Chapter 8

Moments of Transition

(part 2)

June 22nd

The scent of wood smoke was heavy in the humid afternoon air, the morning breeze having long since died. The village gate in the old Animan style had been battered open with considerable force, one half of the wooden structure tilted askew and dangling from its mangled iron hinges. A massive figure strode through the sundered archway, nut-brown hair done in a long pony tail down his back, a long, open fronted coat in green and brown covering the man's nearly eight foot frame. A short, well-kept beard framed his squarish face, wide, hazel-colored eyes flitting quietly to and fro, taking in the scene of devastation before him.

It was hardly the first time Hazel Rainart had seen a village overrun, and would definitely not be the last, and thus he maintained his placid demeanor even in the face of tragedy. He plodded methodically forward, whatever optimism he might have had at finding his target rapidly fading as he saw the condition of the buildings around him. Torn paper windows with splintered wooden frames were everywhere, and several of the structures had been burnt to the ground entirely. There were scattered bullet holes throughout the town as well, indicating that the settlement had gone down fighting at the very least.

Hearing rather than seeing he wasn't alone, Hazel picked up his pace, rounding a corner and arriving at the central square of the village. A lone figure was present, tending to a large pile of smoldering wood, the remains of what appeared to be a massive bonfire. Short even to anyone but him, Hazel paused briefly, before recognizing the slight awkwardness of youth in the way they carried themselves. Deep brown skin was crowned with a short-cropped coif of platinum blonde hair, a set of dark miner's goggles perched below a widow's peak, sweeping back aggressively with the sides of the scalp shaved clean. A loose, flowing head covering had been dropped around the neck, cream-colored fabric forming a crumpled ring about the neck and shoulders, a hallmark of Vacuan fashion. A well-worn black leather vest was festooned with pockets and pouches, bits and bobs dangling from zipper pulls were jingling softly as they moved. A long-sleeved dirty white shirt covered obviously massive arms, which were folded in contemplation, the loose, billowing sleeves almost concealing the curved, four inch black claws tipping every finger. The cargo pockets of their pants were stuffed to the brim as well, the dark brown fabric strained near to bursting to contain everything. A pair of scuffed, steel-toed brown work boots completed the outfit, the entirety of which looked as if the wearer had been rolling around in the dirt for the last few hours, with a healthy sprinkling of sooty smudge marks. A large sledgehammer rested on the ground, its four foot haft sticking straight up, the craftsmanship and intricately woven leather grip surface indicating that this was no mere tool, but rather the weapon of a Huntsman.

That hypothesis was confirmed quickly as the figure whirled about, easily grabbing and spinning the weapon in a full circle before it came to rest diagonally across their body, the impact of the midpoint of the shaft into the hunter's left palm more than sufficient to snap open a twenty inch military pick that had previously laid flat against the haft. The back end of the hybrid weapon now sported a short cone of orange flame, emitting from an inch-wide hole in the hammer face.

"Oi! Who'zat then?" Hazel was challenged, the voice higher pitched than he might have expected, and carrying a light, twanging accent to boot.

"Relax, I'm just looking for someone," he reassured the pale-haired youth.

"You and everyone else, mate. Nobody left 'ere but the cleanup crew. Survivors buggered off to 'iganbana, two days north of 'ere," the Huntsman replied, the tension slowly falling from his voice.

"I came through on my way here. They told me the cleanup crew hadn't reported back yet," Hazel said evenly, still advancing in as non-menacing a fashion as someone of his obvious bulk and capability could, his hands open and held a little farther than shoulder width apart.

"We ain't done yet, mate. In any case, you'll wanna talk to the boss fella," came the reply, the flame from the hammer flickering out with a soft pop. "Down that street," the rough youth indicated with a nod of the head.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, unsurprised when the pick wielder followed him after several steps, escorting a potential looter. The oddly matched pair moved quietly, only the occasional crunch of gravel underfoot heard in the still air. Passing the blasted ruins of what could only have been the local dust shop, and a small storefront with a pictographic sign indicating it was a carpenter's shop, they arrived at a small noodle stand on a street corner. Three older men were seated there, all obviously huntsmen from their garb to their weapons, and a fourth of their number worked at the wok, apparently the designated cook.

"Ey, Carlos. We got a visitor," Hazel's escort announced, getting the group's attention. One of them stood, a stocky male with light caramel skin and closely cropped ebon hair looking over Hazel with a practiced eye.

"Carlos Marron," he said in a clipped, professional manner that still conveyed some warmth.

"Hazel Rainart. I'm looking for someone, a colleague. A young blond huntsman. He wasn't in Higanbana, and not a local here either," he stated calmly.

"I see. In that case, I'm truly sorry. We were on the ground the day after the attack was reported. Checked the surrounding forest for two miles in every direction. We didn't find any blondes, but several bodies were burned or mauled beyond recognition. No trails outside of the refugees heading to Higanbana, or a few stragglers that we eventually found dead just outside the village. Here," he said, handing over a tablet-sized scroll. "We documented the dead there, pictures, any supporting evidence, pocket trash, scrolls, identification, personal effects and the like. Two hundred forty-seven dead. Took us two days to build the pyre," he added solemnly as Hazel began flicking through the pictures. "Roy, is that fire out?" he asked.

"As out as it's gonna get, boss," the dusty Huntsman replied.

"So, no," Marron countered with a knowing smirk. "Go make sure it's completely out. We don't want anyone who tries to resettle Shion coming back to find it burned to the ground. They've been through enough already," he gently chided. "Once you're actually done, come back and get some lunch. We'll be moving out afterwards," he said with a softening expression.

"Foine," Roy grumbled, stomping off.

"All the energy of youth, that one," Carlos remarked idly.

"He lacks discipline," Hazel remarked drily, his sausage-thick fingers still swiping through the gruesome gallery of the dead.

Carlos wore a soft, discrete smile, offered in response for a brief moment before answering. "Good in a fight though, especially for a student. Not that we've been doing much fighting the last few years. We always seem to draw these assignments. This is CORL's twelfth since we graduated Haven. Not the glitz and glamor a kid like Roy dreams of, that's for sure. An actual academy education will go a long way with that one."

Hazel gruntly softly in distaste, his personal opinion on the Huntsman Academies likely not to go over well with these four. Granted, that opinion didn't necessarily extend to them, and neither did he have orders for their death, and so the giant remained his otherwise gentle self. This lasted several more seconds until the next picture stopped him cold.

Carlos saw the Hazel's expression change, and leaned in to look at what had happened to garner such a reaction. "I thought you were looking for a blond? You know this man?"

"Yes. I didn't know he was here as well," Hazel replied grimly.

"Well, if you can give us a name to go with the picture, we'll put it…"

"I will take care of informing his family," Rainart said flatly, brooking no argument it seemed.

"Right. I'll mark that one accounted for then. We've got an airship at the dock on the south side of town, heading back to Mistral, if you need a lift," The team leader offered.

"I'll walk, thank you," he deflected calmly, at last reaching the end of the files and handing back the tablet. "It appears my other colleague may not have been here after all," Hazel concluded, beginning to walk towards the south with purpose, seeming to ignore the early season monsoon clouds on the horizon.

June 24th

"Miss Nikos? They're pulling the car around back," came the voice of Pyrrha's assistant, muffled by the door of her private dressing room. Theater season in Argus didn't start for another month, and thus she'd been afforded the luxury typically reserved for the star of the show. Granted, it was only for the day, but the privacy was the one perk of her position that Pyrrha took full advantage of whenever she could. This latest stop on her promotional tour was the one she'd been looking forward to, both for the opportunity to see her family, as well as the smaller gathering she had voluntarily attended immediately after her paid appearance.

"Thank you, Cypress!" she called back, redacting her true emotion from her voice with practiced ease.

The incoming class of Sanctum Academy was full of bright, determined faces, all of whom looked up to her not solely for her fame, but even more so for her ability. A long, and thorough, Q&A session had been all over the map, with students asking about the Vytal Festival, Beacon, fighting, Grimm, boys, cereal, weapon theory, hunter ethics (from a particularly shrewd student), Grimm again, Vale, boys again, tournaments, weapons again, and a host of other, more esoteric topics.

The quieter portion of the event was the individual meet and greet, several of the incoming freshmen having brought pictures or other memorabilia for Pyrrha to sign. The children were, for the most part, less pushy than the parents, but on balance, it was ultimately a pleasant time for her.

So why was she fighting back tears?

Even if she wanted to pretend to be clueless, Pyrrha knew better, and facing the large makeup mirror, her plastic facade slipped, her face sliding into a melancholic smile.

All because of a twelve year old boy.

In fairness, it was hardly his fault. Jacob Greene was an Argus native, and a huge Pyrrha Nikos fan as a result, deciding early on in his life that he wanted to follow in her footsteps. He had been the last in line, passing a dog-eared copy of Eutarkos Nikos' "Combat in the Second Age" across the table to be autographed. This had certainly gotten her attention, Pyrrha's great-grandfather's work having been central in her early desires to become a Huntress. Her eyes flicked up from the book to examine him, and a soft gasp had escaped her throat before she caught it. The boy was blessed with a pair of bright, inquisitive blue-green eyes, framed by a slightly squared jawline and an unruly head of strawberry blonde hair. That familiar Pumpkin Pete hoodie was draped over his shoulders, unusually broad for someone his age. The conversation had been brief, but cordial, the boy gushing awkwardly upon finding his idol to be such a well-grounded woman. She didn't remember much of the substance of their talk, but rather the emotional content thereof.

All she could think of now was missed opportunities, and doors slammed shut, never to be reopened. She'd had her chance, she'd never taken that leap of faith, and now he was gone.

It hurt.

Even if Pyrrha knew she should be happy for him, and supportive, it still hurt.

Jaune had held secrets before, arguably even bigger than what she had now stumbled into, but he had promised her to keep nothing from her again. So many times in her short career she had been guaranteed something, only to find the promise evaporate behind hidden loopholes, veiled platitudes or agents' fees hidden in the fine print. That was the deepest cut of all. He didn't trust her to know this about him. Was he ashamed? Unsure whether she would approve? The doubt gnawed at Pyrrha like nothing she'd ever felt, and the fact that she'd messaged him half a dozen times since leaving Beacon without a reply did nothing to help her state of mind, especially when she had received confirmation that her videos at least had been delivered successfully.

For not the first time, she pondered reaching out to her, but immediately banished the thought, allowing Jaune to reveal everything to his partner in his own time. Pyrrha had to demonstrate she was worthy of Jaune's trust more than she already had, which also was painful, in order to be brought into his innermost circle again.

"Car's ready, Miss Nikos," Cypress informed her through the door, and Pyrrha grabbed a damp towel from the provided tray, the warmth soothing as she pressed it to her face, trying to steady her visage before she went back out into public view.

"Thank you, Cy. I'll be out in a minute," Pyrrha called back, tossing the towel onto the vanity. She squared her shoulders, checking her appearance one last time as she stood up. Her trademark combat gear looked flawless, as always, a minor adjustment to her crown the only necessary fix. A brief moment of exertion called Miló and Akoúo̱ onto her back harness, the last touch on the image of the Invincible Girl.

Opening the door, she found Cypress McElroy waiting attentively, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled halfway up his forearms, a pewter-colored vest and antique gold necktie filling out the outfit above a pair of complementary grey slacks. The narrow glasses perched on his nose and short, fashionable haircut completed the image of a perfect personal assistant; attentive, sharp and hard-working.

"What's on the agenda, Cy?" Pyrrha asked, again thankful to her sponsors for the young man's presence.

"Dinner with your parents, as you requested. You've got an interview with the Argus Chronicle at nine tomorrow morning, followed by a lunchtime speaking engagement, so I recommend turning in after dinner, Miss Nikos. I'll meet you at the house at seven thirty, if that's all right," Cypress rattled off easily, double checking his scroll to ensure he hadn't missed anything.

"That should work, thank you, Cy," Pyrrha replied easily, knowing she'd have already awoken, done some light training and eaten breakfast by then.

The pair began walking down the hall, finding the back entrance quickly. Cy opened the door, peeking out to ensure that security was in place before he waved his charge over. It wasn't that anyone thought Pyrrha incapable of defending herself; rather they were protecting her privacy, and punctuality, above all else. Two of them were local contractors in cheap yellow windbreakers. The third, and only traveling member of the detail, was Nolan Porfirio, his background as a native Vacuan, combat style and weapon all ideally suited to the task. That Pyrrha had taken a small measure of pity on him for his team's rather ignominious elimination in the Vytal Festival Tournament went without saying from her, and without acknowledgement on his part.

Unsurprisingly, there was something for them to do, the three men screening the black limousine from what fan presence there was. The only surprise was the fact that it was a single woman, who made up for her lack of reinforcements by being more focused than any group of people could have been.

"Miss Nikos!" she shouted, a desperate tinge to her voice that didn't bode well for however the altercation was about to go down. The possibility of someone trying to provoke a confrontation and then playing the aggrieved victim was definitely on the table, and so Pyrrha instead chose to not make eye contact, allowing Cy to lead her to the waiting car.

"MISS NIKOS!" came the follow-up shriek from her apparently unhinged fan, Pyrrha turning to regard her if for no other reason than to be able to identify her later to the police, should it be warranted. The two local security were having only a slight amount of difficulty in dealing with the woman, something familiar tickling at the back of Pyrrha's mind as she met the blonde's desperate azure eyes, her heart seizing with the next words out of the woman's mouth. "Do you know where my brother is?!" she asked, voice clearly strained.

Time stood still for them both, moments passing before Pyrrha realized that her hands were clasped over her heart. The left hand had curled over the rim of her bronze-and-leather cuirass, clenching fearfully and in danger of bending the metal.

Pyrrha knew that face.

"Let her through, Nolan," she said, fighting down her fear to a mere icy calm. He quirked an eyebrow behind his trademark rose-tinted glasses at breaking protocol, unsure if he'd heard his employer correctly until she cut her gaze slightly to look him directly in the eyes. Nolan nodded to the other two, and they relented, allowing the young woman to walk forward slowly under his narrowed gaze, his hand sliding into his jacket for his collapsible shock baton as a precautionary measure.

"I'm Jaune's sister, Saphron," she said, voice heralding the tears brimming in her eyes.

"Get in," Pyrrha said curtly, standing aside for the distraught Arc before taking her seat beside her, setting her weapons against the front of the cabin. "Do you need a ride home?" she asked, trying to soothe the clearly agitated woman.

"Yes, please," Saph replied, sniffling momentarily. "1123 Wilson Way."

"Gerald?" Pyrrha asked brusquely.

"Understood, ma'am," their chauffeur answered, pulling out of the alley with sure movements.

"Tell me everything," Pyrrha asked, all cheer vanishing from her intense voice.

"We spent our family vacation in Shion, like we always used to do. Everyone but Jaune left on the fifth of June; he had to stay behind because he was reworking his sword. Mom, Dad and the girls caught a connecting flight from Shiroyuri to Orleans, and Terra and I came home to Argus. Jaune said he would follow us here after a couple days, but it's been a week now. And…" Saphron choked back a sob, prompting Pyrrha to lay a hand on her shoulder. "There was a report, on the news this morning. Shion's been destroyed. There's no record of Jaune having made it to Argus, and nothing from the Huntsmen they sent to check Shion. Terra checked yesterday and said that his scroll hasn't pinged anywhere else on the CCT network since the nineteenth of last month. We hoped maybe you had heard from him."

"No, I haven't," Pyrrha admitted sadly.

"I just hope he's okay," Saphron said through her tears.

"As do I, Saphron. I can't imagine a life without him in it anymore," she confessed, her voice catching slightly in her throat. She wasn't crying. She couldn't cry.

Invincible Girls didn't cry.

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Pyrrha retrieved her scroll, opening the device and accessing her contact list, finding her target at the top of her favorites list. Initiating the call, she held the scroll where Saphron could see it as well while it connected. The background appeared to be a kitchen, though this was largely obscured by the puzzled face of Nora Valkyrie.

"Pyrrha?" she asked quizzically.

"Nora? I thought I called Ren?" Pyrrha replied, equally confused. She'd chosen the girl's soft-spoken, level-headed partner for a reason.

"Oh, you did. Renny's busy making breakfast for us. What time is it there? Where is there? Why are you calling Ren? You finally move on from our lovably dense Fearless Leader? I really don't think Ren-Ren would be interested, no offense," the bubbly Nora rattled off easily, clearly trying to make up for the last eight hours of conversation she'd missed while asleep.

"Nora, that's not important right now. Can I…" she tried to interject before she lost control of the conversation. A whole school year around Nora had at least given her the knowledge of what was needed to keep the erratic girl on task, though sadly not the ability to do so on a consistent basis.

"It's Pyrrha!" she shouted over her shoulder. "I don't know, I was just asking her that," she added before returning her gaze to the scroll. "Do they have pancakes there? What kind of syrup do they have? Did I ask you where you were? Oh, hey there, Jaune's sister! Almost didn't see ya there. Are you guys in a car? That looks like a car."

"Nora, I need…" Pyrrha again tried, Saphron electing to give the girl a small wave and weak smile.

"A fancy car, even. Do you have a chauffeur? Is his name Jeeves? Please tell me it's Jeeves! You and Weiss should…"

"Give Ren the damn scroll!" Pyrrha finally snapped, garnering a moment of shocked silence from Nora.

"Grumpy much? If you wanted to talk to Ren, all you had to do was ask, sheesh," she muttered, walking over to her personal pancake chef and holding the scroll up for him.

"Good morning, Pyrrha," he said evenly, his 'like a sloth to the flame' apron covering his chest, complete with an image of the titular animal in a chef's toque tending a grill. "How is your trip coming?" he asked with his typical placid half-smile.

"Ren…" Pyrrha began, pausing to steady her voice before she lost her composure and dragged Saphron down with her. "Jaune's missing."

Lie Ren was never one to not give someone the courtesy of looking them in the eyes during conversation, but the increased focus Pyrrha immediately felt upon her was still striking.

"What?" Nora said, her voice dark with concern and a tinge of anger in her voice, pivoting around to stand next to Ren and fit them both in frame.

"Where?" Ren asked, planning already in motion behind his lavender eyes.

"He was last seen in Shion on the fifth. That's in central…" Saphron began.

"I know the place," he said evenly.

"It's been destroyed, Ren," Pyrrha informed him, drawing several moments of stunned silence from both of them. She would swear that the two of them turned grey before her eyes; probably just a problem with scroll signal in Silverlake.

"We'll need to get to Higanbana then. I'll start looking into transportation when I'm off the call."

"I'll see what I can do from here, Ren. Please be careful," she asked, largely a formality with him.

"We will. We'll be in touch," he replied earnestly, closing the call.

Pyrrha took a deep breath and let it go before speaking again. "Ren and Nora spent a large portion of their childhood wandering Anima. If he can be found, they'll get it done."

Saphron could only lean forward and embrace her in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

"We're here, ma'am," Gerald called back from the driver's seat as the limousine came to a stop. The impeccably dressed driver exited the vehicle, circling adroitly back to open the door for his two passengers. Saph stepped out, aided by Gerald, turning around on the sidewalk to face the limo again.

"Would you like to come in? It's not much, but I'm sure we can scrounge up something to eat on short notice," she said, trying to project an air of hospitality for Pyrrha.

"I…" Pyrrha began, before they were both interrupted from the top of the home's stoop.

"Looking fancy, Saph. What's the occasion?" Terra Cotta-Arc called out from the top of the front steps with a smirk in her voice.

Pyrrha's voice died in her throat, the reality of the woman standing there constricting her heart. A small, seldom-heard voice in her head insisted that Terra wasn't nearly as pretty as she was, and that there had to be some trickery involved for her to be married to Jaune, let alone pregnant. Maybe they'd gotten drunk? Then she remembered that she wasn't supposed to know about that, and thus she closed her eyes and shook her head to settle her emotions before speaking again.

"Thank you, Saphron, but I have more calls to make. I should be going," she said uneasily. She so hated this; putting on the mask for people that actually mattered. "I'll be doing everything I can to bring Jaune back to his family, I promise," she said with conviction and what little warmth she could muster. She'd contemplated being part of that family more than once, and now it seemed as if that would never come to pass. She reached for a pen and notepad in a small compartment above the mini-fridge, quickly writing down her contact information before she leaned out to hand it to Saph. "If you find out anything else, let me know."

Saphron clutched the slip of paper to her chest, nodding slowly. "Thank you," she whispered, unable to raise her voice further without breaking down again.

Gerald closed the door again, returning to his seat and getting the limousine moving. "Home, Miss Nikos?"

"Yes, Gerald," she said softly, biting her lips for a moment as she contemplated her next move, opening her contact list again and opening another call. This one also took a few moments to connect, and Pyrrha was greeted with a slightly-less-perfect-than-normal heiress, a few silver hairs out of place and her pale blue eyes bleary to go with the collar of her nightgown visible in frame.

"Pyrrha?" Weiss asked quizzically, clearly only half-awake.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Weiss. I need a favor," Pyrrha said evenly.

June 26th

The slow, deep bass rhythm of the clockwork within Beacon Tower was a familiar cadence to Qrow Branwen, though the jaded Huntsman was certainly glad for the fact that it had long since ceased to herald disciplinary action for him. Usually. Not that he really cared anymore, but, you know, the hassle.

The elevator chimed as the door opened, reminding the Qrow that he should probably stow the flask for now. Said reminder was duly noted, and summarily ignored. He closed his right, good eye for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. He slipped a couple fingers under his eyepatch to scratch at the still-healing scar tissue under and around it before putting it back into place. A cavalier, mysterious, handsome scoundrel like him had an image to uphold, after all. A final swig of a nice twelve year single malt was had as he stepped out of the elevator, before he wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand, stowing the battered old hip flask in his pocket with his left.

"I would remark on your punctuality, but that would require you to have a working knowledge of the concept," Ozpin began, seated behind his desk with a plethora of tablet scrolls scattered over the surface.

"And people say you can't teach an old dog new tricks," Qrow remarked wryly, his voice raspy with his groggy state. "You could have just told me over the scroll, you know."

"This wasn't something I could trust to scroll traffic. There have been...irregularities, in the network of late. While I cannot say I am an expert on the matter, there have been instances of the entire network slowing down as if overloaded."

"Someone streaming the new season of Clash of Crowns?"

"Not at three in the morning, no. In any case, I also wished to personally check on your recovery," he stated evenly, his fingers steepled over his everpresent cup of coffee.

"It's coming along. Depth perception is still shit, but I'm working through it. So are you gonna tell me why you dragged me outta bed at eleven in the morning?" Qrow groused.

"Truly an unreasonable hour, I agree. But circumstances dictate immediate action." Ozpin replied evenly, despite the gentle ribbing he'd slipped in. "I need you to investigate Haven Academy. There are far too many things going on there that don't quite match up with what Professor Lionheart is telling me. The fact that the people responsible for attacking Amber were able to infiltrate Haven and then be selected for the Vytal Festival tournament is troubling. They were responsible for extensive damage and several deaths before they were brought down, and I do not intend to let that go unanswered," the Headmaster pronounced with an edge in his voice now.

"Me either, Oz," Qrow replied through gritted teeth. His own injuries he could write off as part of the job. But Ruby…

Someone was going to pay for that one.

"How much latitude do I have?"

"We need information more than vengeance, Qrow. This is a new tactic for her. She's never moved against the Maidens in such a fashion. It's either been killing them and taking advantage of the lull as a new host acclimates, or coercing them into cooperation with her goals, usually with threats upon their family. We've largely mitigated the second with our current protocols, but hiccups are sometimes unavoidable. We still don't know exactly how Cinder Fall managed to co opt the power like she did."

"I didn't think anything could surprise you," Qrow replied with trepidation.

"Very little can. Regardless, I would prefer not to be surprised again."

"Understood," he replied gruffly, turning to leave before he stopped. "How's Amber?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Her body is healed. Her mind remains...fractured. I don't know if we would even have gotten her this far without young Mister Arc's help." Ozpin conceded.

"How much does he know?" He asked, trying to keep any student from getting dragged into this mess, that one above any other save his two nieces. Yet another debt from the Battle of Beacon he intended to repay. It didn't hurt that the boy's mother had patched up Team STRQ far too many times for Qrow to count sober, let alone in his perpetual semi-inebriation. That was ancient history, though, her departure from Vale after getting married yet another missed opportunity in a long line of them for Qrow Branwen.

"Only that she was injured and needed help that he might provide. For him, that was all that was required," Ozpin replied with the barest hint of a smile. Keeping Jaune Arc at Beacon despite his transgression was already paying dividends, regardless of Glynda's opinion on the matter. "On that subject, keep your ears open for any hint of Vernal's whereabouts. Not knowing her location is never a good position to be in. I may have need to open the vault at Haven if an answer to the Maiden question does not present itself soon."

"Sure thing, Oz. It'll be tough, though. We don't even know what she looks like grown up. I don't suppose Forrest is available, is he? He's a good flyboy, for not having wings and all." And he's got good taste in booze.

"Air dock seven," Ozpin replied, knowing his former student all too well.

"All right then. Keep in touch," Qrow needlessly reminded Ozpin as he turned to leave.

"Of course. Do be careful, Qrow. I don't think this is over," Ozpin warned him.

"When is it ever?" he grumbled back over his shoulder as the elevator door closed behind him.

"Indeed." Ozpin said softly to the now-empty room. Leaning back into his chair, he lifted his mug to his lips, the soothing sip of a fine dark roast warming his throat and chest. Deciding to resume his nominal job for the time being, he reached over and picked up a tablet from his desk, looking to read the final report from the Vale Police Department regarding the continued manhunt for Mercury Black. Letting his mind wander a bit, he nevertheless skimmed through the findings for anything that caught his eye. A slight twitch in Ozpin's face came not from the report, but rather the tablet itself, or rather the tiny light next to the front-facing camera, which blinked out without explanation.

Ancient eyes narrowed in contemplation, the tablet placed aside for the moment.

June 28th

The doors of an Atlesian airship slid open as the vehicle came to a stop, downwash from the dust turbines kicking up a small cloud of dirt and leaves. A quartet of white-armored private security guards, armed with modern Atlesian battle rifles, dropped from the airship and immediately set up a twenty yard box perimeter. The embroidered silver snowflake glyph on a black shoulder patch left little doubt as to their allegiance both to the identically-marked vehicle as well as the company that owned them all. Each man gave an assertive 'clear!', prompting two more flightsuited crewmen wearing only pistols to exit the airship, making a beeline to the dust depot and paving the way for the only splashes of color in the whole assemblage. They paused at the door, taking in the destruction before them.

To say that the scene before the two young Huntsmen was unfamiliar would be the height of conceit, though the style of buildings in what was left of Shion were a particularly personal reminder of the past for Lie Ren. While not his home, there were enough similarities here to remind him of a town he hadn't seen in a decade. With the barest flicker of movement, Ren realized that Nora was standing by his side, turquoise eyes regarding him with no small amount of concern, her hand gently clasping his shoulder.

"We need to be quick. I don't want us here after dark," Ren pronounced flatly, hiding the fear he felt, capable of fooling anyone not named Nora Valkyrie.

"All right, Ren," She replied, reassuring him with a slight smile that he knew she didn't truly feel.

The pair of air crewmen came dashing back, stopping at the door to shout up towards the cockpit.

"It's empty, sir!"

"Damn it. We'll have to land in Higanbana to refuel and come back tomorrow when we've got more light," he said to Ren and Nora.

"Can you fly there and back before sunset?" Ren asked, knowing time to be of the essence.

"Not a fan of leaving you kids alone here for three hours. Miss Schnee would have my ass if something happened. Besides, I don't know if you can complete the search that quickly with just the two of you," the veteran pilot argued.

"We are more than capable of taking care of ourselves," Ren replied evenly, wisely unwilling to let Nora handle the negotiations. "If more time is required in Shion, we will gladly resume our search tomorrow during daylight. We'll take a rough inventory and decide where we need to focus our efforts."

"All right. Be careful," He replied before thumbing the close-range transmit key. "Mount up, everyone!" he barked through his headset, the air crew boarding shortly before the security detail. Ren and Nora disembarked after, trotting a short distance away from the landing pad before they watched their ride rise and begin making its way north. A still quiet settled over the two childhood friends, their eyes taking full inventory of Shion from their vantage point before the louder of the two decided the scene was too quiet.

"Oh, Fearless Leaderrrrrrrrrrr!" Nora shout-sung. "Come out, come out wherever you arrrrrrrre!" The humidity and terrain conspired to rob them of even an echo for a response. Ren cut his gaze to her, a solitary eyebrow barely raised for her choice of search pattern. "It was worth a shot…" she mumbled guiltily, twisting the toe of her boot in the dirt with her gaze lowered.

"Come on," Ren said calmly, not a hint of rebuke in his voice.

They moved easily through the deserted street leading from the port facility, wary eyes scanning the ruins intently. They both knew Jaune to be resilient in the extreme, but if weighed down by the numbers required to wipe out a village of this size, even the stoutest of Huntsmen would fall. As they neared the town square, Ren's pace slowed and then stopped, his gaze drawn to the dirt of the street even as Nora continued obliviously on.

The footprints were largely muddled, the torrential summer rains that were a common occurrence in this part of Remnant robbing them of definition. The size of some of the disturbances in the dirt indicated a large Grimm, probably an Ursa, had passed through the town during or immediately after the attack, but the signs pointed to a relative lack of the monsters. It was also possible that the villagers had gathered somewhere near the perimeter of the town rather than the center, and thus the Grimm would have concentrated elsewhere. He tried to recall what he could of Shion, and in his musings missed the sound of Nora's footfalls quickening before coming to a dead stop. What did get his attention, however, was her voice. It rose in pitch slowly, an unholy amalgam of fear, panic and disbelief contained within a single word.

"Reennnnnnnnn?!"

Ren quickly dashed to her position, skidding to a halt behind her as she tentatively stepped forward towards the small courtyard of a demolished house. A sturdy wooden fence reached her waist, one of the center beams from the home having fallen outward, jutting out and over the top of one of the gate posts. Nora's pink-gloved hand reached out, gingerly lifting a scrap of all-too-familiar red cloth that seemed to be trapped between the beam and post, dangling limply in her grasp.

Ren took two more steps forward, reaching out towards her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to tell her that the large spray of blood on the front wall of the house didn't necessarily mean anything. He wanted to say that the cloth, even with its clearly Mistrali-style marching geometric border in a slightly darker crimson, could be anything. Anything but what they feared it was.

Lie Ren wanted to tell her anything but the truth.

"I'm so tired of this," Nora said, her voice a hoarsely pained whisper, her eyes hidden as he stood behind her.

"Nora…" he replied, at a loss for what to say, for how to comfort her.

With a growling scream born of anguish and rage, Nora quickly spun Magnhild into its hammer form, the head slamming into the fallen beam at the end of another revolution, tilting it up and over to crash into the ruins of the house it had once supported. She set her weapon on the ground, holding the haft with one hand and retrieving the all-too familiar sash with the other before she turned to face Ren and show him what she'd found.

He saw that her face was already streaked in red, the light in her beautiful turquoise eyes dimmer than he'd seen in years even as they sparkled with tears. "Every time I start to care, Ren. Every time," she said, her voice harshly cold despite the heated state of her emotions.

Ren could see the turmoil in her carriage and bearing, let alone her voice, and he took a step forward to place his hands on her shoulders, the act and circumstances surrounding it doing more than just stir old memories for him. She stood stock still, unable to return the embrace and hold Magnhild at the same time. Nora dared to close her eyes, trying to derive comfort from Ren's arms, feeling a long breath exit his lungs as it ruffled her hair. After a moment, she could feel it, like the ticklish pinpricks of fresh snow falling on bare skin, but over the entirety of her body. Her eyes flew open, only to see his own closed and the color slowly fading from him.

"Lie Ren, don't you dare, don't you fucking dare!" Nora hissed through clenched teeth.

Ren opened his eyes again to find a ginger-haired miniature Ursa in front of him, her hackles raised with murderous intent. He needed to get her under control, and quickly, or they wouldn't survive long enough to be extracted by the SDC security team. "The Grimm…" He began.

"Let 'em come," she growled with grim determination.

"Nora…" he tried to counter futilely.

"I don't need this," she replied, voice shaking with rage.

"I do," he said softly, squeezing her shoulders gently. It was only then that she truly saw the depths of the emotions that he was trying to desperately suppress, his own eyes misting over. "I can't lose you, Nora. You're...my light. My everything. I can't lose you too," he admitted quietly, his voice ragged with fear and pain. Nora quickly enveloped him in a crushing hug, her face buried in Ren's chest, tears staining his green tunic as her hammer fell to the ground.

"I hate you so much right now," she tried to say through a sob, as his arms closed about her, his face burrowed into her orange hair.

Lie Ren was more than accustomed to how Nora talked, how she thought. He knew when she was truly happy, when she was sad. He also knew when she was being playful with her exaggerations, and when she was outright lying. And as always, he knew that the proper response to anything of that nature was to correct her with his gentle, simple honesty.

"I love you too, Nora."