a voice echoed, just now emerging, "I flew her here from the Academy."
Turning their heads, everybody could now see Professor Watts walking in, adjusting his tie.
"Arthur," Qrow tilted his head.
"Please, Professor Watts," he corrected, "let's be professional."
"Right…"
"As a pardoned ex-convict," Watts explained, "I thought we ought to show Miss Belladonna around the facilities, and maybe even pay a visit to one of our training sites such as this."
"With all due respect," said Qrow, "I think it's important for us to get on with the curriculum concerning actual recruits of the force. We shouldn't delay it any further."
"Oh, come now," Watts laughed it off, "I don't see any harm in letting our… guest here have a go at it for a round or two. After all, our troops deserve to be trained by the best of the best, including those foreign to the nation. You don't have a problem with that, correct? Professor?"
Qrow paused, before reluctantly answering:
"No, Professor."
"Wonderful, then let's get on with the lesson, shall we? Don't let me interrupt your process, Professor. Just pretend I'm not here."
"Alright," Qrow looked around once more, "anybody wanna volunteer to be her opponent?"
"Ha-ha!" Oliver cried, smashing his fists together, "You know it, baby! Let me at her."
"NO!"
A strong commanding voice interrupted Oliver's fantasy for glory, and stepping forth – Ghost Vester had now extended his hand in front of Oliver, stopping him from taking a step. A simple but assertive gesture that Oliver had no choice but to respect despite his confusion.
"This one is mine," Ghost declared.
"Are you sure?" Lisa asked.
"I will remind you guys," said Ghost, "that this woman IS Adam Belladonna. A student of Raven Brawen, the fugitive. I would like to test her, see how much she remembers."
"You don't have to pretend, bro," Oliver crossed his arms. "We all know you just want revenge for what Raven did to our Fleet Admiral."
"Fall back in line, soldier," Ghost snapped, pointing his finger.
"I'm just sayin'," Oliver put up his hands in defense.
"Okay then," said Qrow, "we have our combatants. Make some space, everyone."
"Oh, but before we start," Watts cleared his throat, "I don't believe our friend here has a weapon."
"We have some from our armory, nothing custom-made, though," Qrow pulled out his scroll from his pocket before typing in a series of codes. After a short while, a loud sound of a missile launching from a nearby airship could be heard from where they stood. The missile came crashing down from far above, landing in front of them before opening itself up to reveal a whole table full of guns, swords, rifles, and even mechanical axes and knives of all sizes.
"Courtesy of the Academy," Watts said to Blake.
Not saying a single word, Blake walked over the rows of weapons on display, inspecting them all closely without laying a finger on them. And it did not take long before her eyes landed on a blade lying on the far corner of the table. A long straight single-edged sword sheathed inside a black casing – a sword exactly in the style of Adam's crimson blade.
Without hesitation, Blade picked up the sword and immediately strapped it around her waist.
"You are Raven's student, yes?" Ghost said as he approached, adjusting his tie, "I wonder how much you remember."
Blake remained silent as she faced the young man, prompting him to shake his head:
"You're right. No more words – only our swords."
With a single press of a button on a golden ring he wore on his middle finger, the ring would instantly begin morphing into a complex mechanical glove that almost looked as if it was going to devour Ghost's entire forearm, reaching all the way up to where his elbow was. Much like the device Oliver called his limiter, this mechanical golden glove on Ghost's right arm was a simple contraption.
Unlike popular weapon designs, this device was not the core of his skill and strength, because what Ghost had learned from his mentor Maru was the ancient principle to weaponize one's entire body. Every limb could potentially become deadly, something a lot of modern-day Huntsmen seem to have forgotten, and instead decided to rely too much on steel instead of spirit.
"I heard Adam once sliced an entire train in half," Lisa whispered. "Is that true?"
"I read about that in a report," Oliver whispered back, "I kinda skimmed it, though. But it looks like he may have amped his power with Gravity Dust of some kind. Kinda muddies the water if you ask me. Doesn't really matter. Our boy here is Maru's favorite student, and that man can cut atoms."
Raising a hand in the air, Qrow would declare:
"Whenever you're ready. Start!"
And yet, both Ghost and Blake still stood in their place, not moving an inch. With Ghost's right hand hanging down on his side and Blake's hand steadily hovering over the handle of her sword. The most peculiar thing anyone could see was the fact that there was no shaking on Blake's hand, not even by half an inch. She was as steady as a statue, just standing – waiting.
Staring into each other's eyes, the two of them could see remnants of the generations of those long past. Two rulers of the seas, fighting so violently they cracked the water and sky. And now their future had come face to face.
That being said, Ghost couldn't help but feel like there was something different within Blake this very moment. It was true that she really was Adam Belladonna. Proud Faunus of the White Fang, but was this one actually an Edenite? Ghost asked himself observing the tranquil but unsure way she conducted herself. It seemed true enough that she was immensely strong and skilled, but the way her eyes darted around in very specific patterns gave off this vague feeling of confusion.
And just like that, Oliver decided to power down his golden glove, exhaling in total disappointment.
"What are you doing?" Qrow asked. "Are you forfeiting?"
To which Ghost simply replied:
"This match is over, did you not see?"
The crowd of students could only look around at each other, unsure of what he meant as they discussed amongst themselves.
"Did you see anything?" Cardin nudged Elm, standing next to him.
"Nah, dude. They just stood there. What the hell happened?"
And to everyone's surprise, Blake would nonchalantly toss her sheathed blade onto the ground in front of everybody. Her eyes filled with a mixture of silent anger, frustration, and disbelief before she turned her back, walking away.
But not before leaving them with some final words:
"He speaks true, this duel is over."
"Duel?" Cardin raised an eyebrow.
And standing near his teammates, Oliver would burst out laughing uncontrollably, still arrogantly crossing his arms.
"You really wanna know what happened?" Oliver smirked. "Check out that sword."
Confused, Cardin would kneel down with the other students gathering around to observe. And to his shock, the moment he tried pulling out the blade – was the moment he found out he was only holding onto a handle.
The sword inside the sheath had been completely sliced off, reduced to nothing but fragments of steel to be poured out onto the ground for all to see. The damage was clear, irreversible, and the cut was insanely clean, to the point it was doubtful that industrial laser cutters could've done a better job with how accurately the pieces were divided.
"What the fuck?" Cardin cried.
What made it more mind-boggling was the fact that the moment Cardin tried to pick up a broken piece of the steel blade, his finger would be inexplicably shocked with a strong current of electricity, almost burning his fingers.
"Ha-ha! That's Ghost for ya," Oliver laughed, patting Ghost on the back. "Fastest quick draw in our school, ain't that right, bro?"
"Learn some humility, Colonel," Ghost ordered. "It was a good fight. She isn't quite herself, but that doesn't mean it was easy."
Looking down at the palm of his hands, and then onto the tip of his index finger. Ghost could see it well, even while being so incredibly subtle and microscopic that it was almost impossible to even spot without squinting one's eyes. But true enough, it was clearly there – a small wound dripping ever so slowly from beneath the surface of his skin, marked in the perfect crescent shape of a sword-slicing motion.
In a medical facility far away in the North, back in Atlas' mainland, was a secret laboratory hidden away in the technological jungle of the Empire. In this lab there were only two scientists who walked in and about through this area, making absolutely sure they would not be seen by normal people, or even their other coworkers.
One of them walked forth wearing a subtle smirk. Her name was Gardenia Silva, a woman wearing a white lab coat with a red scarf over her shoulders, and a white service cap on top of her golden locks of hair. She was a Grimm biologist under the employment of the Fleet Admiral, specializing in researching Grimm behavior in hopes to understand more about this strange species, and perhaps even deconstructing their biology to unearth the hidden story of ancient species of the past – like that of the Giants.
Occasionally she would also be employed by the Academies as a Professor to teach certain curriculums for the students in training. She could recite all the textbooks from memory without having to pick up the books a second time. But truth be told she had never been super enthusiastic about this part-time job. It paid well teaching the young soldiers and scientists at the very least.
But no matter the money, that was only her day job. When no one was looking, she would descend deep into the secret facilities to continue her work in tampering with something far greater than anybody could ever imagine.
One project simply titled – GOLD.
The workstation which she conducted business on was filled to the edge with research papers and analytics, with some even dating as far back as decades ago. Reports and graphs scattered comfortably beneath a disorganized mess of broken pens and pencils, all lying next to a mountain of handheld calculators.
It was bizarre how many of these small computing devices were all over the place, considering Gardenia could've easily done any calculations within her head. But the fact she had been ripping out the microchips and other parts from these machines may be an indication to why there were so many in the first place.
There was, however, another part of the puzzle that seemed baffling. Papers, whiteboards, written formulas, all of these things were present, overflowing even. But despite being a biologist, Gardenia did not have any live samples of anything anywhere on these desks. No blood vials, no skin, hair, or other DNA samples, not even a single chemical container or test tube anywhere in sight. Only piles upon piles of documents.
Beneath the amount of paperwork, however, came a familiar sound of snoring. Growling ever so quietly as Gardenia approached from behind with a cup of coffee in her hand. The white-haired woman sleeping so peacefully in her messy lab coat was none other than Gardenia's partner in crime in this secret operation – Willow Schnee herself.
Her hair was loose, and her eyes were baggy. It was clear she had been staying up working for as long as she possibly could. It would be a great shame, Gardenia thought, if she were to be disturbed right this moment by a sudden splash of some kind.
"WAKE UP!" Gardenia shouted pouring the boiling coffee all over Willow, instantly pulling her awake into a raging bloodcurdling scream as she clawed at her face with the dripping coffee, casually knocking everything off her desk in the process.
Turning around, Willow's confused expression immediately mellowed out into one of regular annoyance. She grumbled:
"Oh, it's just you."
"You bet your ass it's me," Gardenia took off her cap, tossing it to the side as she playfully winked her shiny blue eye at her colleague, who still sat there unamused.
"You're late," Willow commented.
"Or maybe you're just early. Ever thought about that? How's the translation job coming along by the way? Any progress on that slab?"
"Um… well… I swear I left it here a few minutes ago. I just have to find it…"
"Truth be told I don't expect much from it. We might as well just leave it as paperweight."
"No, no. I'm getting to it, don't worry. It's just… the word Ragnarok. I can't make head or tail of it."
"See? I told you, didn't I? It's fucking aliens. I swear, I'm the only one around here who knows what's up. Open your third eye, people!"
"Where does the word come from? It's not Valean, Mistralian, Vacuan, or even Atlesian. It isn't even Edenite."
"Who cares? What about the other words? That's what we wanna know. The prophecy."
From underneath the mountain of notes and sheets, powering through the paper cuts, Willow finally managed to locate the slab they were working on. Coating the slab with a thin feeble layer of Aura to not damage it, she laid the large piece of stone onto her workstation after clearing it of the mess, tossing everything onto the floor.
"Silver-Eyed Warriors are very cryptic I'll tell you that much," said Willow. "A lot of them think they're gods…"
"So they write poetry to show off. My kind of people, ha!"
"All I have so far is something about the hand that holds the good-evil."
"What the fuck is a good-evil?"
"It's supposed to be a literary device," Willow explained, "it's called merism. Something where we combine two contrasting elements to refer to the whole, a more general meaning. It's just supposed to mean the hand that holds everything. The universe, the multiverse, Eternal Beyond, the infinite spectrum of chaos."
"Nerd," Gardenia yawned, mocking Willow. "You archeologists and your purple prose. I can never wrap my head around that crap. Why can't you just be normal? I'll be back to work if you need me. The GOLD kids are taking years from my life with every second."
"Quite the handful aren't they? Maybe if you were 'normal,' they would've turned out better."
"Hey, hey… check this out," Gardenia began performing her usual 'magic trick,' pulling her thumb apart while smiling like a lunatic. "We really do need to add a magic course to the curriculum. The kids gotta know all about the pizzazz, the showmanship."
"How did a monkey brain like you ever get hired?"
"You have a weird kid, too. Surely you must know what it's like."
Turning around to her desk, Willow would pick up a framed photo of a child she had placed here long ago – a picture of a red-haired young girl in a brilliant golden dress. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and her smile was firm, unwavering.
Glancing down the photo, Willow would feel an overwhelming sensation swelling from the back of her throat. One that instantly developed into a violent cough, so strong she was practically gasping for air as she scrambled to reach for the bottle of pills buried deep in her lab coat. The medicine was soothing the pain, but only temporarily.
Back at the hospital, Weiss floated outside looking into the room where Ironwood was staying. Still nothing after all this time. The heartbeat was steady, his breath was slow, but still, he would not wake. There were already signs that Fleet Admiral Maru and General Sam Vulf were slipping in and out of consciousness, she could clearly hear their heartbeats all the way from over here.
And yet, General Ironwood still remained as he was, in deep sleep. Weiss could not help herself but clench her fists at the sight, feeling helpless – unable to see what was wrong even with her super precise eyes and ears.
"He will be fine," Pietro grabbed Weiss' hand. "I've seen him been through worse."
Weiss stayed floating there, staring forth unblinking. She seemed focused at first glance, but as her father, Pietro could tell how lost and confused she really felt. The subtle look in her eyes gazing through the window, he had learned to tell the difference between real concentration and the emptiness of a desperate young child.
Pietro sighed, knowing how far apart he and his daughter were. How did they get to this point, he wondered.
Tapping on Weiss' shoulder, Pietro would then also feel a subtle desperation growing within. He said:
"I want to show you something. Can you fly us to James' office?"
And just as he had hoped, that caught her attention.
"Did you forget something?" She asked.
"No, just something I want… no, something I need to show you."
She wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to get at, but he was still her father at the end of the day. So she had no intention of distrusting anything he had to say. Thus, she swiftly picked him up off the ground and carried him away, casually flying down the hallway and out into the open sky.
Within just a mere few seconds, they had arrived at Ironwood's office in a large military base near the heart of the Valley. Of course, flying so fast, Weiss was sure to coat her father in a strong protective layer of her own Aura to avoid the wind resistance and any potential whiplash.
Entering inside, Weiss could see that everything was left just the way it was before Ironwood was hospitalized. A simple desk with the General's nameplate on top, with a big bookshelf placed in the back from where he would sit.
Weiss wasn't entirely sure why her father wanted to be here. And things made even less sense when he reached forth onto the desk to summon Ironwood's holographic computer. Typing in a passcode, Pietro had managed to access the files within. From this, Weiss deduced that Ironwood must have trusted him to this great of a degree.
That trust would be shown further the moment Pietro pulled forth a flash drive from his breast pocket. He then explained:
"We had planned to show you this when the time is right. But I'm making a judgment call now."
"We?"
From the file inside, Pietro pulled up a video recording of two soldiers in the middle of a training session. Weiss instantly recognized that tall muscular frame of General Ironwood – standing before a younger version of herself. This must have been more than a decade ago, Weiss thought to herself, looking back to this teenager in a military tank top with the slightly baggy white trousers above those strong heavy boots.
The two were each struggling to haul around a gigantic block of dense metal on their shoulders. Weiss remembered these sessions well. They were very much trying to push their physical strength to their absolute limits at the time, so they explicitly did not activate their Aura. There, in the video Ironwood could be seen lifting a twenty-ton slab, while Weiss remembered that she was trying to push herself to one hundred, sweating profusely from the effort. The both of them had managed to get so much stronger since those days.
But the one thing Weiss still did not understand was why this session was filmed. And who exactly was the one filming this in the first place? The only person Weiss could guess was her father.
"Good work, soldier," Ironwood said as he laid down his block of metal. "Why don't you go get some sleep? We'll pick this back up tomorrow."
"I can still keep going, sir. We've barely just begun."
"This isn't a request. This is an order. We all have our limits. Go rest."
Hesitating, Weiss eventually turned to face the General, saluting him:
"Yes, sir. As you wish."
Carrying the large block of metal on her shoulders, Weiss walked away out of the camera's field of view. And eventually, there would be nothing but silence between the General and his close friend Pietro after Weiss had closed the door to this training facility.
"Are you still filming?" Ironwood asked.
"Yes, it's still on."
Clearing his throat – Ironwood began:
"Miss Schnee… Weiss. This will be part one of a series of recordings I will be making as part of… let's just say future instructions in cases of great emergencies and national crises. These are messages, instructions, and lessons I want to prepare over the next couple of years or so. Your enhanced super hearing has not yet been fully developed at this point in time. Which is a good thing, because a lot of what I want to teach you is beyond what you're currently capable of."
Ironwood then proceeded to point his finger downward, presumably to where the flash drive was. He continued:
"Below is a series of files. Training instructions, lessons, and stories. They will test you to your very limits. It sounds absurd, yes, to suggest you have a limit, but it is necessary. I… I never wanted you to be held down by these – burdens. The burdens of the world on your shoulders, on 'our' shoulders. I want… I want you to enjoy your youth. And yet, here you are, ready and wanting to serve. There will come a day when you will grow into the most powerful being on this planet. That day might have already been here all things considered. So I really can't stop you."
Turning to her father, Weiss was still not entirely sure what he really wanted to tell her with this. Instead of an answer, Pietro simply pointed his finger at the screen, telling her to keep watching.
Ironwood continued:
"I… how do I say this? I admit… I'm not the best at this kind of thing. But, I care for all of my soldiers. The men and women who serve under me are not only my responsibility – they are…"
Ironwood sighed, shaking his head before resuming:
"They are family. A kingdom is a family, because at the end of the day, no matter how distant, every single one of us shares the blood that makes us Atlesian. Our blood is not magical or sacred, but this is the blood of ordinary men. Those ordinary made exceptional by the inspiration of a Superman. There will come a day when you gain the power to conquer the cosmos. But in that same vein, there will also come a day when you will feel completely helpless despite having the strength to hold up the Heavens. I… don't want you to go through that day. Not without a guiding hand. Do well to remember that you are my best soldier, yes. But more than anything – you are Atlesian. So for that, I just want to let you know – you are not alone. What kind of a General will I be if I neglect the well-being of those in my care? So I will be here, maybe not physically, but here regardless."
With a heavy heart pounding, Weiss would then for the first time in a long time – voluntarily set her foot down the solid ground to firmly walk forth, laying her hand onto Ironwood's desk. Inside her, she felt a swelling emotion of something warm and soothing. Something so unfamiliar she did not really know how to describe precisely. But none of it really mattered, because hearing Ironwood's voice once more as she shouldered this burden was truly everything she could have asked for.
"One final thing. Among the files, all I'll ask of you is to not open the final folder inside. It's encrypted anyway, but it will be revealed, in time. May the power of our nation be with you… Weiss."
