Chapter 2: Heart of Thunder
(Notes: I did not expect to receive this many favs and follows when I first wrote this story. I am ever so grateful to each one of you who took the time to read the tale that I spun. I aim to least at have my chapters above 5k words so I can update more, and the content won't be too lacking. Thank you all again!)
RhoMarck: Thanks for reading my guy! I have much planned for this fic!
Many thanks to Starhammer again for the epic 3am beta reading!
Somewhere in Anima 4E 201.
Ysmir rode diligently for the past day as he promptly followed the good captain's directions. He tried his best not to let melancholy catch up to him, although it softly began calling him away from reality. His senses heightened as he raised a fist reaching for the grey clouds, the soft hymn of trees, hearing how the wind played the leaves into a rustling tune.
Despite repeatedly casting brief restorative spells on his steed, he decided it would be an appropriate time to take recess as he approached the twelfth hour of the journey. The Last Dragonborn smiled to himself as something more reminiscent of an actual paved road came into view. It was good progress. He almost felt like a child as a wave of excitement washed over him. He was eager to see this town of 'Shion' and their claims of airships and propelled flight. He remembered reading an account of a Bosmer Enchanter attempting to perfect his scrolls of Icarian Flight which ended grisly. Airships, however, were proved to be a premium find, even scant schematics retrieved from various ancient Dwemer ruins.
Hopefully, with just enough luck, he could get into contact with a local scholar or mage. Then someone could finally explain to him the strange phenomenon of the shattered moon and the region he is in. For now, his main focus was finding a small and comfortable spot with the trees to hunker down. Some warm food and drink would do nicely.
The sudden shift of wind greeted his skin just the same, yet the Dovahkiin felt a chill as cruel as Winterhold's frostiest nights. The currents flow through woodland canopies, unaware of how its eerie howl affects those who can hear. Ysmir has always thought of the wind as so free, chaotic even, yet it too has its path, even if there are infinite possible destinations.
There is blood in the air.
Soon enough, clashing of steel and claps of thunder followed. The Last Dragonborn sighed to himself. Perhaps food would have to wait after all.
"Come on, boy, just a little longer now." Ysmir squeezed his calves around the horse's sides as he sped up.
The trees were veiled in clouds of mists as the Last Dragonborn emerged from the clearing, their trunks sombre brown with gaping cracks that gashed the barks. As his eyes travelled to the edge of the woodland, three silhouettes came into view, two of similar builds and one of hulking stature. Upon the blanket of white, as if it was only daylight where he came, blackness and red engulfed the area. It was more of those blightful Grimm creatures.
However, instead of throwing their miserable bodies upon the trio, they encircled them warily, only bearing their maws in bestial hostility. As the silhouettes became clear, the Last Dragonborn received a better gauge of the three humanoid figures. First was a woman in a tattered and blood-stained white cloak that seemed to be torn and cut miserably in its entirety. She wielded a longsword almost as long as she was tall! It was a curved, single-edged blade. Its middle portion was laced with black strings and a spine-like protrusion at the back. At some point, the blade folded and looked like it could fold in half.
None of this made any sense to the Dovahkiin as the weapon seemed like a mechanical nightmare, and the petite woman should not be able to lift that thing. However, this was not the time to debate weapon practicality as it was already obvious that woman was being assailed by the remaining two adversaries.
The foremost assailant was a towering mountain of a man with short brown hair and olive skin. He was only clad in a short-sleeved shirt which showed patches of blotchy scars on his arms. The other one, much lankier and paler in comparison, had a brown ponytail braided to resemble a scorpion's tail. He wore a white sleeveless jacket with leather belts strapped to it. His jacket is left open, exposing his bare chest. He cackled in jeering laughter, rapidly jabbing at the white-cloaked woman with a wrist-mounted blade. His larger companion was more reserved in his attack as he swung his fists with brutal strength upon injecting some unknown vial into his arm.
'This is some sick circus I am treading into…' The Last Dragonborn rumbled as his steed sped forth faster. His warhammer was already clutched steadily in his hands.
Two hearts made their way downwards into the encircling horde. The Last Dragonborn raised his hammer aiming it at the first black wolf. His steed gave his back and the strength of his limbs to carry him onward. They ploughed through the unwary monsters as Ysmir swung his hammer hard, sending numerous wolves flying in mangled forms. His free hand spewed out vengeful flame spells as more of those abominations were incinerated by his unbound fire.
The mindless beasts soon converged upon the Last Dragonborn en masse, appearing through every nook and cranny of the forest opening as they attempted to pile onto him. They howled their bestial cries as the Dovahkiin switched to a scatter shock spell and hurled it into the incoming horde. A stream of charged bolts pierced through the stampeding horde as dozens were vaporised in an instant, their charred corpses tainting the air around him black as they dissipated. His loyal steed galloped onward despite the danger and the blasts, four hooves meeting earth in full valour. The Last Dragonborn has yet to stop swinging as many of those Grimm were felled by his mighty blows. On this day, many of the hateful and frenzied will breathe their last breath.
Alas, from the corner of his vision, his gaze darted to the trio for a brief moment. They have completely halted their bout as now the two men turned their attention to him. The woman in the white cloak dropped to one knee. Even from afar, he could tell each waking moment was tormenting her entire being. The gaping wound on her back was now fully evident as she was now almost as pale as her cloak. He needed to finish this fast.
The Last Dragonborn roared in challenge towards the two bastards just as he swatted aside one last of those monsters. There were more rushing him from behind, but he had to attract as much attention as he could to give the wounded lass some respite.
The lanky one rushed forth first. A mad grin plastered on his face while he disengaged the folding blades on his bracer. Ysmir winded his weapon back, and he closed in on the lanky man and brought the hammer down hard. To his disbelief, however, the skinny twat leaned his head back like a recoiling serpent as his legs propelled him over the attack. Curse him. He is fast. Ysmir felt his bladed bracer coming up to unleash a swift strike slashing his left pauldron as sparks flew. The Last Dragonborn grumbled as the lanky cunt flipped away. He turned back and struck the lumbering brute square in the face as he charged forward. Beneath his veiled helm, the Dragonborn could not contain his surprise as to where the brute's head should have been caved in from the blow. The bastard only flinched slightly, revealing a brown aura enveloping his body as he missed tackling the Dragonborn off his mount.
'Armour spells… no doubt they are spellswords.' Ysmir spat as he swayed his steed back for another charge. The Grimm creatures were hot on his trail now, but the lanky one burst forth with alarming speed as his folded blades disengaged, revealing two barrels which the Dovahkiin stared into.
The next moments went by in a blur as warm blood sprayed all over the Last Dragonborn as his mount's head went limp, revealing it eyes had been shot out. Instincts took over as Ysmir bent his body and brought his right arm across the body. He then tucked his head in and aimed the back of his shoulder to hit the ground. The Dovahkiin landed with a metallic crunch, barely enough time to ready his spells as the monsters swarmed him. He lashed out in defiance despite being pinned down by his fallen steed.
It was a piercing white light as if the glow of the moon was palpable on his armour. It was a pressure, a presence with searing physicality. The hordes of Grimm convulsed, akin to acid on their skin. The creatures, no matter what dark power held them, lost what little order they had ever possessed as they were petrified into solid stone. The Last Dragonborn squinted at the brilliance of the light, and when he opened his eyes, every one of Grimm was cast into stone. Ysmir spun his head around to the wounded woman who had finally collapsed, the silver flare of her eyes simmering down. His heart tightened in resolution.
"Quickly, finish him." It was the burly man who spoke first.
What Courage…
"Now, now, Hazel. I was just having some fun! I wanna see how I can crack this tin can open!" The lanky one jeered.
What Spirit…
"We do not have time to squander!"
What Heart…
Chain lightning serpentined down his right arm. Each bolt's crackles snarled angrily in hissing snaps. In the black that nurtured the evening hue came streaks of bold light, came lightning to electrify his foes. Ice crystals grew in his left into a sparkling cohesion of dancing hailstones. From a cloud of ancient-silver palette came a snow squall fierce and strong.
The foolish oaf was the first to notice as he lunged back desperately, fear and panic evident in his eyes. His effort was soon fruitless, and the Frost Nova engulfed him whole, freezing his body rock solid. The slimy cunt took the brunt of the Rift Bolt and was hurled backwards in a cloud of black smoke.
Ysmir swiftly pushed himself free from under his fallen mount before brandishing his steel blade with fiery embers trailing from the scabbard. His hammer was cast astray. Therefore, a sword would have to suffice as he approached the frozen brute, his eyes aiming for a clean thrust through his heart.
"Not so fast, tin can!" A familiar shrill voice echoed from behind right as Ysmir brought his sword high.
He could sense he was duller, slower, and the beat of his heart was quicker than a few moments ago. The lanky bastard was weakened from the spell as a purple emanation constantly flickered around his body. He cast a calculative glance at the beanpole's vicious swings as he parried and blocked, his lashing kicks and blade sweeps utterly lethal— aimed at audible joints and weak points of his armour—but utterly useless. IronFlesh has long since been cast as the Last Dragonborn took advantage of his extra heavy protection to begin his counterattack.
The spindly man's folded blades barely dented the armour spell as his pace grew, and his frustration grew as well. Even so, the lanky man was still faster. He left little openings as he stabbed and twisted. A flailing appendage worked its way around the Dovahkiin guard and bounced off his breastplate. The Dragonborn almost guffawed as the item he thought was a belt unfurled from the lanky man's waist, lashing out and futilely poking him. It was a scorpion's tail, and he suspected it was laced with poison.
'Perhaps, this is a circus after all!"
Timing the slash was crucial in turning the tides, the lanky man went for another sideways jab, and to Ysmir's delight, his anticipation was spot on. His sword hand darted below. His free hand seized the flailing appendage. The lanky fool shrieked in agony as the Last Dragonborn shattered his armour spell like glass, cutting off the stinger in a rupture of fire and blood. He dropped his guard, practically leaving his chest open as he reeled in pain. Ysmir seized the opportunity, and he slashed twice across his breast.
It all descended into a mad scramble when the Dovahkiin slammed the pommel of his blade into the cuck's face. He then slashed at Ysmir's palms making him let go of his blade.
A brutal takedown saw both of the fighters crashing into the dirt. The lanky worm struggled in vain as the Dragonborn pressed his immense weight over him and began to overpower him by the second. His writhing was pointless as the fierce vengeance of the Dovahkiin's fists wreaked upon his miserable head. He brought his armoured dukes down and down again.
Each blow was swung with increased intensity. Fragments of broken teeth and torn gum tissue spurted like a bloody fountain. How weak you are. This is not cruelty. This is retribution and justice combined. A rabid dog waiting to be put down. A bug to be squashed. The lanky stalk was beaten half to death by the vengeful Dragonborn as he twitched pathetically, choking in a pool of his own teeth and blood. Both his arms were also shattered in the violent onslaught as the Dovahkiin kicked him over onto his belly.
Then with a sickening twist and pop, the lanky bastard wailed once more as Ysmir wrenched the remainder of his tail from the socket. His continuous blood-curdling screeches were cut short as the Dragonborn wrapped the severed tail around his neck and pulled hard. Every ounce of suffering will be inflicted on this scum even until his last moments.
A crack ran across the frozen brute, finding the weaknesses that were once invisible. He broke free from his iced form and rampaged towards the Dovahkiin. His veins were glowing while his eyes morphed into a golden visage. The Last Dragonborn took mental notes since it was the first time, he had seen such… unusual magic despite being a student of the arcane arts.
Ice Shivs tore into the brute's flesh as his armour spell shattered like a brittle vase. Ysmir wrenched his sword from the soil. From the moment the charge began, time quickened. Ysmir noticed that as he gripped his blade. The experience of combat usually had the opposite effect. Time usually slowed to a halt where battle became a detached eternity. His blood was frenzied, and time raged. Steel met flesh then… a fiery implosion, then… nothing.
The Last Dragonborn pivoted his stance upon realising the burly man had thrown something and took off… running? The lanky scrub was also gone, spirited away by his compatriot. Only white masking smoke remained and the lone figure of the Dovahkiin.
'Should have finished the lanky bastard first… at least there would be a kill under my belt.' Ysmir snarled as he sheathed his sword.
He immediately dashed over to the injured woman who, with her last ounce of strength, had dragged herself to a nearby tree and laid unmoving. A trail of crimson stained the grass. The Last Dragonborn knelt and cursed upon realising his satchel was still crushed under his dead steed. With a frustrated growl, he summoned his pocket dimension and reached into the veil for his stock of potions and supplies.
"You… youuuuu… were beautiful… so many pretty lights… ahh." The woman suddenly wheezed with a ragged breath.
"Yes, yes, I am sure it was so. Now save your strength. Your fight is long over." Ysmir, not paying attention to what she was mumbling, washed himself over with a splash of water magic.
'Cure poison, healing, regeneration… or was it the other way around?' The Dragonborn murmured as he pulled out various pink bottles of potions. She was gradually fading. He must hurry.
"Open your mouth and drink. Slowly." Ysmir emphasised the slow part before he carefully sat her up and gave her the antidote first.
The white-cloaked woman winced as she forced the bitter sludge down. Then came the healing potion, which she almost choked on as she hurriedly slurped it down. Ysmir clucked his tongue in disapproval but still cracked a smile under his helmet as the familiar golden hue of healing magic blanketed her body. Minor wounds closed in an instant, while the gash on her back took longer to knit back together. The Dovahkiin sighed as an ugly scar persisted where the wound once was. He was lacking in the school of restoration since most of his youth was spent in fascination with the destructive arts and the complex chasms of the alteration arts. He cast healing hands on her back which saw the scar diminish a little. Ysmir exhaled finally as he slumped back. The healing was an overall success as now the woman was sound asleep, better colours had returned to her face, and her breathing now represented a normal pace.
Despite his stomach protesting with a petulant rumble, Ysmir groaned as he hoisted himself up to go gather his things. He would have to move the woman to a safer spot while carrying all of his gear. Food will have to wait once again.
About an hour has passed, and the long haul has finally ended for the Last Dragonborn. Upon finding a secluded spot in the forest, he painstakingly set up dozens of alarm runes around the perimeter so he could at least attempt to have the rest of the evening in peace. While he munched noisily on a juicy apple, he sketched out brief portraits of the two men in his journal. It would be their agonising deaths the next time he sees them. He glanced at the sleeping form of the woman who was wrapped like a newborn with his extra bedroll. The Last Dragonborn chuckled as he took another massive champ of the apple. While he was carrying her here, he noticed a shiny ring on her ring finger. Unless she was a widow, Ysmir would pat himself on the back for another good day of work. Even if his journey had to be delayed for a short while, the Last Dragonborn was in a merry mood as he devoured the apple.
At the edge of the cloud, there was a brilliant pale patch, like a turning page catching the sun. The rest was dove grey with a subtle hint of purple, just enough to announce the coming sunset.
The Dovahkiin pondered about his next move as he reached into his satchel. He gingerly retrieved a bottle of Cyrodiilic Brandy alongside some bread and dried pieces of meat, a delightful treat as he rubbed his hands together. Ysmir will wait until morning to see if the woman wakes, but for now, he would take a long-deserved rest.
A movement in the shadows has him frozen; it's no more than a rustle, but in this failing light, he still remains vigilant. More noise came. One of his runes triggered in silence, heard only by him. The Last Dragonborn slid his helmet back on and rested his palm on his dirk. Minutes pass, and what was evening is rapidly becoming the night. Without warning, a gust of wind, the sound of fluttering wings and a thick blade pressed on the back of his helmet.
"Stay away… from Sum-" It was a gruff and coarse male voice, his breathing was rough and heavy, but Ysmir allowed him no further.
"Two of her killers have eluded my grasp… the third one is welcome to try. I swear on the Nine that you will never see dawn if you press your blade." The Last Dragonborn returned a snarl as he squeezed his fist.
"You… saved her?" The man almost sounded hopeful but still had a rough tinge to his voice.
"Yes, I did. Now, I sense no ill will from you. I propose we sit and talk like civilised individuals."
"I… yeah, fine… I guess"
Ysmir stood and turned towards the man. To say everyone he has encountered as of today is strange would be an understatement. The man was drenched in perspiration from head to toe. Despite the Last Dragonborn towering practically a head over the man, he gawked at the cleaver-like weapon of his. It bore some resemblance to the weapon of the white-cloaked woman, another mechanical nightmare. He has black, spiky hair, faded red eyes, and a very slight stubble along his jawline. Along with a red cloak, he wears a grey dress shirt with a long tail, black dress pants and black dress shoes. Reminded Ysmir of a crow or a raven.
"Is she…" The ragged man gestured to the sleeping woman.
"If you are enquiring about her health, she is recovering as of now. I do not boast of being the finest of restorative mages, but I can ensure she will be rejuvenated with the proper rest." The Dovahkiin pounded his breastplate as he sat down once more.
"M…Magic? Actual magic?" He almost sounded bewildered.
"Of course, my good ser, how else would I heal her dire state? Now come sit. You seem like a drinking man! Here." Ysmir took a swig from the brandy and handed it to the scruffy man.
He gratefully accepted the bottle and took a long swill before letting out a satisfying exhale.
"Heh, this is good stuff. What's in this?" The scruffy man inquired about the purple bottle.
"A well-received brandy of my homeland. Ser?" Ysmir raised an eyebrow.
"Qrow, and I'm no sir."
"I see. Ysmir, simply Ysmir. Are you acquainted with this woman?" The Dovahkiin gestured.
"Yes, I am. Her name is Summer Rose, and my team leader." Qrow's tone implied he held great respect and fondness for her.
"Your significant other?" The Last Dragonborn inquired, noticing Qrow also having a couple of rings on his hands.
"Ha, I wish. She's married to a friend of mine. They deserve each other way more than I do." The gruff man let out a dry laugh.
"Do not sell yourself short, Qrow. I am certain you will find that special lady someday. Anyways, it is time again." Ysmir told his new companion as he primed his healing spells.
"Time for wha-" Qrow soon found himself stunned by what his eyes beheld.
It was magic. There was no other explanation. Mystical lights danced from beyond the veil of reality and into the armoured man's hands, woven in real spacetime, which bridged the fabric of reality and brought divine magic. Five gentle illuminations flowed from Ysmir's palms and into Summer's sleeping form. The lights caressed her gently as she hummed in contentment despite being fast asleep. More colour soon returned to her pale face, now giving it the usual rosy touch that he knew so well. Qrow made sure that all of this was recorded on his ear-mounted scroll.
"Hmm… much better now. Qrow? Are you alright?" Ysmir questioned the gruff man who had gone slightly slack-jawed.
"Uhh… I… yeah. I will signal for a bullhead. You stay and watch her." Qrow managed to vocalise before standing up.
"How would a severed head of a bull aid our cause?" A perfectly innocent question from the armoured man, made Qrow pause.
"I… just a moment. I will be right back." Qrow promised before he sped off.
The body looked like some enclosed metal boat with two large metal pillars attached to each of its sides by metallic beams. It hastened its way to the signal point where the Last Dragonborn and Qrow stood. The former was encumbered with Summer's equipment and his own belongings as the latter held the still sleeping form of Summer Rose.
The bullhead (although it looked nothing like one) hovered overhead, and its gradual descent was accompanied by gusts of blaring winds that grew louder as it lowered itself. The airship plopped itself upon the earth beneath as the hum from the pillars died down but still could be heard evidently.
With a mechanical whine, a metal ramp was dropped. As Qrow led the Dovahkiin upon the airship, Ysmir's mind drifted as he took every gaze to study and absorb the details of the airship. Indeed, a marvellous piece of technology, unlike any of the schematics he had seen of the Dwemer types, the bullhead seems to propose a more sleek and hasty flying efficiency and most certainly was not propelled by magic.
"Where are we off to Qrow?" Ysmir asked upon setting down the heavy baggage.
"Vale General Hospital, we need to make sure Summer is fine first. Then… there is someone I would like you to meet." Qrow huffed as he gently laid Summer down on a metal bench.
Sensing his companion's obvious exhaustion, Ysmir enquired no further and sat back. He would have to take his journey to this Vale now. Hopefully, he could seek help there as well. There was not much time for him to waste. The World Eater would not patiently wait.
The City of Vale, Central Hospital 4E 201.
To say that the last few hours were a pandemonium is an understatement. A simple reconnaissance mission had turned into an utter disaster. Glynda Goodwitch was not a woman easily distraught, but the last nine hours had run her completely dry. She has always seen her boss as the calm and composed type but seeing him so lost was a first for her in… forever. When Summer's blip abruptly vanished from the sensors… It was so unbelievable that Glynda thought it was some cruel joke at first. She refused to believe that someone as exemplary as Summer Rose was could just… no. Glynda refused to think of that was immediately sent to her last known location, and it was the first time in her career as a huntress to see the drunkard corvid sprint off without a single quip.
Her anxiety peaked as hours passed with no word from either party. Ozpin paced around restlessly around the Beacon Observatory with an expression of unease plastered on his face. However, when a message from Qrow finally arrived during the evening, any hope she initially had was dashed into was a picture of a devastated woodland, and within the clearing was a horrifying patch of dried-up blood and amongst it was torn pieces of white cloth. Qrow's voice from the intercom was grave and cold. Never once had she heard him so full of… could not escape from the hurricane of thoughts of what could this possibly entail. It was discomfort in her chest, a feeling as if her brain was given excess caffeine... then it sets in deeper. Gods, what about Tai and the children? How would they even react? When Tai first caught wind of Summer's initial disappearance earlier today, he almost turned into a shade of ghastly white. Despite numerous assurances from the pressured Headmaster, his faith wavered as the hours passed. Glynda sympathised with her friend, who was on the verge of breaking down. He still had to stay strong for Yang, Ruby and for Summer. The ache in her heart would not go away as her own hope began to diminish.
However, barely half an hour later, another message from Qrow arrived. They were all expecting the worst until they heard Qrow's voice. The man almost sounded like he had won the grand lottery as his tone was a mix of joy and relief.
'Summer… I found her! She is safe… she is… well. A stranger in armour had saved her… quickly, send bullhead! She might still be hurt, I think.' She remembered almost jumping out of her chair and cheering in glee. Headmaster Ozpin, who was standing beside her, probably let out the loudest exhale ever in Remnant's history as he repeatedly muttered under his breath.
Currently, it was around two-thirty in the morning as they waited for the bullhead to arrive at the hospital roof. Many of the medical staff were already on standby to receive Summer, who is due any moment now. Ozpin, who was wrapped in a thick coat from the night breeze, had been sipping on his twentieth cup of coffee since this afternoon. Normally Glynda would have made a comment on his caffeine intake, but she herself was practically running on the last straw. The day had been downright soul-draining, mostly attributed to the numerous emotional rollercoasters.
Alas, a bullhead sped towards the hospital roof bearing the familiar insignia of the Kingdom of Vale. Glynda remained on edge as the airship sank down. She had no idea of Summer's injuries. From the pictures before, the frightening amount of blood loss, her organs may very well be compromised and damaged. She waited with bated breath alongside her Headmaster, and the ramp opened. The emergency response team immediately rushed into action as Qrow emerged first from the bullhead. Ozpin and Glynda craned their necks as Summer was tended to by the staff. Even from afar, Summer actually looked… better than she expected to be, the silver-eyed prodigy was unconscious, but she looked so peaceful, almost as if she was asleep. Her cheeks were rosy red as the medical staff dashed her into the hospital. Ozpin must have also realised as he sighed in relief once more. Qrow approached first, and the drunkard huntsman looked worse to wear. He gradually inched his way as Harbinger was slung loosely on his hunched back.
'His flask must be empty.' Glynda thought.
Nonetheless, what caught her attention the most was the massive figure that trailed behind Qrow. Full plate armour that shielded the stranger from head to toe and a flowing grey cloak clipped on his back. The mysterious man's outfit revealed zero skin as Glynda studied him. He had a simple yet sizable warhammer strapped on his back and an unadorned steel blade buckled on his right. Everything about this man screamed archaic and of yore. The armoured man was truly enormous up close as he towered over everyone in the vicinity, even Ozpin, who stood at a generous six feet six.
"Oz… I think I might need a pay rise after today." Qrow grumbled wearily as he set Harbinger down with a metallic clank.
Glynda wasn't sure if he was joking, but the Headmaster gave a tired smile to the corvid man.
"Thank you, Qrow. You have done well today. But… " Ozpin gestured at the armoured man.
"Ah, our new pal. This is Ysmir, a… travelling sword from far away." Qrow pointed at the large man, who simply nodded.
"Indeed, my lord. Ser Qrow has told a great many things of you, esteemed Headmaster." The now-named Ysmir bowed his head.
However, to Glynda's surprise, it was Ozpin who choked on his words as he returned a deeper bow.
"No… it is I who should be offering my gratitude. You have… you have saved my student… perhaps one of my most cherished children. It is I who have lacked in my duties. It is I who would have failed her… truly. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." The Headmaster of Beacon Academy bowed deeply once more. Glynda was at a loss for words as the armoured man chuckled heartily and turned to her.
"Ah, forgive me for my slothfulness, my lady. I have yet to inquire about your name." Ysmir bowed and reached out an open palm.
"Um… Glynda Goodwitch. Also, a professor at Beacon Academy." She said before letting out a small squeal as the armoured man pressed his helmeted face gently on her knuckles.
"Indeed, my lady, it is a pleasure to meet you." Ysmir inclined his head.
Trying to hide her blush, she instead shot a glare towards Qrow, who was sniggering at one corner despite him being fatigued.
"Allow me to thank you more adeptly. I might have lost my bearings beforehand." What an innocent handshake from Ozpin led to something extraordinary.
As their palms connected, so did their bodies begin to emanate light. It was no aura as currents unknown weaved and danced around their forms. It was artful and soul-expression combined, for in those dancing curves and lines was a moment of inspiration so profound that left her mind astonished and wondering.
"Do you do this to everyone you meet?" Ozpin suddenly sighed after a long pause, yet he was grinning.
"A wizard should never reveal his secrets." Ysmir raised a lone finger to his mouth region before unbuckling his helmet.
Still, in awe from the illuminating display, Glynda and Qrow stared at the bare face of Ysmir. His eyes… They were enchanting. The irises constantly danced between different shades of colours. And just for a fleeting moment… it lingered on silver for a while longer. Indeed, it would be a long night.
PS: That one extra spot for another beta is still open. Until next time :)