(A/N) I'd like to apologize for this chapter being out three days late. I had to rewrite part of it several times for outside reasons. Also, just to clarify: I storyboarded this months ago, and to quote J.R.R. Tolkien, 'I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and have since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.' None of this is written with any political intent behind it.

The day before I'm set to meet with the Spiders, all hell breaks loose.

After their route at Haven, remaining splinters of the Mistral White Fang dissolved back into the Faunus population, which for the most part acted complicit in keeping them out of the hands of the authorities. In turn, the city guard began all but banning all Faunus citizens from Central and Upper Mistral, including the few that were fortunate enough to live or work there. Scuffles broke out, and a few Faunus were arrested in the early days, but it was only after one was killed that things really began to get out of hand. The Faunus grouped up for protests and in turn the guardsmen came out in force, fully armed and ready to lay waste the moment anyone stepped out of line.

I saw the signs, but thought I'd be out of the city by the time the tensions boiled over. I was wrong.

The powder keg exploded after only two days of protests. The question of who fired first has a different answer depending on which side you ask, but the real answer is that it doesn't matter. Guardsman opened fire on civilians with nonlethal Sound Dust weaponry. Civilians attacked the guardsmen with whatever improvised or illegal weapons they could muster. Peaceful protests broke down into rioting and looting.

Despite being a Faunus, I escape the worst of it unscathed, because the guardsmen and most of those who sympathize with them pulled out from Lower Mistral fairly early on. They set up a defensive perimeter on the lifts and other entrances to Central Mistral, giving up on enforcing rule of law anywhere lower than that and leaving the slums to tear themselves apart. As much as I hate to give them any credit, they played it pretty damn efficiently- at no cost to themselves, they kept the part of the city that they actually care about safe.

With them gone, the rage of Lower Mistral turns inward. The rioters' anger apparently isn't greater than their fear, because rather than attack the police lines, they simply move to looting their own fucking shops. Even the massive factories are sealed off, their management airlifted out, and apparently none of the rioters are pissed enough to break in. Instead, they break into the homes and businesses of people just as poor as they are and set fire to buildings that their hiked taxes will pay to rebuild- if the Council bothers rebuilding them at all.

As someone who has walked most of their life with a rage that they cannot act upon or even acknowledge, there's a deep resentment in me for the fickle, pathetic, infantile nature of the rioters' actions.

"Such a fucking waste," I murmur, looking down from a factory roof that I snuck up to using Aura-enhanced leaps, eating week-old ration bars while I watch a city burn.

Arnaut's surprised. "I wouldn't have thought you'd care about the property destruction."

I snort. "I don't."

"Then what…?"

"It's a waste of… anger." I gesture up towards the surrounding chaos. "They're all destroying and robbing their own neighbors while the system goes untouched. Eventually they're going to run out of steam, all of this bullshit will stop, and nothing's going to change because of it. This is like… a temper tantrum. It's pointless."

"'A child's rage leaves through the lungs. A man's rage stays in the heart,'" Arnaut murmurs in the tone he uses when quoting some old Rihfarian maxim.

I don't respond, distracted by the realization that this is so very similar to how things were in Southfen: a practically free opportunity to go steal whatever supplies I need, and this time there won't be a legendary Huntsman arriving to stop me.

But for some reason, I don't rise from where I'm sitting. Arnaut quiets as well, perhaps sensing the disquiet within me.

It's only once I watch a group of three Faunus teenagers throw a rock through a store window in full view of a security camera that I realize what's changed.

Roman might have looked down on the White Fang as animals, but it was because they embodied the very shortsightedness and savagery that the humans accused them of for all those centuries. He- and I as well- looked at them like dogs barking away uselessly, pointlessly, getting nothing done.

But what's on display before me right now? These people? If the White Fang are dogs, then these are cockroaches. Mindless little things skittering around, eating whatever's put in front of them. Roman would have hated this, and even though I know he's gone, some resilient little part of me still doesn't want to disappoint him.

Despite the sadness that lingers, the rage that threatens, I let out a little snort of laughter at the sentimentality.

Arnaut's cautious, as if he's afraid of breaking the silence. "What's so funny?"

The introspective peace fades as I straighten up, turning away from the scene to look towards him. "Roman… would have hated this."

He nods, slowly, not pressing me. I can't tell if he understood my meaning, and almost ask, but before I do he rises to his feet. "It's been a week since we last trained, so let's go over the fundamentals again."

"Let's not," I reply, standing and stalking off across the factory roof. I'm somewhere that wasn't designed for people to be, judging by the interlaced pipes and wiring and large industrial vents all around me. It takes a while, but eventually I find a spot without enough free space to comfortably perform the necessary movements. "If I have to do Lashing Branches outside of a fucking fight one more time-"

"You have to master it," Arnaut sighs.

"I have."

"Then show me," he grins, gesturing for me to begin.

After a night curled up next to a monstrously large smokestack, I wake up early and can't fall back to sleep. Sleeping in this industrial mess might've been the safest option to avoid any trouble with pro- or anti-Faunus rioters for the night, but it brought me uncomfortably back to my time here four years ago. In a way it's ironic how I could manage to fall asleep in Lower Mistral then, but now, after having escaped years ago, I lay awake for hours looking up at the stars through a tangled chaos of machinery, my mind unwilling to grant me rest.

There's just… something about this entire city. It gives me an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach and the back of my mind.. I suspect that's another part of why I turned down Jakkar's offer yesterday. The deeper rage that I'm so well-acquainted with swallowing everywhere else is far closer to the surface here. More personal, and by extension more difficult to keep my mind off of.

I can suppress my anger towards most of Remnant for what they've done to the Faunus, but I can't push down my wrath towards Mistral for what it's done to me. Especially not when every soot-stained building and grimy street and orphaned kid tug on my darker memories.

But I stifle my resentment with the simple reminder to myself that today, I get to see Neo again, and then we can leave this place far behind us.

Arnaut's sitting off to the side, eyes not entirely present but alert enough to pick up my sudden movement and flicker to me. "Ah, you're awake."

"I miss anything while I was out?" I ask, clambering up to my feet.

"Besides more apocalyptic collapse of society?" he asks darkly, and then lightens up a bit with a small grin. "Nothing much."

"Right," I confirm, before pulling out my Scroll and checking the time. When I see it's only six-thirty, I wince. "Son of a bitch. Fifteen and a half hours."

Arnaut, as per usual, infers my meaning from my expression and the half-muttered thoughts. "Fifteen hours until you're to meet with Mabel?"

"Mabel," I murmur. "What's the story there, anyway?"

He blinks. "Why do you ask?"

I raise an eyebrow. "It's fifteen hours until I actually have somewhere I need to be, and learning about Lil' Miss Malachite's family origins seems more interesting than another lecture on the Wind Knight's military achievements."

"A fair point," he concedes, before his eyes get lost somewhere decades ago in the way they always do when his family comes up. "Although there isn't particularly much to tell. At least, not that I know of. She was my cousin growing up, but wasn't around very often- I'd assume with the other side of her family."

I unwrap a ration bar and try to focus on Arnaut's words over the disgusting taste. "So she was half Armstrong and somehow it was the other half of her family that she ended up with?"

"Yes, it's-" Arnaut hesitates. "Oh, right. She's half Fuilii."

I slowly shake my head.

"The Fuilii are-" Arnaut frowns. "Are you certain I've never spoken of this before?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," I reply. "Or you did and I wasn't paying attention."

He levels an annoyed look at me before proceeding. "The Fuilii are to North Vale as the Armstrongs are to the South- or, were, I suppose. They were hit harder in the collapse of the nobility; Trueman Armstrong managed to keep almost all of our properties, so our agricultural fortune never really suffered, but they lost most of their land holdings. Oskri did allow them to keep ownership of the Dust Mines in the Dragonspine mountains, though, so they weren't as hard-hit as the Winchesters."

I sigh. "And Lil' Miss?"

"Right. Well, she was born to my uncle-once-removed, who wasn't part of the inner group for our family- for whatever reason, he didn't inherit any land when Trueman passed…" Arnaut trails off, eyebrows knitting as if only just now starting to wonder about the events he's recounting. "Anyway, as a result, I didn't really know her very well growing up. Only saw her at the family reunions once per year. She's got the Armstrong gold-blonde, but her complexion's trademark Fuilii…" Arnaut's buried in his memories now, murmuring quietly to himself. "Trueman used to call them pinkies, for the skin and hair…"

I gently step in: "So why-"

He snaps out of it. "Anyway! I suppose she must have married into the last name 'Malachite,' now, so it doesn't much matter."

"That another one of your noble families?" I ask.

"No. I've never even heard of it before," Arnaut replies.

A pause passes, and then I check my Scroll again. "Great, that just leaves another… fifteen and a quarter hours."

"Shall we get back to training, then?"

"Fine," I respond quickly, grateful for the offer of another distraction.

After nearly ten straight hours of swordsmanship and Aura training, I'm bored out of my skull. For whatever reason, doing it stationary in one place feels a thousand times more stagnant than doing it while walking. Something about practicing while hiking made me feel like I was… I don't know, progressing more than standing around here for half a day has.

Arnaut suddenly hesitates, tilting his head at me but evidently deciding not to say whatever it is.

"What is it?" I ask, honestly just looking for anything to make the waiting go by quicker. Each second feels like it's ticking slower and slower the closer I get to the nine pm meeting time.

"I was thinking about how you're going to meet back up with Neopolitan, ostensibly one of the very, very limited few people whose opinions of you you likely care about, yes?"

I nod, curious as to what he's building up to.

"Well, are you sure you want to look like…" he trails off, but not in a way that indicates he's finished talking. I wait a few seconds as he looks me over, feeling oddly self-conscious about the whole thing. "You know, I was about to ask if you wanted to wash up, but…"

I blink. "…Huh?"

"It's been a month since you showered, and you've spent most of that month exerting yourself…" Arnaut still has a vaguely puzzled air to his voice. I'm worried at first, but the feeling fades when he finally clarifies: "How is it that you don't reek to high heaven?"

Of all things I'd been worried about him saying, that was not it. "...What? Can you even smell?"

"In all seriousness, how-" he pauses. "Oh. Right, you're cold-blooded. Gods, is Faunus biology ever confusing."

I don't know whether to be offended by that, and end up shrugging it off. "I guess-"

"Right, you don't sweat, so you wouldn't ever have issues with degrading clothing outside of wear and tear… but then if you really are cold-blooded, then how do you regulate temperature…" he trails off again, before answering his own question. "Aura. Twin Gods, is that why you hate the cold?"

"I don't hate the…" my protest dies on my lips as he levels an unimpressed gaze towards me. But I don't hate it. It's just… an uncomfortable reminder of my time in Mistral, and of my time before. In the end, I say nothing. It's better to let him think it's due to my biology.

"You've been on edge while outdoors from the moment we left South Vale. You can't fool me as easily as you fool yourself," he sighs. "And besides, all that's beside the point. You're filthy."

He isn't wrong, and as deep as my disdain usually is for things like my appearance, I can acknowledge that I've got grime under my nails and soot staining my hands and hair and and face. Some tiny part of me doesn't want Neo's first sight of me in half a year to be this much of a mess-

No, not me, I realize. Neo knows me like this. She first met me like this. It's an instinct of Arnaut's to try to look perfect, and knowing that makes me curl my lip and shake my head. "Yeah, if I wasn't about to risk sneaking through the defensive blockade for a hotel room, you can take a wild guess at whether I'm going to do it for a shower."

Arnaut looks like that was the answer he'd been more expecting. "Ah, well. Then, shall we train?"

"Ye-" I hesitate, contemplating spending another few hours running through Aura reinforcement and technique in this little clearing atop the factory. I have an immense tolerance for repetitive training, but even I have my limit. "No."

He shrugs his acceptance. "Then what, pray tell, will we be doing for the next five hours?"

I pause. For a long, painful stretch, my mind blanks on me. There's a little stubborn part of me that doesn't want to walk back on what I said, but I genuinely can't think of anything that wouldn't be a complete waste of time.

However, my salvation comes in the form of a new party entering the fray, far off where the Path of Ozuki meets Central Mistral.

The Path of Ozuki is the largest single road in the entire city- hell, the entire kingdom. It's also the oldest, and stretches all the way from the largest city in Southern Mistral, Nantoshu, all the way to Mistral City, across the valley, and up Mount Raion to the gates of Haven Academy itself. The few times Roman brought me up to Upper Mistral, it was easy to see that the Path fits up there, ancient carved stone steps matching all the other grandiose, old-style architecture.

Down here, though? It's an anomaly. In a realm of twisting metal and efficient industry, the single wide stone road is astoundingly out of place. In fact, its separation from the rest of the city is more than just in style.

When the city planners first expanded the Lion's Run, they failed to account for the influx of people to Lower Mistral, as well as the later-discovered stores of Dust beneath the feet of the mountain. In order to fit the mines as well as a rapidly expanding population, all without letting the undesirables up to Central Mistral, they ended up simply building down.

Lower Mistral goes far below ground level. In fact, 'ground level' itself can be difficult to find without looking out at the great metal wall keeping the waters of the Lion's Run from crashing down into the hollowed-out earth. Where the solid roots of the mountain once were, there's now only a chaotic mess of metal buildings crisscrossed by bridges and paths, stretching kilometers deep beneath the ground. As long as there's Dust to mine, the edges of the pit will keep expanding, and the miners and factory workers will keep coming in to feed the hungry beast.

However, the group that is currently walking down the pristine stone steps of the Path of Ozuki are not miners or factory workers, nor are they city guards or Huntsmen or even White Fang members. They're… a medley of oddly dressed Faunus, all armed with the same shields and batons. The spot where the Hardlight Dust walls were put up to seal off Lower Mistral has been opened up for the long stream of them to walk through. A veritable horde of them come treading their way down the old, steep stairway.

I suppose it's a fitting route for what appears to be the much-discussed Menagerie residents, walking solemnly down into the thick of the slums. They're led by two people, the first being a massive man in traditional-looking armor pieces over a long purple coat, with a wild mane of black hair and an equally large beard.

"Arnaut, who-"

"Ghira Belladonna," Arnaut identifies. "He was a war hero from the Faunus Rights Revolution who transitioned into founding and leading the White Fang afterwards, but stepped down once they started getting violent."

"So he's a cowa-"

My words fail me when I see the other person at the forefront of the procession. The facts just presented to me by Arnaut suddenly cease to mesh with reality, because standing right there, beside the man who ostensibly quit the White Fang for their violent tendencies, is the right-hand-woman of Adam Taurus- Ilia Amolita.

"What the fuck are you doing here," I murmur, narrowing my eyes. I abandon stealth and vault upwards, rebounding diagonally off two pipes to catch the edge of a vent, and hoisting myself up onto it to get a better, unobscured view.

"You know her?" Arnaut asks.

A small grin crosses my face. With all the lectures Arnaut gives, it's nice to be reminded that I still know more about my world than he does. "Yeah, she's with Adam. Worked with her once or twice on some of the earliest Dust robberies in Vale, before she got sent to Menagerie for whatever reason and I got sent to Vacuo."

Arnaut turns back to the scene, eyes troubled. "That's worrying. You said she was firmly with Adam's… ideals?"

"As firmly as anyone. More, even," I reply. "Do you think she could've turned Ghira?"

"That's… extremely unlikely," Arnaut eventually answers. "Ghira Belladonna's one of the very, very, very few political leaders in Remnant that I would consider truly honorable. In the few times I was sent to Menagerie for larger jobs, I found him to be a man who genuinely cares for his people and wishes them better lives."

"Evidently, not enough to fight for them," I respond drily.

It irks Arnaut more than I'd expected. "Don't slander someone like Ghira. He earned his right to peace in the Revolution."

There's a story there, but it's one for another day, because the majority of the little figures are now close enough for me to identify that they're all armed. The realization brings a prickling feeling down my spine, the beginnings of an unspoken horror- are they planning to slaughter the rioters to appease Upper Mistral?

I gather up Aura in my boots and blast it out, aiming diagonally downwards towards an unoccupied rooftop. A single high, arcing jump would attract too many eyes, so instead I stay as close as I can to the tops of the buildings as I rebound leap after leap, sprinting across the odd rooftop before vaulting over another street.

There really is no ground level here. Most of the streets are slanted downwards, the largest ones like the Path of Ozuki built upon great stilts while the smaller ones are suspended between the buildings themselves. It's hard to get used to and nearly impossible to navigate without experience, but if you know your way around almost everything is connected.

Although sometimes not in traditional ways. I run along the top of an industrial runoff pipeline for a decent distance before jumping off it to rebound off a factory wall and land on the mouth of a heating vent, nimbler now than I've ever been in my life. With all the Aura training I've been doing, I can even vault the ten-to-twenty-meter gaps between the buildings without expending anything. I try to keep the jumps as fast and as direct as I can, so that even when I do draw eyes they merely see a blur of grey against grey and think nothing of it.

Eventually I come to a stop on top of a very old office building, stone beginning to crack and crumble away at the edges. I don't pay it any attention- my eyes are for the procession of Menagerie Faunus, who have stepped forward almost entirely off of the steps and out into the slums. They're standing on one of the very few wide open flat spaces in Lower Mistral- the Plaza of… something that I can't remember and don't care enough to try any more. It's shaped like a vast gear and branches out into most of the main pathways leading through this area of the city, the edges lined by shops, most of which have already been looted.

Still at the very front of the group, Ghira Belladonna raises a small amplifier module to his mouth and begins to speak in a deep, almost fatherly voice. It shocks me nearly enough to fall off my perch when I hear his voice reverberate from behind me and turn to see his face projected on one of the massive wallscreens usually reserved for citywide announcements and nonstop advertisements. I can see the same video feed of him on other screens in all directions, above and below, projecting his speech to the entirety of Lower Mistral.

"Faunus of Mistral, my name is Ghira Belladonna. Thirty-five years ago, I served as the General of the Faunus Union. Thirty years ago, I was the founder of the White Fang. For the past twenty years, I have sat Chieftain of Menagerie… but today, I stand before you as just another Faunus, as do my brothers and sisters from Menagerie.

"I'm sure you've heard rumors of the attack on Haven Academy. I am here to put those rumors to rest. One week ago, Adam Taurus led a strike group composed of much of the Vale and Mistral White Fang's forces in an attempt to sabotage the Academy and its CCT tower."

Slowly but surely, protestors are moving inwards towards the newcomers. Where the streets were filled with chaos, Ghira's beacon of order creates an almost visible beacon of calm. The Faunus come from alleyways, from rooftops, from other streets and other parts of the city, in towards his resolute voice.

"Upper Mistral has condemned the attack as an act of terrorism… as do I," Ghira states firmly, raising a hand when the uproar starts. Miraculously, people actually quiet for him, and nobody throws anything at him before he can continue: "An attack against the Academies, against the CCT network, against the Huntsmen and Huntresses who risk their lives each and every day to protect all people, Human and Faunus alike, is the polar opposite of what I started the White Fang for. Adam Taurus's heinous actions in Vale were not a victory for the Faunus, they were a loss for us as much, perhaps even more than they were a loss for the Humans. There was only one winner from that day, and it was the Grimm."

There's a muttering from the crowd, but none try to interrupt him. By now their numbers dwarf the Menagerie residents, swarming from all over Lower Mistral to see the spectacle.

It's even more than that, though. His appearance, his words, bring a calmness beyond their content. As people look up and see him, they start to lower their makeshift weapons. I watch as the rioters continue to come, faster and faster, emerging from ruined shops and alleyways and sacked homes. Some make the journey across the maze of pathways up towards the plaza, but most just stand there on the streets, looking up at the nearest screen. Bit by bit, Ghira claims the eyes of nearly all of Lower Mistral.

If the growing numbers bother Ghira at all, he doesn't show it. "Our people have long suffered under the oppression of the humans, this is true. But they are not our enemies- some among them, yes," he concedes when there's another swell of disquiet, "But not all. Just as some among you, but not all, would have destroyed the CCT tower and condemned Mistral to long years of discord and chaos. We of Menagerie came here, across the Sea of Sloth and along the Path of Ozuki, across the continent of Anima, because we believe in a better future than the one that Adam Taurus would condemn us all to."

Now, his expression drops into a more solemn, thoughtful one, and you can almost see the crowd follow the shift like the orchestra to his conductor. Arnaut's paying rapt attention, back respectfully straight. He notices my eyes on him and nods toward Ghira. "You should watch closely, Dreki. He's one of the greatest speakers of our era."

I turn back towards Ghira just as he continues, more softly. "Trust me, I know your pain. I was born into a world that told me my fate was to mine the Dust of men who saw me as an animal, and that my childrens' fates could only ever be the same. I understand your anger, because I have felt it myself. Thirty-five years ago, I led a war against the humans to try to fix what was broken, and I'm sure you feel that you are doing the same now."

I begin to realize how masterfully he's playing them. Building himself up like he has, and then humbly stating that they are doing the same things he did- it's a farce, and it has the intended effect right away. Protestors and rioters shuffle, look away, murmur a sea of disquieted little replies, because deep down they know what they're doing is selfish and pointless compared the the war he fought.

"A man once said to me, 'A child's rage leaves through the lungs, but a man's rage stays in the heart," Ghira continues, shaming them further, but in an indirect way to make himself still seem an ally. "And I have kept enough rage for ten lifetimes within mine. You have each kept your own, sparked by your own stories of the system holding you down. I do not presume to know each of your stories, but I do know your rage."

"And because I know your rage, I am not here to tell you that things aren't so bad," Ghira says gently, the words a ploy to distance himself from the politicians who make empty platitudes about how much they've improved life down here. Now that I've seen one of his manipulations, more and more start becoming clear. "But what I am here to say is this: our people have earned a thousand times more through peace than they ever did through war. It was not threats that ended the indentured servitude programs, the forced mine recruitments, the species interbreeding bans… it was discussion. Calm, peaceful words to the ones in power. I was there at the table. I negotiated for the Faunus on Vytal Island.

"You see, when we speak through peace, we win," he says so fucking airily. "Ours is the side of compassion. Of reason. And if weapons are put down, then reason can prevail," he continues, and everyone is so deeply enthralled that they miss the grand logical leap he just took.

I don't.

With a sneer, I shift back from the ledge of the rooftop, shaking my head.

Arnaut doesn't want to pry himself away from watching. "Dreki, what is it?"

"Bullshit," I spit. "He just talked in circles around what really happened for the sake of his point."

Arnaut still doesn't turn. "What are you talking about?"

"He said that peace is what got the Faunus as far as they have," I sneer. "Spewed some bullshit about negotiations getting them what they wanted, not threats."

"And…?" Arnaut's not paying enough attention to pick the statement apart. Or maybe he is, and he's just being a contrarian.

"And what the fuck earned them a spot in those negotiations in the first place?" I ask. "It was war."

Arnaut doesn't respond for the longest time, until he eventually lets out a slow sigh. "It's necessary to calm the crowd, Dreki-"

Then he did know. I feel surge of disappointment, both in him and in Ghira. "He's doing the fucking dirty work for Upper Mistral right now-"

My sentence abruptly ends when I feel a point press up against the back of my neck, and then just barely pierce my skin.

Fuck.

Once something's through the skin, activating Aura is far less effective at keeping it from going further. Not that I'm sure I could even activate my Aura quickly enough before the blade severed my spine.

However, the fact that it hasn't already means that whoever it is wants me alive for some reason. My only hope is to work with that. "Whoever you are-"

"Dragon, right?"

I sag in relief, unfortunately causing the pinprick to open a long, thin cut two inches along my neck. "Holy shit, Ilia?"

I can hear her confusion in her voice. "Dragon, what are you doing here?"

"Hel, Ilia, maybe don't open with the fucking sharp end of your weapon," I say, raising my hands above my head. "I'm not here to fuck with your… whatever this is. Anti-protest, I guess."

She relaxes the weapon. "Good."

I turn around to see her. She's out of the skintight tactical outfit she always wore when working for Adam, now in much more casual clothing, but her weapon's the same as it always was- a long, pointed whip that can harden into a rapier at the press of a button. I feel a trickle of blood run down my neck, as well as a twinge of pain- "You fucking stabbed me!"

She's vaguely apologetic. "Sorry, but you were hiding on a rooftop with a perfect sniping angle on Ghira, Dragon-" she hesitates. "What's your actual name?"

"What?"

"Dragon's so… impersonal," she says, raising a hand self-consciously behind her head.

Arnaut chimes in. "She's lying, Dreki. The hand's a giveaway, as well as-"

"The eyes," I murmur. "Yeah, I see it." Her eyes flickered away from me as she said the words.

I offer my hand to her for a handshake, and the moment she takes it, I activate Arnaut's Semblance-

Flickers of crime, murder, theft, all done behind a red silhouette with bull's horns and a twisted rose emblem. A deep shame accompanies each scene- breaking into a train car with the red figure, cutting through the back of a Dust armory alongside a cocky, sneering orange-haired human and a grey Faunus girl with dead eyes-

Ilia narrows her eyes when I don't speak-

A flash of the same grey Faunus girl with a hollow gaze and hands stained red with blood-

And then she pulls her hand from my grip and the visions are gone, leaving me to wince and apologize- "Sorry, got lost in my thoughts…"

But within, I'm trying to figure out what I just saw. Apparently she's ashamed of the things she did with Adam- did with us. That would suggest the opposite of my theory- instead of her turning Ghira, Ghira must have turned her. That, in turn, makes her dangerous in a wholly different way.

I level my gaze at her, remembering how she saw me- almost soulless. An empty person devoid of motivation. I suppose the first step in fixing that would be to give her a name, right? "My name's Dreki."

She nods, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression that I ended up sharing that information with her. "Mine's Ilia-"

"I know," I say, nodding. "So… how much of what Ghira just said was true?"

Ilia's put off by the hard pivot. "Huh? I… all of it…" She catches my disbelieving expression and seems personally insulted. "Look, I'm done with the White Fang, alright? Adam's gone. Even if he tries to come back, his people won't follow him after what he's done. Especially not after today…"

Her eyes drift back towards the view of the plaza, and her legs carry her to the edge of the roof. I can't help but follow in her wake, turning back just as Ghira seems to be entering the final leg of his speech.

"I was the one who raised the White Fang into existence. I watched it flourish, watched it carry us step by step towards our equality through peaceful protest and demonstration. Yet now, I stand as the father of a monster that has threatened to tear the Kingdoms apart, and heavy as my heart is, I know I must step in.

"The White Fang should be remembered for the good it earned, and yet now it is known only for the harm it caused. Its legacy, its very core has been corrupted. In the wake of Sienna Khan's passing, I am hereby stepping back to resume my role as head of the White Fang…"

The crowd hangs on his breath, quieting almost completely at the audacity of his statement, and in wonder for what he might say next.

"And disbanding it," he finishes. There's an immediate uproar, but he just raises a hand and keeps talking, and again the mob quiets for him. They respect his authority more than they did armed city guards holding rifles pointed at them. "The name of the White Fang is tainted by the blood of too many innocents, now. Tainted by the actions of a misguided few who in turn misled many more. It cannot go on. But in its wake, I am also here to announce the formation of the White Hand."

On cue, several of the Menagerie Faunus in the crowd behind him raise poles with banners on them- each one painted with a white symbol of a hand, palm-forward with fingers spread and outstretched upwards.

"A Fang can only tear and maim," Ghira continues. "It was a symbol of a time long passed, where what our people needed was violence. Now, we need the quiet strength to build a better future through peace, so our symbol will be a hand- because a hand is something all of us have, human and Faunus alike. It represents the power you have, the choice- will you use it to destroy, or to create? To break your own homes, or to rebuild them?"

He's not finished, but I am. I turn away from the display and stalk off towards the edge of the roof.

Ilia catches my shoulder. I have to restrain myself from instinctively breaking her grip and retaliating. "Drag- Dreki," she amends, just the tiniest trace of empathy in her eyes, "I'm sorry for what happened to Torchwick."

"No, you aren't," I reply, emotionless.

She blinks, opens her mouth to deny it, but doesn't. Instead, she releases a long breath and looks up at me, worried. "Are you gonna try to get revenge for him?"

"No," I lie, with a smooth confidence that shocks even myself. There's a speck of irony in the fact that Arnaut's lessons in presenting false confidence just ended up making me a better liar.

Ilia buys it, but doesn't let go. "Dreki, you… you could join us? The White Hand could use every helping hand it can get right now, and since Roman's…"

I shake my head and roll my shoulder out of her grip. "No." It's the nicest way to phrase my disgust for what she and Ghira have created. She doesn't make any further attempt to stop me as I stride away from her and out over the edge of the rooftop.

Ghira's speech ended up working, if not a miracle, then something pretty damn close to one. Bit by bit word passed through the disarrayed city, and even though only a fraction of the people joined the White Hand, it was enough to cause a spreading wave of sanity. In the space of hours, most of the rioting and looting died down. The return of the city guard was touch-and-go for a while, but even those tensions seem to have been dampened by the atmosphere of brotherhood that Ghira crafted.

However, I don't miss that they still aren't allowing Faunus up into Central Mistral without identity and weapons checks.

I finally surrender and spend another three hours training with Arnaut until finally the time comes for my reunion with Lil' Miss Malachite. A half hour before it's slated, I start to make my way across the rooftops towards the Riverbed.

When I get there, the place has night mist rolling in over it and seems a ghost town. Most of the criminals were either participating in the riots or seem to have holed up in their respective dens, while the rioters themselves don't dare enter their domain. As a result, the streets are strangely empty now, despite it only being ten at night.

I take the empty streets anyway. These roofs are older, more fragile, and low enough that using them as my route wouldn't really lend any extra stealth.

When I reach the bar, the only thing out of the ordinary that I see is that one of the windows has been shattered outward into the adjoining alleyway. The fragments of broken glass are strewn radially around one spot on the ground, as if it were the epicenter for some sort of tiny whirlwind.

My curiosity starts to grow, but I shelf the issue for later, turning to the purple curtain and stepping through it right on time for my appointment.

Inside, things are equally odd. A few tables are overturned or broken, there's shattered glasses all over the bar, and even a scorched crater still smoldering in the floor at the very center of the room.

I eye the surroundings warily. The Spiders on guard eye me right back, but even they have traces of lingering worry on their faces. Whatever it was that happened here must have scared them.

However, it failed to scare Lil' Miss Malachite. "Dreki! Come on over here, sweetheart, and let's discuss your little friend Neo, hmm?"

Even though I need her help, hearing her talk about Neo sends a little shudder through me, especially when the nickname only me and Roman ever used comes from her unnaturally red lips. Her organization's name is fitting, because even despite her short, plump build, there's something undeniably arachnid in the way her eyes glitter with a predatory interest in me.

Regardless, I have little choice but to walk forward into her web. Once I take my seat across the table from her, she speaks: "Now then, I've had a good little while to think about your proposal, and I've decided I'll take it. You get a question, I get a question, nice and fair, don't you think?"

There's a trap here, but I can't see it. I shrug. "Sure. I already answered yours, so where's-"

"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, sweetheart," she warns, waggling a short finger at me. "It ain't your turn yet."

"What?"

She holds up three fingers, and then bends one down. "I already asked you one question, but I still got two more for you. After you answer those, you can ask me any three you want. Sound fair?"

I don't like this. Roman was always nervous about going to Malachite for information because of how much she could do with any little bit he accidentally leaked to her. Even asking her a question reveals something about your plans, so for me to blindly agree to answer two full questions of hers?

But at the same time, she's my only lifeline to Neo. In fact, it's already over a month and a half since she left me that message in Higanbana- she could have already moved on from Mistral City by now.

"I'll give you one," I finally decide, trying to project strength.

I can tell it fails by the unimpressed look she gives me. I may be better at bluffing now, but apparently it's not enough to fool a woman like Malachite. "I don't bargain, sweetheart. Take it or leave it."

Bitch, I think, but the words don't make it to my lips. She knows full well I need her help to get to Neo, knows that I'm not in any position to haggle. She doesn't need to give even a millimeter, so she won't. And as much as her superior attitude pisses me off, the rage is as useless now as it's been for my entire life. In the end, as it always seems to go, I do the inevitable: swallow my pride. "Fine." I nod deeply, not out of respect, but in order to keep my burning eyes out of sight of hers.

"Wonderful!" She claps her hands together and leans back in her chair. At the signal, a Spider steps forward with a small electronic readout device, from which a cord trails over to a metal shackle, which the girl tries to attach to my wrist-

I yank my arm away and step backwards, arm snapping up to Aurora's blade.

In the space of a heartbeat, half the bar's standing as well, and fifteen firearms are leveled towards me. Aura or no, I'd be dead in seconds if they opened fire.

"What is this?" I hiss, eyes flickering around. "Did you get paid to capture me?"

"Oh, calm down," Malachite responds in a conversationally annoyed tone. She waves a hand towards the Spiders surrounding us: "And all y'all better calm down, too." At her command, the weapons drop and the bar retreats back into its facade of peace. Finally, she turns to look up at me drily: "And you, sit the hell down. Trust me, if I wanted to capture you, you wouldn't know it until you woke up chained down in a box. It's a lie detector."

I hesitate, starting to lower my hand but pausing a few times along the way, until I murmur to Arnaut, "Is that a thing?"

"If it is, I've never heard of it," he replies. "But… it's possible. More likely, someone in this room has a Semblance that can detect lies, and she uses the farce of the device to hide that."

Fuck. With incredible reluctance, I place my arm on the table and allow the Spider to place the shackle around my wrist-

But from the moment the cold metal touches me, my heart starts to go haywire, and a touch of panic enters me, memories I thought I'd repressed long ago starting to surface again-

So I yank my arm away, and only bring it back to grab the metal of the cuffs in my hand. "No shackles," I state firmly. The risk implicit in letting Lil' Miss in on that particular trigger of mine is a necessary one to keep the Grimm under control.

Lil' Miss Malachite tilts her head. "No lie detector, no deal."

I look again at the metal cuff. It's such a tiny thing, sitting there on the table. I know I could break it in an instant if any danger arose. So, as dangerous as the memories are… I wipe them away with thoughts of Neo, refusing to allow something so small to keep me from finally meeting back up with her.

I bite my lip and offer my wrist once more. The Spider snaps the cuff shut around it, and with a whirring noise one end feeds into the other, shortening the loop of metal until it bites into my skin on one side and scales on the other. It hurts, but the pain's a useful distraction from the darker thoughts.

"Alrighty then, sweetheart. You might feel a little bit of a prick." It's my only warning before a lance of pain shoots up my arm. I gasp and slam my other fist into the table, hard enough to splinter the wood, and look at the cuff with wide eyes.

"What the fuck-"

"It's gotta enter your bloodstream to measure your heart rate," Malachite explains. As she talks, the pain dulls and lessens until it's a muted ache rather than a stab. "Now then. My first question's a simple one: how'd you survive your run-in with Manhunter Marie?"

For the last few days, I'd been crafting my answer to dodge the question she asked me last time, which was whether I was the Grimm Guardian. This sudden new one throws me for a loop, and I hesitate for a long time, unable to mask the surprise. "I…"

"Any day now, sweetheart," she sighs.

Every second that passes makes it seem like I'm trying to think of a way around the question, so I force a smile and reply firmly. "She chose to let me live after taking a lot of my blood."

I choose not to specify the exact nature of our arrangement, but it's wishful thinking to assume that Lil' Miss can't figure it out on her own from what I've given her. From what I can infer, her question was geared towards finding out both how strong I am and whether Marie is alive. Letting her know either of those doesn't really hurt me…

Oh, wait, I realize, I just let her know that Marie broke the law to let me live. If she tells Ozpin… At that, I mask the tiny grin crossing my face. I may have unintentionally planted the seeds for a solution to my problem. Suddenly, this doesn't seem so bad; just one more question left, and then I can leave this fucking city.

Lil' Miss Malachite nods, expression thoughtful, before continuing:

"Then, number two: on the day of the Reclaiming of Vale, right at the end of the battle, who or what killed twenty-nine Huntsmen and Huntresses inside the crashed Atlesian flagship?"

My heart skips a beat.

I pale, heart stuttering at first and then starting to hammer away so loud I can almost hear it, all the tips Arnaut gave me on bluffing evaporating. Her knowing that is a fucking disaster- it means so many things. She knows I'm the Grimm Guardian, she knows- or at least suspects- my Semblance, she knows what I was doing in Vale, and if I answer honestly she'll be able to confirm all of it.

In my shock, I fail to keep my expression neutral, and in doing so kill any chance of feigning ignorance- which leaves me two options: stick with the original lie I told to Russel about an unusually strong Grimm, or admit the truth.

The truth would fuck me. Giving Lil' Miss Malachite an admission on murdering thirty different Huntsmen, each one carrying the risk of friends or family asking around and finding her… in fact, that might be the root of her question in the first place.

But lying or not answering fucks me just as hard, I realize. Dodging the question is the same as confirming that I did it- worse, in fact, because it's more likely to piss her off.

"Dreki, I think you have to…" Arnaut trails off, voice worried.

"Yeah," I sigh, before looking up to meet Malachite's eyes. My heart is heavy not with the weight of today, but with the weight of knowing that my next words will loom dangerously over me for a very long time. "I'm the one who killed them."

She doesn't react at first, just sets the little monitor of the lie detector down to reach over and take what's left of her little cake and eat it with her bare hand, sucking the last scraps off of each finger individually, fucking taunting me with her-

I quiet the anger, though, when she finally smiles. The superior glitter returns to her eyes, and she nods. "So you did…"

"My turn," I snap, looking up at the Spider. She removes the cuff from my arm, which I shift to look at the underside of- there's a puncture wound right under my wrist that's now slowly oozing blood. I massage the ache away from it as I return my attention to Malachite. "Okay then. My first question is, where is Neo?"

At long last, she sighs and, with a smug little smile, gives me my answer: "She just left for Atlas three hours ago. Paid me to tell you that if you were still alive, you could find her there."

One heartbeat passes. Two. Three.

Then her words fully register and a heavy shudder runs through me. It's all I can do to control my breathing and fix my eyes firmly on the table in front of me as the anger starts to bubble up.

The rage is monstrous. It roars inside my chest, inside my head. In this moment, I want nothing more than the strength to break Lil' Miss Malachite's fingers one after another, to cave in her skull. She fucking knew both Neo and I were here in the city for the last week, and yet she held the information from both of us to suit this sick little joke of hers. To make me answer her fucking questions and to take any extra scrap of Lien from Neo to deliver that message. If she were less of a greedy fucking pig, I'd already be with Neo, but thanks to her scheming, I might have to cross another fucking continent.

Even now she seems to know the thoughts going through my head, fixing me with the tiniest curl to her lip, the corners of her eyes crinkling in the beginnings of a superior smirk. "Go on, sweetheart, get goin'. The next train from Central Station leaves in an hour. If you really run your tail off, you might even catch her."

My Grimm eye flares, and I twitch a centimeter towards her- but halt, letting out a heavy breath, already knowing she has me where she wants me again. "Fuck you," I respond in a hoarse whisper, rising from the chair and forcibly putting one foot in front of the other as I stalk towards the door. I can't stop the darkness from trailing up my left arm, so I roll the sleeve down and shove the fingers into my pocket even as they begin to stretch, the nails lengthening, sharpening into claws that jab into my ill-suited palms. So much of me is screaming, louder and louder, to turn around and attack her, damn the consequences. It's almost stronger than my survival instincts, but...

The one thing stronger than either of the two is my desire to catch Neo. I suppose Malachite knew that, which is why she told me about the train.

The moment I leave the building I break out into an open sprint, burning Aura in a way I haven't in a long time. I flare it with each step and leave behind chipped and broken earth in my wake as the world around me becomes a blur.

I already know where the Mistral Central Station is up in Central Mistral. The trains run along upraised railbridges looming over the valleys like ancient aqueducts, each one leading through dips in the surrounding mountain range and out into the kingdom at large.

The looming railbridge leading to the east comes from the station itself, so it serves as my guide as I pour on even more speed, hurtling far faster than the controlled Aura Sprinting I've been using on and off for months. I tear out of the Riverbed faster than a commercial bullhead, reaching the edge where the dirt of the place gives way to the hollowed pit of Lower Mistral, and, with a blast of pent-up Aura through my feet, jump.

I soar nearly twenty meters through the open night air, heart hanging on its beat as the wind whips my hair and sound seems to fade.

Then I slam against the side of a product output tube and dig the Grimm claws of my left hand in, not stopping even for a second, hoisting myself up atop the thing and scrambling forward again. I follow the diagonal upwards length of it for a hundred meters before it disappears into the wall of a factory tower, then use a series of jumps to scale the side of the thing until I reach the top, where a long, thick pipeline of Dust stretches far across the city.

By now, I'm nearly three hundred meters above the 'ground', and gods only know how many kilometers above the deepest reaches of Lower Mistral. The view doesn't concern me. My eyes are only for the path directly in front of me, and the point at the end goal.

As I sprint along the pipeline, more like it come into view in my peripheral vision, all leading towards a central hub pipeline that leads up towards Central Mistral. Once I reach it, I start climbing without missing a beat- the latticed girders around it are nasty, rusted things, but my Aura keeps the skin of my hands from tearing.

Higher and higher I go, rising in great yanks that carry me upwards sometimes meters at a time. Time blurs as my world narrows to the next rung, the next handhold, the only sounds in my ears the grinding of my boots against rusty metal and the impact of my hands as they snag their targets.

Eventually, I reach the top of Lower Mistral, which is really just the bottom of Central Mistral. The massive cantilevered platform that serves as the 'ground' for the very bottom layer of Central Mistral stretches nearly a kilometer out from the mountain in all directions, blotting out the sky from much of Lower Mistral. From far away, it just looked like a flat, grey thing, but closer now I see all the structural supports, Gravity Dust stabilizers, sensor hubs, and even a few technicians brave enough to walk around on thin platforms nearly two kilometers off the ground.

The only things from Lower Mistral left up here are the biggest of the factory towers. They reach up from the depths all the way to hold up the false sky, like giant jagged metal pillars, each one many tens of meters thick and branching out with paths and pipelines and transport tubes leading down into the thick of the city. Up here, though, the offshoots reach up, accepting rarer materials and Dust from Central Mistral down into them, as well as the factory overseers.

One person spots me, but they're far enough away that I ignore it and just burn more Aura, ripping across a narrow metal platform that rattles beneath me with each step until I reach a service ladder. It's not even locked.

It's a much shorter climb through the thick metal underground of Central Mistral. I pass from natural light to a hollow second world filled with sewage pipes, power lines, communications towers, and all the rest of the guts that keep the city working. Each layer of the city has its own underbelly like this beneath it. This one is just the largest.

I slam open the grate at the top of the ladder and climb the last few feet into an empty alleyway, glancing around briefly to make sure I'm not seen, before starting another few steps towards the alley's mouth-

Only to freeze as a new message comes through to my Scroll. The only two people who have my number are… the only person who has my number is Neo, so I halt in my tracks and whip the thing out to see what she's sent me.

True enough, I'm getting a signal now. They must have finally cleared the explosives out of the CCT tower. When I go to open the messages, a heaviness that I didn't even realize I was bearing seems to lift off my shoulder- there's more than a hundred of them, dating back months and months. She's been here for a long time, and has left me a hundred little messages noting whatever issues she ran into, old acquaintances she encountered, developments on her plans to deal with Cinder.

However, when I scroll down to the very bottom, my spirit falls:

[Neo]: I don't know if you're ever going to read this. I hope you're still alive. I talked to Cinder and we're going to Atlas together to kill Little Red for what she did to Roman. I can't stay here waiting any longer. Not in this place. You understand, right? If you end up seeing this… I hope you're doing okay. Come find me in Atlas. Please. I really miss you. ;)

Attached is a brief video. When I open it, my heart fractures a little further.

It's one she took of herself, facing out the side of a Bullhead with Mount Raion receding into the distance. She's smiling, but… there's a trace of sadness in her eyes. Of a deep loneliness, one that I last saw years back, before we'd even met, when she was another Lower Mistral orphan without any family or friends.

Seeing her like that and knowing that my trusting Lil' Miss Malachite kept me from being able to help her sends the first stab of pain through my heart, and a second stab comes not from what I see in her eyes, but what I see on her head.

She's wearing Roman's hat.

I sway back against the alley wall and slowly drift downwards until my knees are even with my chest. The reminder of him being gone is like a dagger to my chest, and it's only pushed deeper by the knowledge that Neo's feeling the same. Worse, even, because for all she knows I'm dead too.

She waited here for me, in this city she hated as much as I did, for months. The thought actually dispels a bit of the grief, drives back the pressing loneliness- the knowledge that she waited here for me for so long, kept up faith that I was alive.

I open the first message. It's a long, digressive thing, talking about a thousand inconveniences she'd suffered along the way to Mistral City and how she was going to make Cinder pay for each and every one of them. The next one is about modifications to her weapon, the next about outfit changes, and the one after that is about returning to the old slums and trying to find any familiar faces.

They're almost all pointless ramblings, often overlong, and with a pettiness to them that's so characteristically Neo. Few of them contain any useful information, and yet to me right now, they're beyond priceless.

As I devour her thoughts over months and months, the loneliness and wrath drain from me. Each little complaint of hers, each small triumph, seems to fill a little part of the lonely gap inside me. And by the time I reach the end, I find a peacefulness that I haven't had for a long time. I re-read her final message- 'I hope you're doing okay. Come find me in Atlas. Please. I really miss you.'- and re-open the last little video, a looped image of her smiling face and hair twisting with the wind, framed by the Raion Valley in all its glory.

It isn't the smile that renews my purpose. It's the tiny, almost invisible flickers of pain in her eyes. When I see those, my own pain feels so much smaller, easier to ignore.

I snap my eyes back up, across the alleyway, to Arnaut, who's been silent for nearly an hour now. For the briefest moment, I catch a glimpse of genuine concern on his features, but I blink and he's smiling as wide as ever.

"Well then? On to Atlas, I suppose?"

"Yeah." I realize that, for the first time, I suppose I'm grateful for his way of making things sound a lot simpler than they actually are. Yet... it's not just that I'm grateful for. Slowly, as my eyes trail up the soft glow of his form up to his ever-smiling face, it dawns on me that I don't see him as a burden any longer. When I see his grin, there's a tiny urge within me to reciprocate it, and when I hear his voice I no longer have that twinge of annoyance. He's wormed his way in past all the walls and enmity, and I can't even muster any annoyance with that fact.

I don't know when the switch flipped, but I realize that I'm glad he's here with me.

"What is it, Dreki?"

"...Nothing."

(A/N) Part of my attempt to make RWBY larger is also in fleshing out the history of the world more. I'm trying to go for a more epic scope, although I can't tell if I'm succeeding.

As someone noticed in a comment, there's going to be a fairly strong Red Rising influence on a few characters and character dynamics in this fic, although the two brought up already will be by leaps and bounds the most obvious. My reasoning on their names and influences will be brought up later down the line when they become more relevant, but rest assured I'm taking them in different directions.

Fuilii is pronounced Foo-ILL-Eee-Aye, for all two of you out there wondering.

I'll try as hard as I possibly can to avoid any retcons in the future, but upon re-reading the last chapter and doing some more research online, I've realized that combining the Chinese Zodiac characterizations of several Mistrali characters with Western Zodiac weapon names just... doesn't really work, on several levels. The two zodiacs don't really line up well, and having animal imagery from two different animals on each character would've been confusing. As a result, I'm walking back on the names of the weapons- Aries is now 'Shear', Cancer is now 'Slither', and Leo is now 'Roar'. Again, I'm sorry about the retroactive change and will try to avoid ever having another instance come up.

Speaking of retcons, I was really split on whether to rename Lower Mistral into something like 'the Depths' or 'the Undercity' and do the same for Upper and Central Mistral. I'm still on the fence about it, to be honest. The way it is now is simpler, but also less creative, and can feel clunky at times. If anyone has any strong opinions on it let me know.