-Semblance of Brotherhood-
Chapter 12: Connections
Cool morning wind swept Silva's metallic grey hair about, already he was regretting bringing his breakfast up to the perch today. Sadly, there wasn't really anywhere else he felt safe having the conversation he was about to. The whole issue with Blake was one he just did not want to deal with, especially after seeing how easily she'd thrown out logic in favor of paranoia the night before. True, she wasn't completely unhinged, as he'd clearly come to learn through spending time with her, but it was still a trait that he genuinely despised. Where once he'd seen Blake as a pillar of reason, of certainty and tact, there now was an unshakable distrust. All it had taken was a single, objectively meaningless revelation for her disposition to completely flip.
Honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about it all. Hence his reluctance to revisit the problem. Were it any other person, anyone else, Silva would have simply cut ties.
But she isn't.
In the back of his mind, he could still see hear that awful, breathy, hitching sob from all those weeks ago. The image of that lonely, broken girl, sitting atop a branch with her face buried in a book refused to leave him. It all brought him back to that promise. That shortsighted, stupid fucking promise.
I should have left well enough alone.
Yet for some reason that idea seemed so hollow. Why was he trying to talk himself into hating someone who'd done so little to cross him?
She's just as hunted as I am. The only difference is that Adam knows that she's alive. It's natural that she'd be jumpy, and if anything it's my fault for hiding the truth.
Oum's sake, he hated feeling so damn mixed up. Silva glanced down at his food, now looking about as appetizing as a field ration, and decided to just let the plate's contents spill off into the Emerald Forest below. All his life, there had been constants that he could expect. Bloodshed, battling Grimm, watching those he'd just shared a meal with be torn asunder as they held the line. These things, while terrible and exhausting, he was accustomed to. They were things he knew how to deal with. Things that he knew what to feel about. Now, however, he found himself in a situation entirely foreign to him. Even apologizing to Weiss had been as simple as swallowing his own ego. Not so easy here.
"Silva?" Blake's voice snapped him out of the confused haze he'd fallen into, his eyes lifting up from his lap to meet her own as she lifted herself over the lip of the perch. To his surprise, the tone of it wasn't nearly as venomous as it had been last night. More than anything, it sounded careful. Tentative. When he replied, it was hard to not let anger seep into his words.
"You decided to come after all? I was starting to think you'd just run off."
"From what?" She asked, the question sounding like it was meant to be rhetorical. "We're pretty much in the same boat, I think. Or, at least, that's how Yang sees it."
His blood ran cold.
"What did you tell her." He all but demanded, Blake seeming to realize how shady that last bit sounded.
"Woah, woah, calm down. She doesn't know anything about us being Fang, I just made up a story to get her thoughts on it. That's all." Silva let out a long sigh at the explanation.
"You could have led with that."
"Still half-asleep." Her jaw worked open in a yawn just as she said it. "Last night was just... a lot to process, you know?"
He nodded, though now a whole new wave of confusion was hitting him.
Did I really overthink this that much? He'd expected... well, what had he been expecting? For her to show up in some righteous fury?
"Hey, you still there?" For the second time, Blake pulled him out of his own head. "Look, I'm sorry for getting so worked up, I know you probably had your reasons for not telling me, just like I didn't tell you." And there it was, as easily as that. The situation he'd been brooding over the entire morning, solved. And yet...
"Blake." The girl flinched at the weight of his voice, inching back from him with watchful eyes.
"U-uh, what?" She fumbled, "I... I really am sorry! It was all way too much, and-"
"Shh." Such a simple sound, a gentle request for silence, but somehow it instantly sealed her lips. "Why are we here?" An out of place question, even he could see that, and still he felt compelled to ask. Blake merely stared at him, likely trying gauge what he meant.
"C-come again?" Less of a stutter now, and more a genuine lack of understanding.
"You and I. Here, at Beacon. By complete chance. Why?" He wasn't even sure if she'd get what he was asking.
"I... don't know?" She tried, doing her best to try and decipher his question. "Because life's a bitch?" He actually cracked a grin at that.
"I imagine that's one of the bigger reasons, sure." Pausing a moment, Silva rose to his feet. "You remember the night Adam threw me out?"
"I-I guess? I wasn't there in person. Just... heard a lot?" Now she was completely lost. Silva, on the other hand, had never felt so clear-headed in his life.
"We were arguing over the idea of full-scale war with Atlas. I told him I wasn't going to stay if he went through with it. Hell, I even brought up our mom. I think that's what really made him snap. We'd never actually talked about her after she died. And there I went, shoving it in his face to make a point." A dry, sardonic chuckle rumbled up from his throat. "Fucking brilliant debating tactics on my part, huh?"
"You were related?" She ventured, still looking like a fish miles out of water.
"Not by blood. My grandparents were killed in a raid-gone-wrong. Supposedly the Fang got false information, assumed our estate was an undercover Faunus-trafficking hub. By the time they realized it was bullshit, they'd already hit the building with a few explosives." He paused again, absent-mindedly running a hand through his hair. "Anyway, Adam was the one who pulled my mother and I out of the rubble. He tended our wounds, brought us food, even gave up half a tent to keep us warm. Eventually, he just sort of... became a part of what family I had left." The view, Emerald Forest sprawling out into the horizon below a serene sky, certainly helped steady his mind. Often he had trouble simply thinking about all of this.
"I can't believe he didn't tell me. He never even mentioned you when we were on missions together." She pondered, seemingly more to herself than anything.
"You have any siblings?" He asked in turn.
"No. Why?"
"When you're around someone that close to you for so long, it's easy to get sick of them. Not anything serious, just a mutual need for some time apart." He explained, "I think that's how he saw spending time with you, to some degree. A chance to be around someone other than his annoying little brother."
"How are you annoying?" Despite her reply, the look in her eyes told him that his words resonated with Blake on some level. Another round of laughter rocked his chest.
"Heh, it's a familial thing, I guess." It was only then that he remembered where he'd been going with this line of thought.
"Ah, I'm rambling. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that our being here might be an... opportunity, you could say."
"Opportunity? I don't think I understand." He lowered himself, down to meet her gaze on an even level.
"I think we can both agree that the Fang is going to self-destruct sometime soon, right?" She hesitated a moment, again unsure of what exactly he was insinuating. After a second or two of just staring at him, Blake managed a nod.
"Well, you're a Belladonna. Your family name carries significant weight in the Faunus social world. They may not recognize you, but they will recognize that. Flock to it, even." He gave her a moment to process, before asking, "Do you think you would be able to follow in Ghira's footsteps? Rebuild the White Fang, after it burns?"
"No!" She snapped, eyes going wide as she realized what she'd said, followed by an embarrassed blush. "I-I mean, wouldn't it be a bad idea to leave it as the White Fang? People will think we're still violent!" There was hope in her voice, however small. A shame, then, that he needed to temper that hope.
"I agree. Sadly, reality isn't so simple. No matter what we hypothetically re-named it as, those who wish to see us fail would try their hardest to smother us. Violence is a language we must be willing to speak in, or else we'll never even get the chance to be heard."
"They never listened in the first place!" She exclaimed in return, a frustration he was all too familiar with rearing its ugly head.
"You're letting the past blind you. Yes, Atlas does not have any intention of listening to us, but Atlas isn't the only Kingdom in Remnant."
"Yeah, no shit, Silva. You know we tried reaching out to other Kingdoms!" Blake looked to be on the verge of striking him, her shoulders quivering out of sheer anger.
"Not with a member of said Kingdom's Council on our side." That, however, stole the wind from her sails. A furious glare softened into vague understanding. "Ozpin knew we were ex-Fang before either of us ever set foot inside Beacon, yet he not only accepted us, but even went so far as to blatantly ask us for help." He explained, "I, for one, think that he would be more than willing to help us in return."
"That's... definitely something we didn't have back then."
"So, are you willing to try?" If nothing else, they had a real chance at helping the Faunus in Vale. Blake didn't seem as certain as he'd hoped.
"I..." She drifted off, trying to find the right words, "I-I don't even know if I want to have anything to do with the White Fang right now, okay? I'll think about it, I promise, but I need time."
"That's one thing we have in spades, Blake. I get needing a break from it all, when I first came to Beacon I felt the same way." Even for all his social ineptitude, Silva could tell that Blake's mind was one at sea. She hardly knew what she wanted to do with her life, let alone whether or not she wanted to step back into the quicksand she'd so recently escaped. Or he was reading too much into things again, which was certainly possible.
In a moment of suspiciously perfect timing, the bell for the end of breakfast echoed across the campus below. He rose back to his feet, his back popping as he did.
"Alright, I'm headed off to Oobleck's. Take whatever time you need, it's not like Beacon's going to crumble around us anytime soon." She giggled slightly at the quip, silently waving him goodbye as he stepped off of the perch into freefall. Wind ripped at his face as he plummeted, and in the instant before he would have impacted the unforgiving ground, Silva engaged his Semblance, passing harmlessly through the earth while a comforting sense of cold enveloped him.
All things considered, that went well. He felt bad for imposing such a heavy question on her, but there was never going to be a chance like this again.
Next comes the hard part.
Shoving the thoughts from his mind, Silva quickly wisped across the Academy, slinking through the darkness like a phantom. Which, he supposed, was a very accurate way of describing his ability. He certainly felt like a ghost.
After History...
Agh, I'm going to end up with arthritis some day thanks to that sociopath.
The mind-numbing ache in his left hand aside, Silva was actually impressed with how well his fellow classmates had recovered from Forever Fall. Sure, it was a little less lively overall, but they were handling the ordeal quite maturely. Having the entire Year consolidated to a single class was still a harsh reminder, though.
You did what you could. If you hadn't, there wouldn't be a Freshman Year left at all.
Yet the throbbing in his chest didn't falter in the least. He knew there had been several, either wounded or separated form the rest of them, that he'd left behind. But, he also understood that the situation was one where everyone couldn't win. He was only a man, after all.
Stop thinking about it. Focus on the present.
Easier thought than done, sadly.
"Hey, Mutt!" A firm, heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. He turned back to face his partner, who regarded him with searching eyes. "Stop lookin' all depressed n' shit. In case you forgot, you've got a fight with Pyrrha today."
Oh. He'd completely forgotten about that. Part of him wondered if she would be up for it.
A good fight might be what I need right now. I hope.
"I remember." And then, as if by some cruel twist of fate, the Headmaster's voice began to speak through the campus-wide intercom.
"Silva Taro, if you would be so kind, I'd like for you to come to my office." It was brief, but he could tell there was something wrong. It sounded like Ozpin was speaking through gritted teeth.
Why!? Why can't I catch a break!?
"Damn," Russel cursed, "Was hoping to see Pyrrha mop the floor with you. Any idea what he wants?"
"Could be a few things, nothing you guys need to worry about." He reassured them, already turning to head in the direction the central elevator. They all waved him goodbye, but knew better than to press for details. If it was something that they needed to hear about, he'd tell them.
The halls were emptier than usual.
His elevator ride was one spent with his arms crossed impatiently, repeatedly running what remained of the day's schedule in his mind.
Work on Lark's Semblance after class, sneak out to meet Cinder and Roman after dark...
He quickly found himself looping between the only two things he had planned. It was better than thinking freely, though.
The elevator came to a stop, where the doors stood closed for a final second or two with the usual ding. Voices were conversing faintly through the doors.
"I am telling you, Ozpin, this is a mistake! He may look like a child to you, but that Taro boy is dangerous! For all we know he's leaking everything you let him in on straight to Taurus!" A firm, commanding voice insisted as the doors slid open. There, on the other side of the threshold, stood three people.
No...
Two of them were clad in the prestigious military garb of Atlesian special forces. Both were individuals he readily recognized.
No, no, no...
The first, was Operative Winter Schnee. Probably the highest quality soldier Silva had crossed blades with that worked exclusively for Atlas.
The other was James Ironwood himself, a figure that he'd only ever heard Adam refer to during operations. Most of the failed raids they'd attempted had been foiled specifically by Ironwood's direct tactical intervention.
Calm yourself. They aren't your enemy, not anymore. Won't get anywhere if I lose my temper.
A single, deep breath, and then he strode into the office. From the confines of the elevator, he hadn't been able to make out the third's identity, but after moving beyond the lip of the doorway he could see their face clearly. The man was lanky, sporting a custom outfit colored in varying shades of grey and black. It was a look that only a Huntsman would have the eccentric taste for. His eyes were a deep shade of crimson, framed by a defined jawline and topped by a slicked back head of black hair.
"So," The man started, already looking over to Silva as he came closer. "This the kid?" His voice was unusually gravelly, like he was hoarse, though he spoke as if it were completely natural.
"Indeed he is. James, Qrow, I'd like to introduce you to our friend, Silva. He possesses key information regarding the movements of the White Fang, and is also an extraordinary Huntsman in his own right." Ozpin explained, leading Ironwood to turn and regard him with cold eyes.
"You mean an extraordinary terrorist? I have half a mind to arrest this murderer immediately, Ozpin." The General snapped, "It astounds me that you'd stoop this low for the sake of recruitment. The Branwens were one thing, but this is just stupid!"
"James!" Ozpin's voice was verging on a shout, earning complete silence without another word spoken. He allowed said quiet to sit a moment, restrained breaths evident to Silva's hearing. He took a long sip from the mug in his hand, before continuing. "Enough of this. I'll not have anarchy in my office, and that is final. If you take issue with Mr. Taro's presence today, I must politely insist that you keep said issues to yourselves within these walls." If Ironwood held any objections, he didn't voice them.
"Moving on," Qrow awkwardly picked up the slack in conversation, questioning Silva directly. "Care to fill us in on your, ah... qualifications?"
"Indeed." Ozpin seconded, "I believe it would be best if we knew, more specifically, what your specialty was during you time within the White Fang."
Silva thought briefly on how much he should share. Eventually, he decided to keep up the trend of openness he'd recently started.
"A number of things, but for the most part I aided in the planning and execution of high-priority raids." Almost seemingly in spite of Ironwoods downright livid face, Ozpin was quick to press for more.
"Elaborate, if you would? The more specific, the better."
"That's fine. In the days leading up to any raid, it was my job to use my Semblance and completely scout the entire complex, be it a fully-fledged SDC Mining Camp, or just a travelling convoy. I didn't have a rank, but was generally seen as Adam Taurus' right-hand. On the battlefield, I was sent in whenever Huntsmen were deployed by the opposing force. To be honest, I never had a specialty, just a useful Semblance and some skill with a sword." He explained. Qrow didn't seem very pleased.
"'Bout as specific as a shotgun, if you ask me." He complained, turning to the Headmaster. "Oz, it cool with you if I take him to a practice ring after this little chat? I think I'll get a better read on his strengths once I see him in action."
They already assume I'm just going to blindly work for them? I suppose I did tell Ozpin that I wanted to help, but this is a bit presumptuous.
"Excuse me." Silva stuck his foot into the discussion, "But I don't remember agreeing to anything in particular last night. What exactly am I here for?" His question caused the mottled Huntsman to crack a grin. Ozpin, thankfully, looked as though he understood Silva's confusion.
"Ah, forgive me. I tend to get a little ahead of myself at times. If you are so willing, our friends..." The Headmaster drifted off at that, glancing at the two Atlesians with an air of caution. "Associates, here, wish to employ both your knowledge and skills. There has been a rather brazen string of Dust robberies across the city of Vale during the last few months, all claimed by one Roman Torchwick. According to the good General, White Fang activity has also spiked within the Kingdom in a similar timeframe." Well, shit. He'd had his suspicions leading up to this, but now Silva knew. They wanted him in for the long haul, at least as far as combating the Fang. Fine by him.
"Makes sense." He confirmed, turning to face Ironwood with as civil a demeanor as he could. "Right before I got booted out, Adam was talking about setting up a more permanent Branch here. Far as I know, he was planning to start hitting Atlas from three Kingdoms at once. Spread your men thin, make the Fang look bigger than it is, that sort of thing." The General's face twisted into one of both surprise and anger, though it just as quickly brought itself back under control.
"I don't trust information from the enemy." Silva levelled a foul glare at him.
"The fuck? Didn't Ozpin just say you wanted my help?" For the first time, Winter piped up. Her voice was just as ear-grating as Weiss'.
"We don't require any such assistance. It was at the Headmaster's behest alone." She parroted, though he hardly cared. Silva let out an annoyed huff and turned back to Ozpin and Qrow.
"You heard me?" The Branwen chuckled.
"Yeah. Sounds like the White Fang's gettin' ready to make some big moves. You know if they're linked with those robberies?"
"I know they'll probably follow the Dust. If Adam's still intending to putting more pressure on Atlas, they'll definitely need it." Playing dumb was frustrating, but he couldn't let slip just how shady his relationship with Torchwick was. If anyone here caught wind of his little... spree earlier this year, his Hunstman's License was as good as gone.
"So what's the chance he turns around and does something completely different, if you had to guess?" Qrow asked, which was music to Silva's ears. The more they made this about the Fang and not Roman, the better.
"Adam isn't much for last-minute changes. It's a good plan, so he's going to follow through as carefully as he can. Far as he knows, I'm dead, so it's not like he's accounting for someone knowing his game-plan. But." He emphasized, "Making assumptions is a dangerous thing when it comes to him. All it would take is the slightest suspicion that I might be alive for him to go right back to the drawing board." Ozpin was the first to pick up on what he was suggesting.
"In that case, having you aid us becomes a rather complicated affair." He mused.
"Not really. You forget, my Semblance is quite literally built for stealth. As long as I'm not getting into full-on skirmishes, I can definitely get things done without Adam being any wiser."
"He wouldn't be able to recognize such involvement?"
"I know what I'm doing, Ozpin. Been doing it most of my life." Silva reassured, purposefully glancing in Ironwood's direction.
"It isn't that I doubt your ability, Mr. Taro, my concern is more centered on the repercussions of taking a side. The White Fang will become aware of your existence eventually, to assume otherwise would be a fool's hope. The prospect of one of my student being assassinated for merely following his conscience troubles me deeply." The Faunus' gaze narrowed at that.
"I... I'm aware of how this can go for me, long-term." Bloodily. Simple math, to be honest. Even given his tenure at Beacon thus far, Adam still vastly outclassed him in nearly every respect. If the Fang ever felt like killing him, his brother was literally the only member with the capacity to do so, and Silva held absolutely zero delusions of that ending well for him. Or his Team.
"There is no need for you to worry, Mr. Taro. My coming decisions will be made with these conditions in mind, I will not make it easy for them to retaliate against you."
As much as he appreciated the good will, Silva had his doubts.
"If you have any questions, regarding all that we've discussed, now is the time to ask. Things may well begin to escalate in the coming weeks, so there is no guarantee that we will have such an opportunity again."
"You mean the Grimm."
"Hm." Ozpin nodded in confirmation. "Forever Fall was a declaration. One that I cannot ignore. There will be worse to come, possibly even a full-scale assault on Vale itself. We must prepare for the absolute worst, and quickly." Silva pondered his thoughts for a moment, considering if he actually had a question. Only one came to mind.
"When will you need me?"
"Frankly, I cannot say. At the soonest, your assistance may be required this coming weekend. Qrow will be conducting a survey of the city. Hopefully it will be quite uneventful, but in the event that he uncovers something unexpected, your help would be greatly appreciated." He explained, taking yet another drink from his mug.
"That's fine. My Team could use the break from training." Qrow cracked a grin at that.
"Don't go makin' plans just yet, kid. I gotta see if you're worth a damn in a fight, first." A smirk crept across Silva's lips.
"Alright. Let's go see if I meet your standards." The Headmaster cut in before their idle chat could carry any further.
"Ah, one more thing I'd like to tell you, if that's alright?"
Half an hour later...
The meeting ended soon after that. To Silva's satisfaction, Ironwood and his lackey left with absolutely furious look on their faces. He and Qrow had made their way down to the sparring area, stopping by the locker room so that Silva could retrieve Regalis.
Now, they stood a few meters across from each other, both taking a few minutes to go about some pre-fight stretches.
"Say." Qrow began, cutting circles with his arms to get the blood flowing. "You wouldn't happen to know a couple of sisters named Ruby and Yang, would you?" Silva's brow quirked upward upon hearing their names.
"Yeah, actually. You their dad or something?" He could almost see a resemblance with Ruby. Yang, though?
"Nah, I'm their uncle. So, how're they doing? When I heard about Forever Fall, well..." He didn't need to finish the thought.
"They're handling it decently. Yang's basically fine, if a little shaken up. Ruby was injured, but honestly she's still seems a bit too young for the trauma to really sink in. At least, that's how she makes it look." It would be disrespectful to try and sugarcoat things.
"That's... better than I was expecting. Oz told me they were safe, but he wasn't very specific."
"Seems a bit jaded of him if you ask me." Qrow scoffed, crimson eyes casting downward in a look that Silva couldn't place.
"You... really have no idea." The way he said it made Silva immensely curious, but now wasn't the time. Ideally, he could ask during their scouting mission later this week. The Branwen was quick to perk back up though, his eyes suddenly glinting with aggression.
"Anyway, you ready to get your shit pushed in?" He jabbed with an arrogant smirk. Silva just unsheathed Regalis, giving the pearly blade a quick flourish. Qrow's eyes widened a bit at the sight.
"Damn. You make that?" Silva shook his head, taking a moment glance down at his sword with a fond expression.
"Family heirloom."
"Gotcha." Something heavy and sharp slammed into his side like a speeding train. There was no holding his footing, he flew to the floor and rolled several times before he could arrest his own momentum. The instant he stopped, Silva dove to the side as Qrow's massive, cleaver-like sword sliced through the air he'd just occupied.
Cheap bastard!
And the assault was far from over. By the time he was able to steady himself, Qrow was already sprinting after him. The next strike was a horizontal slash, but now that he was prepared, Regalis intercepted it and deflected, sparks erupting from the collision. Only, something was wrong with the way his foe's weapon glanced off of his own. It seemed almost... intentional?
Before he was able to discern what felt so off, a heavy boot crashed straight through his guard and sent him hurtling through the air for the second time in the span of a few seconds. Pain exploded from his back when, somehow, Qrow caught up to his careening body and snapped a brutal rising knee into him, followed up by a devastating downward slash that rocked his frame right back into the floor of the arena.
Wha...?
Without even a single moment to recover, the Huntsman literally punted him like a ball. The kick was lighter than the previous blows, but only because Qrow clearly had zero intention to let him catch his breath. Yet again, the Branwen caught him mid-air and drove a fist his jaw that made the boy see stars. It was all he could do just to form a coherent thought.
What the fuck is happening!?
It made so little sense... Silva was no weakling, for years he had put himself through savage, hellish training to form himself into a dangerous weapon. Every day, of every week, of every month, he'd beaten himself against the untouchable warrior that was his brother with sole intent of becoming strong. Not only that, but clever as well. He'd faced down hordes of vile Grimm, dueled and bested some of Atlas' greatest soldiers, pushed himself to very precipice of death time, and time again.
And he's flicking me around like a motherfucking ragdoll!
It was rare, that Silva found himself feeling so indescribably pathetic in the face of anyone aside from Adam. But there, in that moment, he felt like a helpless, sniveling child for the first time in nearly a decade.
And he couldn't stand it.
His temper reached its absolute limit, Aura flaring dangerously as he tore at his Semblance. The thoughts which ran through his mind fell away in a haze of cold, yet determined fury. He would not be humiliated like that again. Never again. In a flicker, Silva vanished from the arena for a split instant before blinking back into existence directly behind the focus of his ire. Regalis lashed out at the man's unprotected back so violently that Qrow audibly grunted before cutting a tight circle to parry his next slash. Sparks flew as the two engaged in a fervent exchange of swordplay, Silva pressing the offensive with calculated anger fueling him.
The dance only shifted when he managed to slip Regalis over the back of Qrow's sword, forcing it low so that he could line up a clean strike. Instead, he heard the subtle yet weighted clicking of a mecha-shift before a round of buckshot impacted his stomach with the force of... well, buckshot. A shocked wheeze escaped his throat as Qrow deftly shifted his weapon back into its melee state and slammed the pommel into Silva's forehead. Faster than he could recover, the Huntsman's shin cracked against his temple and sent him, yet again, tumbling to the floor. This time, though, Silva found it much more difficult to push himself back up again. His gut hurt so badly that it was making him sick, his head throbbed with a pulsating agony that made it hard to not see double. But, more than either of those ailments, one thing was aching so deeply and so purely that he simply could not find the will to stand.
His pride.
"Why..." He breathed, not even sure if he knew what he wanted to say to himself. Why was he weak? No, he knew better than that. He was strong, there wasn't a bit of doubt in his mind about that. Why couldn't he win? No again, the answer to that was obvious. Qrow Branwen was clearly just that much better. Why did he feel so strongly about this particular fight? That... he couldn't answer. He didn't know his adversary on any personal level. At most, he'd just heard about the legendary Branwen twins from the few Huntsmen he hadn't met on the battlefield. There wasn't a grudge, or even a sense of needing to be better than him. It was only when an image of his brother's scarred face flashed randomly through his mind's eye that the answer finally came to him, and Qrow didn't have a thing to do with it.
Why can't I seem to get out from under your shadow?
I'm officially done making promises about my upload schedule. Obviously it's a coin toss as to whether or not I'll adhere to it.
WARNING: SPOILER-ISH DISCUSSION ABOUT SILVA AS A CHARACTER BELOW
As for this chapter, well, it kind of speaks for itself, I think. Silva is a kid who's always had a goalpost he strived to reach, but never actually thought he'd ever even come close to. It's kind of something I relate to, in my own way. And, now that he's finally realized how outright toxic Adam was for him and cut him out, he's still got it imprinted in his head that his brother will always be better than him. Just when he thought he was finally moving past those feelings of indebtment and inferiority, Qrow comes along and rips the scab right back off again. Now he's got to try and reconcile that complex within himself, or forever cling to Adam's "Shadow". Hopefully now you get where his Semblance comes from.