Chapter 7

Moments of Transition

(part 1)

June 9th

Jaune Arc slammed his newly-reforged heirloom blade home into its scabbard, a warm smile gracing his features as he looked back to Casian Râuri. "It's perfect," he pronounced simply, replacing the white and gold sheath in his baldric and twisting at the waist. This was to once again confirm the consummate fit and craftsmanship of his new armor. It was indeed heavier, but somehow fit and felt better on Jaune's lean frame.

"I do my best, înfiat. I send you out into the world better than you arrived. It is my calling," he replied, clapping him on the right shoulder much like his actual father would.

"Still can't believe you did this all in under three weeks," he muttered, his eyes roving over his gear. Gone were the fingerless leather gloves and elbow pads he'd worn at initiation, replaced instead by proper gauntlets, vambraces and couters on both arms, and a large, curved pauldron on his left shoulder providing extra protection for his shield arm. The pair of metal plates protecting his torso were supplanted by a full cuirass of segmented, overlapping plate and mail, reaching completely over his shoulders and down to the midpoint between his pelvis and ribcage. The whole ensemble was now enameled with a creamy white, edges and highlights in a rich gold projecting a much more knightly facade than he had previously been able to.

"So what lies ahead, Jaune?" Casian asked, busying himself with the last few connections between the horses and his wagons.

"Training. As much as I can manage before school starts in the fall," he replied earnestly.

"Another hand on the road wouldn't exactly be unwelcome. Elena certainly wouldn't mind," he hinted unsubtly, if inaccurately. "Experience can be a wonderful teacher as well."

"Oh, I know that. But I do have someone in mind already," Jaune countered.

"Then I can only offer you two things to send you on your way. The first is advice. The Tiganii live on the margins, standing in the shadow of civilization. After a life of that, you come away with a certain...perspective," he began, pausing for effect. "There are things that are too big for you, battles you don't need to be in. Don't let your heart drag you into a fight that's not yours. That isn't right for you."

Deep blue eyes regarded Casian for several sober moments, letting the admonition sink in. "And the second?" Jaune asked with genuine interest.

Without another word, Casian retrieved a wooden box the size of a large textbook from the driver's seat of the lead wagon. This he handed to Jaune, who raised an eyebrow before he opened it, finding an oddly matched group of items within.

"Only one of those is yours, by the way. It should be obvious which, and what to do with the others." Casian added helpfully.

Taking inventory for several moments, Jaune deduced correctly, pulling a braided leather cord, dyed to match the new leather wrapping his sword hilt, nearly a foot long from the box and closing the lid. He regarded it carefully, a small loop ending up over his thumb as he let it dangle. A tassel likewise made of the same leather was at the tip, an oblong gold ring allowing the loop to be adjusted for size. This was wide, and intricately engraved with a simple rose vine, clearly taking many hours of labor to complete. Four more spherical beads of gold were spaced evenly along the length of the cord, engraving carrying the rose motif further along.

"You didn't have to, Casian. Your generosity…" Jaune began.

"Was nothing of the sort. Tiganii honor their debts, Jaune. Any of us will recognize that cord and treat you as triburi. Family," he said warmly, clasping Jaune's right forearm just below the elbow, Juane's hand reflecting the gesture as the two pulled closer to embrace in a familial hug.

"So, I…" he continued, holding the cord up to examine it even more closely.

"Pommel," Casian said simply, chuckling at the boy's confusion, before tilting the hilt of Trandafir forward a hair to show off his own, in red and white.

"Oh," he said sheepishly, securing the loop to a slight narrowing of his sword's hilt adjacent the pommel of the weapon, cinching it down easily, almost as if the two were made for each other. "Like a glove," he added with some swagger in his voice.

"It suits you, Jaune," Casian said with a wide grin. "In spite of the hair," he added with a chuckle.

"Thanks," he replied easily, tucking the wooden box into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulders.

"Heading back to town?"

"Yeah, catching an airship in the morning."

"Be careful. Mercur sensed something in the woods. He's not sure what."

"Well, hopefully I don't have to test your handiwork too soon then," Jaune replied, resting the heel of his left hand on his sword.

Casian nodded sagely, stepping forward to embrace Jaune one last time, familial kisses on each cheek exchanged by both men. After a moment, they separated slightly, grasping each other's forearms. "Drumul să fie bun cu tine, fiule," he said warmly. "Fate brought us together, Jaune. To what end, I cannot say."

"Thank you, Casian," Jaune responded. "I hope we meet again someday."

"La Paștele Cailor." Casian replied with a sad smile, knowing it was a fool's hope as he watched another adopted son walk out of his life.

June 10th

Now this is the life.

Yang Xiao Long reclined on a low chair, a gentle sea breeze ruffling her luxurious golden mane as she relaxed on the beach of Port Arcadia, the slowly moving shadow of the beach umbrella having exposed her body to the early June sun from the waist down. Her thoughts were vague and undefined, simply enjoying a bit of rest after a very eventful year of study at Beacon Academy. Her attire left even less to the imagination than was her normal; a bikini in as low a cut as her father would let her get away with, the fabric a swirling mix of orange, yellow and red. It wasn't the suit she really wanted to wear, but Taiyang had accompanied his daughters into town for the day, and she wasn't about to risk a lecture.

The envious, desirous, or sometimes both, stares from the other beachgoers and passers-by was just an added bonus.

And so she sighed gently, looking through her sunglasses out into the gently crashing surf, letting the susurration begin to lull her into a dreamy trance. Or she would have, but for the sound of her sister's scroll next to her, Ruby Rose well and truly engrossed with some game or another. She smiled softly at her simple soul, again silently beseeching whatever powers that might be to never let the girl grow up. Ruby was dressed far more conservatively than her sister, not that that was saying much, her nevertheless lithe form flattered well by the brilliant red tank suit she wore, small black roses scattered over her left flank.

Ruby suddenly growled angrily, barely stopping herself from flinging her scroll across the beach. "Stupid zombie deathstalkers and their stupid death triggers," she muttered bitterly.

"I'm tellin' ya, sis, that game is a pay to win lien sink," Yang offered sagely.

"Yeah, whatever. Log on and send me some extra lives, wouldja?" she grumped.

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec," she replied, fumbling about for her own scroll and opening it. A few taps got the desired results and she closed the app again. "There ya go, Rubes," she added, checking her notifications while she had the device out. The sounds of automated turrets annihilating zombie Grimm resumed as she fired off a few text messages to friends from her Signal days.

Next was FriendLink, several notifications there demanding her attention as well. Coco Adel's latest fashion choices made up a sizeable photo album, and Yang swiped through them idly, the brunette's tastes only occasionally intersecting with her own. Another post in her feed was from Nora Valkyrie, titled 'Beach Season!', a candid picture of a rather shocked Lie Ren in nothing but a scandalously short pair of green swim trunks. Water glistened over his tanned skin, the slight twist in his torso showing off every bit of definition his lithe muscles possessed.

Day-yum. Better not let him out of your sight, girlfriend.

Finding little else interesting in her feed, Yang moved to close the app before her lilac eyes spotted one more notification tab, opening her friend requests if for no other reason then to get the annoying little red dot to disappear. A bunch of obvious scam and catfish accounts were denied with practiced ease, another couple random accounts were shown the metaphorical door, winnowing the field down to three.

Can't believe I didn't already have those two friended. And...Olivia Arc?

A quick tap brought up the profile, confirming her suspicions when she looked up the mutual friends listing to find a single entry.

Should be good for some blackmail fuel at least.

Tapping the 'accept' button, she scrolled down the feed and found the most recent post.

'Olivia Arc was at Shion Village with Jaune Arc, Terra Cotta-Arc and four others' was the header, a simple comment of 'Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose' underneath.

Whatever. Have to ask Vomit Boy, I guess.

Another swipe up brought a picture with it, and Yang's eyes went wide, her jaw dropping in shocked delight at what she was now looking at. A small, scrawny, very obviously flustered, and above all irritated Jaune Arc, hair done up in twin pigtails, sat on a couch, surrounded by a gaggle of seven blond-haired, blue-eyed girls of various ages and demeanors, ranging in apparent age from their late teens to a couple toddlers. Clutched in his adorable little hands was a handwritten sign with a simple, one word message.

'Help'

"Oh. My…" Yang began, nearly speechless.

"What?" Ruby piped up, leaning over to see what the cause for concern was. Yang was so busy searing the image into her mind that she barely heard the initial snort from her sister that heralded the arrival of a full-on giggling fit from her. "Send that to me, Yang!"

"Oh, I'm sending that to everyone," she replied with a mischievous grin, already having tagged the rest of her team, Nora, Pyrrha Nikos, Coco, Velvet Scarlatina, Sun Wukong and a gaggle of others before finally hitting the share button.

"Hey, there's another pic." Ruby added, reaching over Yang's shoulder to flick the first image to the side.

This time, the couch and background were different, but everyone was perfectly in place again, expressions and even outfits nearly identical, sign included, despite this picture being obviously more recent from the ages of everyone present. The only major difference was the addition of a cocoa-skinned ravenette, seated immediately adjacent the lone male on the couch. Her expression was almost fearful, teeth clenched in a nervous grin, her eyes wide behind her red-rimmed glasses. The new addition also held a sign, clearly meant to go along with Jaune's.

'Us'

"Who's that, Yang?" Ruby asked with genuine curiosity.

"Dunno," she replied, gears beginning to turn in her head. Yang scrolled back up, expanding the list of people Olivia had tagged and selecting Terra's link as the only one not listed as simply 'Arc', the others being Renard, Rose, Marguerite and Violette. The woman's profile took a moment to load, but the profile picture quickly confirmed Yang's suspicion, matching the group photo. "Hmmm, from Argus, lead technician at Argus InterComm," she mumbled as she read.

"Isn't that where Jaune went for winter break?" Ruby asked.

"I...think?" Yang replied, unsure herself, her brow furrowing before she swiped up to look at what the woman shared on her public feed, drawing a startled gasp from her throat.

The first, and most recent, post was simply titled '5 months!', with a grainy black and white picture from a prenatal ultrasound the only accompaniment. Lilac eyes blinked several times before she double checked the date of the post, only a couple weeks prior. Yang's full lips barely moved as she mumbled to herself, the thumb of her right hand tapping at the other fingertips as she did the math in her head.

"Son of a bitch," she said softly at last, through an awestruck grin.

"Huh?" Ruby asked, puzzled still.

"Well, sister dearest, I regret to inform you that Jaune Arc is officially off the market," Yang replied with a wry grin.

Silver eyes blinked once. Twice.

A storm of emotions threatened to take over Ruby's voice. Shock. Anger. Confusion. Despair. Betrayal.

In the end, a committee approach was approved; all of them merged into a single word.

"WHAT?!"

June 11th

A soft sigh could be heard in an otherwise quiet hospital room, followed by an irritated grunt.

In the considered opinion of one Cardin Emerson Winchester the Third, pain, for lack of a better word, sucked.

Aura could indeed do wondrous things. Staving off death, granting strength where it wasn't, enhancing it where it was in his case; all manner of amazing feats and semblances.

So why did this hurt so damn much?

The doctors called it phantom pain, but that didn't make it any less real to him. With a flash of anger he forced himself to look down at his left arm again. What was left of his left arm, if he was being honest with himself, which was rather difficult these days. A metal interface plate covered up the scarred stump, the point of truncation a few inches below the elbow. A combat-rated cybernetic limb would be fitted there eventually, but that was the final step in the process.

How he'd come to loathe that word.

Cardin wasn't a patient man by any stretch of the imagination, though the seven weeks he'd spent in the hospital wing of Beacon Academy was slowly teaching him the value of that particular virtue. The problem with aura was when you were trying to not quickly heal from something, as was the case with the neural link hardware that backed up the interface he now wore. Those connections had to be organic, raw, and minimally scarred. In other words, the exact opposite of what happened when aura healed the body, especially around a foreign body. He'd been on scar and aura suppressors for a little over a month and a half now, thankfully dodging the more egregious side effects, instead lucking out with just three or four migraines per week. Plus the immunodeficiency. Plus the fatigue. Plus the nausea. Plus the diarrhea when he actually could keep food down.

If Cinder Fall wasn't already dead, he'd be at the head of the rather long line to change that in spectacularly violent fashion. Well, maybe not the head of the line, but certainly close to it. That others had suffered more than he was not lost on Cardin, even if it wasn't usually second nature for him to consider the feelings of others outside of his family and closest friends.

The rest of his team was less of a fixture around his hospital room now than immediately after the Battle of Beacon, especially since Russell had gone home to Vacuo for the Summer, but Dove and Sky still came by a couple times a week to visit. Usually it was just playing cards or shooting the breeze, though they'd at least been considerate enough to not bring lunch with them after the first visit ended in a less-than-kind exchange.

The hospital gown was hardly flattering to his form, either, given his rather sizeable frame, and he was constantly reminded of that fact every time he got out of bed to use the bathroom. At least wheeling the IV tree behind him had become second nature at this point. Feeling particularly less than dead this morning, Cardin elected to get out of bed and at least try and look human. Teeth brushed and his now-slightly-shaggy orange hair wet and combed, he decided to undergo the arduous trek three doors down the hall to the small sunroom for the long-term patients, posterior breeze be damned.

The windows here looked out over the bay, the bustle of Vale barely visible in the distance under the late morning sun. The casters on his IV tree clattered over the transition between the tile hallway and the thin, institution-grade carpet that was laid to soften the room a bit, and Cardin ambled over to the window, placing his free hand on the glass as he took a deep breath from the exertion.

"Heyyy, cute butt!" he heard a slightly haggard female voice behind him.

Cardin turned around abruptly, spotting the only other occupant of the sunroom easily enough. A young woman regarded him with a soft, amused smirk, tinted with much of the same malaise that threatened to drop him to the floor if he let it. Her hair was, well, gone, eyebrows included, her skin a sallow, pale tone that better fit a cadaver than a living, breathing person. Her wheelchair had a medication tree nearly identical to his own perched above her shoulder, plastic IV lines leading down into the mess of medical tape on the back of her right hand. Her hospital gown hung somewhat slack on her slender frame, though not so loose as to completely conceal her modest bust, the short sleeves still reaching her elbows. A blanket covered her from the waist down, the edge dragging slightly on the floor. The girl's most striking feature, however, was a set of sparkling turquoise eyes, undimmed by her ordeals, roving appreciatively over his bulky frame.

"Uh, thanks?" Cardin replied, glad he was at least wearing his boxer briefs under the thoroughly unflattering gown. "You uh, new?" he asked, conversation coming with difficulty given his rather lonely existence of late.

"Yeahhhh, just got out of ICU this morning. Toooootal drag down there," she drawled with an exaggerated tone. "Sooooo, what're ya in for?" she asked with a wry smirk. Cardin simply waved his stump in response, what little good cheer he had built up sinking into a slight frown.

"Bummer," the sickly girl replied, the twinkle in her eyes still there somehow. Cardin sighed softly, trundling his bulk back towards the girl and taking a seat on the padded bench next to her. He wasn't right next to her, but close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he'd want to, but it was an option nonetheless. Sure, he'd always had a thing for smaller girls, beyond just reinforcing his feeling of personal strength at least. And those eyes were just the right kind of playful.

"So, umm, cancer?" he asked, immediately cringing inwardly at both his awkwardness and stupidity. The last month had really taken its toll on his limited conversational skills, it seemed. If she were a cancer patient, she wouldn't be here at Beacon, but rather somewhere down in Vale. Thankfully, she seemed to shrug it off easily enough, an infectious smirk from the perky girl setting his heart at ease.

"Nah, I just hit the side effect jackpot. You name it, I got it. At least I don't have to worry about dyeing my roots for a while. Plus, get this, I'm allergic to Clademanimol. Been in an induced coma for the last month. Suuuuper lame," she pronounced, cutting both hands to her sides, palms down.

"Yeah, I hate that shit too," Cardin commiserated, the side effects of the aura blocking medication being responsible for the vast majority of his current symptoms. A moment later, another thought cut through the fog in his brain, but before he could voice it, his doctor walked into the sunroom.

"Ahhhh, good. You're comfortable?" he asked, clearly speaking to Cardin's companion, and getting a nod in return. "If you'd like to go back to your room, I need to check your implants, and…"

"I'm good here, Doc. Not like people aren't gonna see 'em eventually," she added, completely unfazed by whatever he wanted to do. "Besides," she amended, turning to Cardin, "you already showed me yours," she said with a mischievous wink.

The doctor knelt, gently lifting her blanket up, placing the slack in her lap and confirming suspicions Cardin had gained largely through the process of elimination. She straightened what was left of her legs, presenting for examination the pair of interface plates grafted onto her legs just below the knee. Cardin could only marvel at how well his companion seemed to be coping, with what was clearly a more daunting injury. Then again, he had learned a lesson about finding strength in unexpected places several months ago in the forest of Forever Fall.

"Looking good, no discoloration," their doctor began, inserting two small plug devices into the pair of metal interface plates before pulling out his scroll to examine diagnostic data. "Diagnostics show green all around," he added with a slight smile. "How do you feel?"

"Shorter, probably," Cardin cut in, drawing a peeved sideways glance from both doctor and patient.

"That was my joke," she remarked acridly. "Ass," she added, sticking her tongue out at Cardin for a moment. "And I'm feeling awake. Can't wait to hit the club!" she replied optimistically.

"That might be a little further down the road, but once we've got your prosthetics fitted, you'll hardly miss a step."

"Will I be ready for the school year?" she asked anxiously.

"I'm optimistic, but rehab is going to be hard. Have to walk before you can run, after all," the doctor stated sagely. "You've got an appointment with the prosthetist at noon tomorrow, please be sure not to miss it. We're still trying to clear our backlog from the attack."

"Speaking of, Doc?" Cardin interrupted, his impatience rushing to the fore.

"Ahh, yes. You were next on my list, actually. If you'd like to go back to your room?" he asked, plucking the diagnostic plugs from the girl's legs and pocketing one.

"Fair's fair. Not feeling up to walking back down the hall anyway."

"Aww, I wanted to check out that fine backside again," his snarky companion pouted.

Their doctor could only shake his head and smile softly at the girl's antics, inserting the diagnostic plug into Cardin's stump and reviewing the data once again. "Everything looks in order, Cardin. I'll put in the order to take you off your meds, both of you actually. And I can slot you in…" he began, tapping away at his scroll, "Tomorrow at twelve-thirty. Second floor, room two thirty-four, the both of you," he added, retrieving the plug and moving to leave.

Cardin felt lighter than air, the weight lifted from his broad shoulders shocking in its absence.

"Oh, that's awesome, Doc! I don't think I could've put up with my boy here being such a buzzkill much longer. He was totes broken up about having to drop his juggling major at clown college," the bald girl beside him fired back, a playful grin on her otherwise haggard face.

Cardin could only facepalm, her barb piercing through what grumpily stoic bearing he had left. Or, rather, he tried to facepalm, only to belatedly realize that his left elbow was in his right hand, and his stump was waving in the air, totally ineffective at actually covering his blushing face. He could only blink in surprise and embarrassment as the girl at his side snorted for several seconds before bursting into a tinkling, high-pitched laugh. Cardin could only glower softly, but even that faded slowly as he felt his chest begin to shake with suppressed laughter of his own.

"Sooooooo... Nubby? Rehab buddies?" she asked cheerfully.

"I guess so, Twinkletoes, yeah," he said, smiling softly at her infectious enthusiasm; that bright, sparkling laughter lifting his spirits higher than they'd been since his injury. "Cardin Winchester." He added, straightening a bit and offering his hand, which she took with a stronger grip than he anticipated, given her appearance.

"Neon Katt," she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

June 15th

Arthur Watts wasn't easily perplexed, that much was certain.

But, even accounting for his personal distaste for his petulant and sadistic colleague and her methods, he was still mystified just how Cinder Fall had failed Her Grace in such spectacular fashion. Everything had been in place, his own contribution online and ready to strike, and then...disaster.

Something had been overlooked, a loose end not tied up or that none of them had thought of, and it had led to Cinder's discovery and eventual death. An 'i' not dotted, 't' not crossed. Maybe it was simply bad luck. Surely, she had gone out with a bang, though. Even with the general suppression of details by the Valerian press corps, the amount of construction workers gathering every day at the airship docks was evidence enough of the scale of destruction at Beacon Academy. Several students and at least one of the faculty had also perished, not to mention the minor Grimm incursion triggered by the population's general fear after the principal dust magazine at Beacon had gone up in a massive explosion.

Still, they had no relic, no Fall Maiden, no Cinder even. Emerald Sustrai was missing, rumored captured; Mercury Black had dropped off the map entirely. Their hold on Adam Taurus and thus the White Fang was effectively gone, though potentially recoverable, if more diplomatic means could be found to address the mercurial faunus. Beacon still stood, the Cross Continental Transmit Tower was operational, and Ozpin still pulled the threads of the web from his haughty spire. The Atlesian military still stood as a largely benevolent force in the eyes of the public, and General Ironwood its sternly fair leader. That last one irked Watts no end, but was tempered by the one saving grace of the whole debacle. The one good thing that had come of the whole operation could be laid squarely at his feet.

The Black Queen Virus had never been activated, which meant no one outside of Salem's council even knew of its existence.

He was somewhat limited by how he had originally written the code, but was making do with what he could, and making do was worth quite a lot, actually. There was so much information he had access to now that it was quite overwhelming to try and take in, like a man drinking from a waterfall. Security feeds, historical archives, personnel files, all there for the taking, so long as he was careful. The virus was designed to be subtle in its infiltration only, not its execution, which wasn't necessary considering the original plan. Therefore, Arthur could not alter its programming remotely, nor could he move massive amounts of data without running into potential countermeasures or even worse, being detected.

Thus Watts was peering intently at the large display screen in his Mistrali safehouse, the pale blue of the hardlight display the only illumination present as he worked at gathering intelligence. A small, dust-powered kettle hissed away, boiling water for the Valerian press next to it, already loaded with 28 grams of grounds for instant, and refined, consumption. These items sat upon a small silver serving tray with other associated accoutrements belonging to a coffee service for one. His heritage notwithstanding, Arthur Watts was far more comfortable with the cuisine and custom of Vale than that of his homeland. A soft click was heard as the automatic shutoff activated, and the well-heeled technomancer poured its contents into the waiting press, activating a preset timer on his scroll for precisely four minutes and fourteen seconds, the optimum time necessary for the perfect cup of coffee. Watts spent a moment stretching his arms and shoulders, the amount of time he'd spent behind a keyboard in the last two months clearly taking its toll.

At once, he froze, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end as he felt rather than saw a new entry into his small office. Seer Grimm were entirely handy little beasts, to his mind, even if they made his skin crawl, and this one was no exception. He spun his chair to address the incoming call, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves as the swirling black and red miasma within the creature's spherical 'head' dissipated to reveal the one person on Remnant that Watts truly feared.

"Good evening, my Queen. How may I be of service?" He began in his oily baritone voice.

"Report." Salem said evenly, her tone cold and even.

"I have access to any archive connected to Beacon's network, and have made a few links into the city itself, though not as deep of an access level. There is a problem in all of this, however, Your Grace. I have to balance how much I access against the risk of premature discovery."

"Premature?" She replied, an eyebrow raised slightly over her red eyes.

"Yes, ma'am, the virus will be discovered by sheer happenstance eventually. I can only do so much without risking accelerating that timetable. I can get you anything you ask for, but the more secure the item to be found, the greater the risk involved. Accessing sensitive files will draw eyes we don't want," he admitted easily.

"You sound less than confident, Arthur," Salem said with an edge in her voice. The animosity was picked up and relayed by the seer in her throne room, the dangling tendrils in front of Watts beginning to writhe ominously.

"I am not in the habit of promising something I cannot deliver on, Your Grace. Such hubris tends to get people killed, does it not?" he replied with a small smile. Cinder was definitely the least favorite person he'd ever been forced to work with.

"Indeed," Salem replied drily, the Grimm before him calming visibly. "I would hate to lose yet another asset."

"I am ever at your service, my Queen." Arthur Watts cooed subserviently.

"See that you never forget that. For now, ensure that you remain available and connected to Ozpin's files, and ready to strike if the need arises." Salem said with the ennui of the truly powerful.

"As you command. Is there anything else you require of me?" Watts added, ever eager to advance the priority of his own desires in the eldritch sorceress' eyes.

"Yes. I need someone found. They have taken something from me. I want it returned, and I want them held accountable. They were last seen in central Anima." She added, not giving him much to work with until another seer floated into view, a slightly distorted image of a face suspended within the dome.

Watts' eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp mind already tickled by the barest hint of familiarity.

"I may already have something for you, ma'am. I need to double check the files I've already accessed."

"Forward what you find to Hazel. He's already in the area. Perhaps he can prove himself as useful as you have, Arthur," Salem added with the barest hint of a smile.

"One can hope, Your Grace." Watts answered with a warm grin, before the seer darkened again, floating away down the hallway to its home in the closet. Arthur waited for several more moments before letting out a heavy sigh of relief. It simply wouldn't do to show weakness anywhere where Salem had the slightest chance of noticing.

Returning to his work, Watt's well-manicured fingers began tapping away, opening up the student files he'd managed to copy so far. Sorting by gender eliminated more than half of the candidates, and going down the list alphabetically got him his target almost immediately. Bringing up the file, he perused it for a moment before his timer chimed softly on his desk. Pressing the piston down, the gentleman scientist poured his coffee into a tall glass mug with silver hardware, finishing it off with a well-measured drizzle of hazelnut syrup from a small bottle sitting on the tray. A long handled silver spoon served well to stir the mixture as the meticulous Atlesian read the information on hand.

I dare say your days on Remnant are numbered, my boy. You'll wish you actually had been expelled after all. A five year old would have seen those transcripts were fakes. Watts mused silently. Amateurs monologued. With a few more keystrokes, the profile was sent on its way, along with the last known location from the boy's scroll, a brief message following to explain to the mountain that was Hazel Rainart what was required of him. Nearly a minute went by, and the slender Atlesian took a test sip of his coffee just as the acknowledgement came back from his associate.

"Perfect," he said aloud.

June 21st

A soft groan could be heard from a hospital bed as amber eyes flicked half-open in the darkness. A deep breath was attempted, only to be cut off by a soft hiss of pain, the young woman's frame twitching beneath the thin blanket. Her head rolled gently to her right, taking in the screens displaying her vital data, all of which were beginning to get erratic with her waking motions. Her limbs felt leaden, lifting her head a mere inch a colossal undertaking. Taking further inventory, she could feel the various tubes entering her body at various points. Surgical tape kept an IV in place on the back of her right hand, and a decidedly uncomfortable pair of catheters were inserted to remove bodily waste. The worst, however, was a feeding tube that snaked uncomfortably through her sinus cavity, shaky hands slowly lifting to remove it. Her gag reflex triggered, spiking adrenaline into her veins as the foreign object dragged through her nostril before being flung to the floor. A series of dry coughs slowly alleviated the woman's malaise, and her hands found her face, fingers slowly tracing over the web of scar tissue on the left side of her face. Her visage became a mask of confusion, the aftermath of her injuries finally enough to truly send her spiralling into despair.

"Hehhhh...heeeelllo?" she finally rasped weakly. "Hello!?" she reiterated with a little more force.

She had just long enough to start to panic before a nurse arrived, the older woman's face switching from urgent concern to relief in the span of a heartbeat.

"Good to see you awake, Amber. How do you feel?"

"W-where am I?" she asked hesitantly.

"ICU at the hospital, Beacon Academy, Miss Herbst. You've been in a coma since you got here, a couple days after the Battle of Beacon. You must have been stuck under the rubble for a while before they found you," she added, relaying what had been told to her the first shift she'd had Amber under her care. "My name's Dauphine, by the way. I'm the night shift head nurse."

"What did you call me?" she asked, brain still fuzzy on details.

"Amber. Amber Herbst. That's the name on your chart. Do you go by a nickname, or your middle name maybe?" Dauphine asked helpfully.

She could only ponder the question for several seconds, fighting the feeling that while it was the right answer to give the woman, it wasn't actually her name. "No, Amber is fine. Sorry, still a little fuzzy. How long have I been under?"

"A little over two months. Got here a little after everyone else."

"Everyone else? I...I was in the woods. By myself," Amber stammered slightly, a blur of images assaulting her mind, vying for dominance. A small child, hurt and alone. Eyes, dark as midnight set against a white face. Leaves, whirling about in an icy tempest. Orange hair under a bowler hat. A white glove holding a large spider. Pain. Pain. Pain.

If Amber could hear the alarms beeping next to her, she paid them no heed, her eyes squinted shut against the sensory overload. Of more concern was the blazing nimbus that had sprung to life over her unopened eyes, Dauphine stepping forward to try and steady her broken patient, lest she lose control of whatever semblance she happened to possess. Such occurrences were sadly common in her line of work, and thankfully she had the training to be able to deal with them.

Usually.

A calming hand on Amber's shoulder and another on her brow pressed her gently back into her bed, Dauphine shushing the tormented woman much as she would her own children, her voice gentle and warm. "Easy, Amber. You're safe now, okay? You're going to be taken good care of. There you go, easy does it," she continued, her voice trailing off in volume as Amber slowly succumbed to her fatigue and lost consciousness again. Watching the younger woman's chest slowly resume normal respiration, Dauphine at last breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, the intensive care unit came with reinforced walls and automatic blast doors, but that wouldn't have saved her had things gone truly wrong. Even now, her eyes darted about, her fear spiking once more as she spied the extensive dusting of hoarfrost covering the walls of the room. She hadn't even noticed the temperature drop.

Taking several wobbly steps to exit the room, Dauphine wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her bright pink scrubs before making her way back to the nurse's station. Dropping into her chair like a marionette with its strings cut, she brought up Amber's chart on the display in front of her, annotating the episode and rereading the information contained within until her head flinched back slightly at something she'd never noticed before.

Well, if it's there, it's there for a reason, she thought, reaching for her scroll and dialing manually rather than from her contact list. Several rings were heard before her call was answered, the voice on the other end surprisingly not groggy, given the lateness of the hour.

"Yes, sir, this is Dauphine Toulouse in the ICU. I apologize for waking you, Headmaster, but the instructions in the file were quite specific," she began. "Yes, sir. She's awake. Understood," she added before the call was terminated from the other end. "Listen up, people," she called out to the four other nurses under her. "Ozpin's going to be down here in about ten minutes. Make sure everything is in order, all right?" she added needlessly.

She had a good crew.