Chapter 3: Wayworn
(Notes: Been a hot minute, eh? Sorry for the long wait, was busy with my college mid-term exams so writing had to be put on hold. But I am back now! The reception and the support for the story had been exceptional, I am very blown away, truly.)
Negative Foresight: Hope I answered your queries through PM! Still thanks for reading and the support!
Rathratite: Thanks for stopping by! Many thanks for the encouragements, there will be way more excitement to come!
Aidenchris: I am very fond of mods since my Skyrim is always heavily modded with 200+ mods. The spells I am referring to is indeed from Apocalypse. Astute observations!
Ocansino: Thanks for the follow my guy! Very interesting predictions, I can only say that you wait patiently, there will be much more :)
Silent Knight: A mood kindred perhaps, but yes Ozpin would be quite invested with the mystery man.
Lucky Prospector: Indeed my friend, Ozpin is quite the capable yet colourful individual. Yet many of his past mistakes will still haunt him to this very day.
Achilles333: I am flattered my lord. Very glad that you enjoyed the story, I promise there is much more planned.
TemporaryName2: Hello, thanks for stopping by sir! I like to spice things up for the story ;). I see you began a Morrowind fic, although I am not that familiar with ES III, you will have my support and follow!
Chapter 3: Wayworn
Many thanks to Starhammer for the legendary beta reading!
The City of Vale, Central Hospital 4E 201.
The hospital clock ticked, three-forty-five in the morning. Glynda Goodwitch sighed once more. The hospital room is more like a garden. How much things have changed over the past decade. The roof is transparent, giving an impression of being outside as once in a while, the nighttime gloom brings kisses of starlight upon a black basilica sky. The beds are still metal underneath, but technology has come so far. To the touch and to the eye, they appear to be bamboo, warm and rustic. There was so much talk of expense when the first pilot hospital did this, but the results speak for themselves. Stays are shorter, healing faster, and depression negligible. Turns out we're animals after all, and our "habitat" matters, that mental and physical health are too intertwined to separate. Another empty cup of black, Glynda herself has also stopped counting an hour ago.
"Just for today… " The disciplinarian muttered under her breath.
Qrow had plopped himself on a nearby bench and was trying his best to not nod off, but he was being bested by each passing second. Ozpin sat beside her, tranquil as always, his palms rested on his cane as his head was leaned back. Eventually, her gaze trailed towards the armoured man, who stood unmoving and dutifully, his warhammer still clutched in both hands. A while back, a few of the hospital staff tried to approach him about the 'no weapons policy', but all backed off when debating on who would be the one to speak to him. Glynda simply shook her head before turning back to her scroll, which she plugged into her portable charger. For the past hour or so, as they waited for Summer to come out of surgery, she meticulously scoured the databases and attempted to look into the background of this 'Ysmir'. There was absolutely nothing on this man, no records, no registry, not even a single name that correlates to him. It was as if he just suddenly burst into existence. Glynda pinched the bridge of her nose before garnering another look at the grey warrior. His face was not one of joy, nor the sort of happiness that brings laughter, but of the sort of responsibility one gains when protecting freedom and health is placed in one's hands. It was an expression of the kind of seriousness that brought the singleness of purpose, the awakening of the soulful protector and the coma of the inner jester.
"Still nothing?" The coy voice of her boss made her jolt back to reality.
"You fell asleep, didn't you?" She shot back.
"Drowsy dreaming is where creative sparks become new and fabulous ideas, Glynda." Ozpin cheekily whistled.
She groaned before shaking her head, and Ozpin returned with a nod. The Headmaster gazed forlornly at his empty mug before removing his glasses and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. They sat in silence for a minute or two before she spoke up.
"What… happened just now, on the roof? Between you and him?" Glynda found it harder to formulate the correct words as she reflected on the otherworldly exchange a while back.
"Magic… Glynda, of the purest kind. Yet is a power even beyond my comprehension, yet so vast and noble." Ozpin's voice was below a whisper, but he spoke with such avidity that Glynda was taken back for a brief moment.
"P… Professor Ozpin? I don't understand." It was as if she was a first-year student once again, seeking answers from her tutors.
"Neither do I, Glynda. It felt familiar, but no, the roots and properties are different. I have never seen anything like this. His magic is foreign to me. Yet the hosannas it sang are enchanting nonetheless." The Headmaster said.
Before Glynda could enquire further, the doors of the emergency room swung open, revealing the slightly breathless head surgeon.
This... a hospital is what they called this facility. At least it was what Qrow told him. The gleaming hallways almost seemed unnatural to Ysmir. Everything that could shine did shine. There were stainless steel, sleek floors, and the art on the walls were all-natural images in colours as bright as glacier melt-water or spring flowers. The air had a pure fragrance, not sterile, just clean. In the background, music played from an unseen ensemble where the Dragonborn could only assume that it was from above. His eyes trailed to the ceiling, just clear and high-arched. It was like standing out in the open without the risk of rain. Indeed, this is a whole different world. The City of Vale itself was a sight of magnificence when he flew overhead. Even within the moonlit hours, every light in this city is another story that is central to somebody's world.
Ysmir chuckled to himself. Everything became more unreal as the days passed. No one would believe a single word of his adventure in this dimension when he returns. He grumbled as he stewed about his current predicament, time growing shorter the longer he stayed. It was troubling that this realm was practically devoid of Magicka, save for the Headmaster and that Summer lady. However, their magic was… queer. It lacks the touch of Aetherius by the sun and stars, where Magicka comprises every spirit. It is the energy of all living things and can be harnessed in a variety of ways. Yet, it is absent from their craft. He peered deeper only to witness a dying flame within a hall of darkness. The dwindling light faltered but persevered nonetheless. He only snapped out his thoughts when from the corner of his eye, his instincts were focused on a dishevelled fellow brisk walking his way towards them. It was a frazzled man with messy blonde hair that had two small strands sticking out from the top and sleep-deprived blue eyes. His facial hair consists of a soul patch and small stubble along his jawline. On his right arm is a tattoo of his emblem, which resembles a fireball. He wore brown pants with a dark brown belt, black shoes, an orange bandana on his left arm and a brown leather vest over a tan dress shirt with the right sleeve cut off. A metal spaulder, leather vambrace and a brown fingerless glove are all on his right arm. The Last Dragonborn tightened his grip around his hammer.
"Summer… Summer, where is she?" He gasped in an anxious tone.
The esteemed Headmaster soon rose to his feet to greet and perhaps calm the man down.
"Tai, Tai, Summer is fine now. Your wife is safe. We just spoke with the head surgeon. Her condition has stabilised." Headmaster Ozpin reassured the weary man.
"Good, good. Thank god, that is good… yeah." The blonde man slumped down finally as he caught his breath.
'Ah, so that is her beloved.' The Dragon of North secretly beamed underneath his mask of steel. To be loved is the greatest sensation in the world, the greatest blessing, and so with it comes the greatest of fears and responsibilities.
The Headmaster readjusted his glasses before helping the man up. He then gestured to Ysmir, who shrouded his presence from the relieved lover. The rumpled man's eyes widened, making the black bags below more evident.
"You should thank him instead, Tai. After all, he is the one who saved Summer." He said, indicating at the Dovahkiin.
"Then it seems I might be forever in your debt, sir." The man called Tai lowered his head as he grasped the Dovahkiin's gauntlets in gratitude.
"It is of no matter, my good man. Any man with a heart would have done the same." Ysmir said with a wave of his hand.
"Indeed it should be… you should go to Summer first. The head surgeon has informed me that she is admitted on the floor above." Ozpin interjected before lightly smacking Qrow in the kneecap with his cane as the drunken huntsman snorted himself awake.
Her thoughts had become foggy, like that time when she first tried alcohol from Qrow, and it took her straight into oblivion. It's as if every eyelash weighs more than it should, and gravity has been turned up tenfold. In moments, Summer inhaled and lay on the soft grass. It slowly swayed on the moor, over which a grey sky rose. Unending wind wears the storms away. It wears her down too. The pale sun soon rose and painted the skies in shades of red. The coming rain hid her tears as her throat tightened. A colourless landscape as far as the eye can see awaited her, leading to a steep cliff edge. A young boy wrapped in grey robes sat by the edge, humming to himself as he was absorbed in the book he was reading. Summer Rose reached out her hand, only to see it fade before the drowsiness took her once more.
As Summer wakes, her mind is swarmed with a departing dream; she sighs, reluctant to banish it as she ponders. The light of early morning shines into her slowly opening eyes, and she brings a hand to guard them. Everything about her body feels heavy, from her arms to her feet. Summer lets her head loll from one side to the other, eyes closing one more time as she enjoys the brief darkness. There is no option to sleep on, no chance to rest and conjure her dream anew.
Then the panic began and grew stronger into disorientation as her mental faculties gave way to emotions. She wanted to jump right out of her skin and join the ether as recent events gradually returned to her. Summer felt just like a child again, shaking, terrified. The constricted feelings grow as if she was strangled by just the air around her. The men who attacked her… They were after her silver eyes! Ruby, where is she? Is she safe? Where is Yang? A wonderful daughter that was practically her own. Tai? Where is her brilliant sun? The bed beneath squeaked noisily, and she jolted up.
"S… Summer?" It was a comforting voice that she knew so well.
Tai… he looked terrible and sullen. His sunken and unshaven cheeks stood out to her the most. The bright and exuberant eyes that she fell in love with were bloodshot and riddled with dark blemishes. But what tore at Summer's heart the most was that… her love was still smiling, and for the first time, he wept freely as he embraced her.
"It… it's my fault… I shouldn't have let you go alone." He whispered between short breaths.
At that moment, that flash of guilt amplified her pain. Were Summer to relive it, she would try to summon more strength. She failed herself and failed the ones she loved the most. Yet there is still a quietness that whispered love as her truth. When she invited the stillness in and remembered the moments as if each were the greatest of spontaneous photographs, there was a sense of thankfulness. It is this sense that made her soul robust, strong enough to greet storms and sunny days just the same.
"I'm sorry, Tai…I'm sorry. I almost lost. I almost lost everything. Please forgive me." Summer's voice cracked as she caressed her husband's cheeks.
"It's alright. All that matters is that you are safe." He sniffed, not letting go.
Summer's mind still reigned in turmoil as more of her memories returned by the minute. The attackers that hounded for her silver eyes, that mysterious armoured rider that saved her skin with his powers. Her children…
"Tai! Ruby, Yang… Where are they?!" She exclaimed with such urgency that she even managed to surprise herself. Summer then tried to force herself off the bed, but the stinging pain in her calf alongside her husband made sure she lay back down.
"Summer, calm down! The kids are safe, I promise. Mallari said she would look after them before I left for Vale." He tried to reassure her.
"The men who attacked me, they were after the silver eyes! Ruby is in danger!" Summer blurted out.
"Wait, what?" Tai recoiled in startlement, but Summer pulled him back
"It was an ambush. They drew me in! Those bastards knew…"
Fighting back his bewilderment, parental instincts kicked in as Tai scrambled to find his scroll and dialled Mallari's number, messing up the number awkwardly numerous times before finally getting through. The call went through after a minute, only to be received by a very confused medicine practitioner. Mallari assured both worried parents that the kids were ok and still asleep at this hour.
"You must have hit your head, Xiao Long. I told you they would be safe under my care. Now go and be with your wife instead." The medicinal practitioner of Patch chastised before hanging up.
"I… I guess… that would have to do for now. I'm sorry for all the grief I caused, really." Summer mumbled as she sat back.
Tai mustered a tiresome laugh before sighing and putting his scroll down. The hospital clock ticked, seven o'clock in the morning. His weariness was finally catching up to him. Taking his eyes off the clock, Tai rested his head on his love as if the effort of watching was too much. He cuddles in, feeling the rise and fall of his lover's chest, the rhythmic noise slowing his own breathing. With her hand on his hair, the soporific effect is irresistible, bringing sleep before the next break.
On the cosmopolitan streets, the people walked in the heat of the cool season. They chatter and stroll, a river that flows between the silver-grey skyscrapers. From here, he could imagine that this was all there was, yet from the skylines, he saw the neatly lined concrete houses of a new age. These buildings especially, these silver trees of geometry, reached sunward, inviting the eye up into the blue. Ysmir watched from the hospital balcony as the City of Vale woke from its slumber.
"An impressive view, is it not? Quite picturistic if I say so myself." A calm voice resonated from behind.
"Indeed, my lord. It is truly humbling to see what man can do, given the time and effort." The Last Dragonborn remarked as he turned towards the enigmatic Headmaster.
"You need not address me as a lord, Ysmir. I am not one, to begin with." Ozpin waved a hand.
"Very well, Headmaster. Then allow me one question." The Dragonborn said without averting his gaze from the rising sun. At least the sun remained the same.
"You may."
"Usually, the younger the warriors were, the brighter their light burned. The veterans of the arcane wards, my masters, so invisible and yet so powerful this process is that it crosses over into a metapsychical realm of unbridled potency, on a level of unguessed might. Yet all I see... is the afterglow of a dying candle and the absence of Magicka. For a being that harbours such capabilities, it is jarring to see it dwindling. Do you think otherwise, Headmaster?"
Ysmir recognised the glint in the Headmaster's eyes as he rested palms upon his cane. A look of subdued hesitation and astonishment.
"What do you mean, Ysmir? What do you think you know?" The Headmaster pursued.
"Headmaster Ozpin. From the moment I set foot upon this city, I was greeted with desolate winds. The magic in this realm… in you… is inadequate."
"Compared to you, perhaps. But you are not wrong. It is an art of a bygone era, forgotten and lost by many. Even I find myself lacking with the eventual passing of an age." A green ball of light hovered within his right fist before it diminished.
"Then some fun may have been had at Ser Qrow's expense." The two men shared a brief chuckle.
"We can speak of this at another time and at a more appropriate venue. Come, it has been a long day for all of us. I believe it is best for Summer to continue her recovery and for us to rest as well." Headmaster Ozpin beckoned towards Ysmir.
"A wise decision, sire"
The Kingdom of Vale, In the skies nearing Beacon Academy 4E 201.
"In the grand scheme of things, Vale ain't half-bad. Regular climate, natural barriers, and some serious border defences mean the citizens of Vale can spend less time worrying about survival and more time just living their lives." Qrow casually explained to Ysmir as they rode in the bullhead.
The Last Dragonborn gingerly nodded as he trailed behind his companion, his mind drifting elsewhere. As part of an agreed arrangement, the esteemed Headmaster has cordially offered temporary lodging and accommodations in gratitude towards Ysmir himself. The Dovahkiin himself was, of course, incredibly grateful towards the offer. Yet, he was perplexed when Qrow informed him that they were en route to a student academy.
"You'll know when you see it." It was what Qrow told him when he inquired about the dubious location.
"Very well then. Will you be visiting your valued team leader, Qrow?" Ysmir decided to continue the conversation.
"Uh… I will probably, yeah. Maybe after she gets discharged. Hospitals and I don't really mix well together." He gave a tired chuckle.
"Ah, that would be for the-" Ysmir was spellbound as the supposed view of the 'Beacon Academy' came into view upon the airship's descent.
The academy itself was bold on the blue beyond. It stood there as if conjured from the foregone citadels of old. It was perfect. Ysmir imagined the grand spectacles of this 'academy' could very well rival and dwarf the scale of the entire Imperial Palace back in Cyrodiil. The courtyards were massive, enough to house countless dragons or even an entire legion worth of soldiers, because if those sky-bound towers could exist, why not? Every piece of marble and stone was even and square as if those who built it were set on perfection as if they really loved what they made. They were walls made to protect a community, perhaps to echo scholarly ideals and be the shelter they needed for the millennia to come. Ysmir was glad that his helmet hid his face since he was certain that he would have looked like a fool with his mouth agape.
They landed at one of the many aerial docking bays which all belonged to the academy; it was situated just before an impressive cliff's edge that overlooked the entire city from across the fringe. Ysmir peered over the edges and noticed at the base of the cliffs, a docking bay was also available for some kind of large ship-like vessels that he couldn't make out from a distance yet so alien in design to him, and a path from there which conveniently leads upwards to the top of the cliff.
The two of them took the longer route across the academy as Qrow led Ysmir towards the guest dormitories, which were located in the further wings of the academy. His initial thoughts were very well justified upon entering the main buildings, that this apparent academy was indeed more a palace rather than an academy for students. The entire academy was far more enormous than any castles and palaces he had visited before, definitely more of immense size than the Arcane University. Yet the interior designs struck out to his observations.
Apart from a few colourless banners draped from the walls, the hallways themselves seemed spartan and neat in nature. There were not many decorations gracing the walls, yet the atmosphere had a way of belonging to the earth it graced. Of greys and browns were its walls, the kind of stone that reflects sunlight into the ambient soul. The walls shone, but it was a result of the lights mounted on the walls or perched from the ceilings, not gleaming like the hues of mage lights. However, what made Ysmir the most curious was the lack of human presence within the expansive halls. If this was an academy for students… then where are all the students?
They continued in silence as the Dragonborn took the opportunity to observe more of the vaunted academy. Almost eerie, with the way their footsteps echoed around them. It reminded Ysmir of unpleasant yet exciting memories within the various ancient Ayleid ruins he explored a few months ago when he was still in Cyrodiil. His natural impulses constantly kept his hand near his sword although there was absolutely no reason to do so, almost anticipating a horde of Draugr or a band of conniving marauders around every corner.
"Mighty quiet for such a celebrated academy?" Ysmir remarked, his fingers itched around his warhammer.
"Eh, the school term is practically over by now. Most of the runts probably have gone home for the break. It's way more goddamn chaotic during schooling months." Qrow explained as he stifled a yawn.
"Fair enough." The Dragonborn returned, deciding not to pursue further answers.
Eventually, after crossing a series of corridors and staircases, they arrived at a hallway of simple white doors.
"Well, here we are. This one is yours." Qrow gestured to a white door that was marked with the number '201'.
"Thank you for the little tour, Qrow. I believe you should go have your much-deserved rest." The Dovahkiin inclined his head.
"Yeah, I might just do that then. Oh, and before I forget. Here." Qrow reached into his pocket and handed some kind of miniature glass pane to a confused Ysmir.
"This is a scroll. You can uh… store data in it and speak to other people. Oz said you should have one since he will be contacting you later through this." Qrow stumbled as he tried his best to give an explanation of the odd device.
"I… see, if you recommend it, then I believe it would prove to be a useful tool. Good hunting, Mysir." Ysmir bade his guide farewell as he entered his room, clutching the weird transparent device in his hand.
His room was interesting, to say the least. It was much bigger than he expected, at least it seemed so from the outside. The entrance revealed a cosy hallway and a small closet built into the wall. Heading left, the hallway took a sharp turn, revealing the rest of the room. There was a white bed of striped pine with their grey canvas mattresses jammed end to end on both sides of the living area. Without the beds, it would seem quite spacious. Perhaps with the marble floor and corniced ceiling, it might even seem quite grand, but like this, it was reminiscent of the utilitarian aesthetics section of the academy in general.
At the end of the central aisle, the light shone dimly through the mullioned window onto the grey bedding and the carpeted floor. Outside to the horizon, Ysmir had a privileged view of the open sea. The bed did look quite enticing. However, sleep has long since eluded the Last Dragonborn after being rejuvenated by his restorative arts. He had even more questions now as he pocketed the weird device. This entire realm did not feel right. It did not feel real.
Ysmir sighed as he opened the door, stepping outside into the hushed hallways. He remembered catching sight of the directory, which suggested that there was a library alongside an open balcony somewhere within the academy. Perhaps… he could make use of the overall untroubled atmosphere to cast a few incantations of his own without fearing disturbance. Indeed, he just might.
Even from his early life, Ozpin always believed that some things are only real if you believe in them. Insanity can exist in sanity if you do it right and keep all your intellect intact. In truth, he felt that it is the secret key to virtually infinite potentials and capabilities. It comes at a cost, however. Once you open that locked door, you are in it for this spin of the mortal dice, and then you are eternally recruited for the team you served during your life. Belief to be life. That's the way it is. Believe in nothing, and that's what you become. Believe in being a hero In being a warrior for love and peace... and interesting new doors open for you. Try it... what have you got to lose…
His rest was put on hold for the time being due to obvious developments. The stranger who saved Summer, Ysmir, is a literal living myth of old. The various art wielded by him is unknown even to Ozpin's honed perception. He would like to believe that throughout the ages, he had gotten quite well at reading and discerning people, yet… trying to assess the mysterious stranger was akin to slamming his head into a brick wall. The global archives held absolutely nothing on the enigmatic man as if he did not exist at all?
Theories have brought Ozpin to the far and secluded regions of Remnant's kingdoms, vividly remembering his travelling days. The Farlands, barren and mythical provinces beyond the reaches of civilisation, realms that remained unexplored and, for the time being, scarcely inhabited by primitive nomads, it was said not even the Grimm tread within those lands simply because… there was nothing. However, Ozpin soon dismissed that theory due to the sheer absurdity of his brainstorming. Overthinking will get him nowhere.
The 'old' Headmaster chuckled to himself as he wiped his weary eyes with a warm towel. He was glad he made sure Glynda and Qrow took the rest of the day off despite fervent protests from the former. Glynda… She is a hardworking and diligent individual, a capable huntress and a compassionate soul despite her uptight exterior. She took the news of Salem, of who Ozpin truly is and the eventual fate of the world decently well. Sure, there was the initial fear and doubt, yet her nature refused to let her crumble, only further solidifying her resolve. Indeed, she would be a worthy successor for the eventual Headmistress of Beacon Academy.
Ozpin exhaled as he took another look at the office clock, nine-forty-five in the late hours of the morning. Vale has awoken from its slumber, yet he felt as if a whole wardrobe was strapped to his back. Over the long millennia, he began to feel more and more his age. Despite countless revitalisations and reincarnations, his ancient form was wearing down… he was tired… but rest must wait.
"Ysmir… just Ysmir. A travelling swordsman from far, far away." Ozpin recited the provided and known information of the man.
The feeling was different… in a way, even Ozpin himself cannot explain. He felt giddy, excited and also slightly nervous all at the same time. It was unlike the discovery of silver-eyed warriors or the maiden vessels, not any known lore. A breath of crisp and fresh air…
Ozpin tapped into his ample yet dwindling magic and sought answers but found none. The stranger's presence was dressed in mist, a fabric that flows like rivers and eddies in tight swirls. And so, they are interesting for the explorer Ozpin, for they have more linguistic traps for the mind than any ancient old-world tomb. And yet, only the most dexterous of hearts may reach their treasures, for only a kindred soul will share the wealth.
The Headmaster wrecked his brains as he struggled to grasp the nature of Ysmir's magic. It was unique, a billion verdant wands of pine wave in arboreal air, for it was only visible to those enlightened, so much so that you can feel it from core to fingertips. The First Humanity… the Gods have cast aside and left the worlds, and the God of Darkness erased the entire population except for… Her. Leaving her the only one left. When the second era of Humanity evolved all over again, the God of Light reincarnated him in a new body, leaving him as another member on the planet, although in soul only. Did the Gods make a mistake? Impossible. A guardian perhaps, but Ozpin refused to believe the simplicity of it. The Gods would have told him or at least hinted. Wouldn't they? Ozpin shook himself back into reality as he took another deep breath. He must properly utilise this revelation with the utmost tact, a golden opportunity only a fool would pass this up.
The combat footage retrieved from Summer's chest-mounted camera has solidified his convictions. An utter beast on the battlefield, a force of nature not to be reckoned with as Ysmir descended from the treelines. The myriad of spells cast by him had Ozpin captured in wondering amazement. The evidence could not be more solid. Yet, the more Ozpin unravelled, the more his heart sank. He was getting too complacent, too careless. He would have failed again if not for this 'divine' intervention. The attackers were identified shortly after. The lanky man, Tyrian Callows: a vicious and crazed huntsman turned mercenary. He was likely a pawn of Her. The larger man, Hazel Rainart… a lingering regret that stained and haunted Ozpin. His own fault made manifest to return.
Ozpin sighed before removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sighing too much as of late. The idea of sleep does sound quite enticing now. The need to rest has been growing in his bones, and the muscles that always wanted to run are asking so very powerfully not to. There is a weary feeling that cannot be politely assuaged or that will simply evaporate with some adequate rest.
PS: The offer for the one extra beta is still up for anyone willing. Until next time :)