I snagged Total War Troy for free and it is some good stuff, so far completed an Agamemnon campaign and now going through with my boy Aeneas. I also definitely did not spend five nights in a row staying up to 5am to watch the Hololive 5th gen debut streams, nope. But hey, what else am I gonna do while the plague is still out and about? Though it's a shame that Aloe is in hot water, wish her the best.

Jaune gently slapped his cheeks as he walked down the hallway through Beacon, trying to get the last of the grogginess out. He wore not his school uniform but some clothes more fit for battle: a navy-blue jacket, black boots and black jeans. Not flashy, but not half bad either. Ruby had said she liked his blue outfits because they complemented her red pretty well.

Ruby's words made him smile for a bit, but it failed to derail his thoughts from what had been plaguing him since the night before, and the night before that, and so on and so forth.

Because a week ago he had discovered that people from Earth had come to this planet, blew up the moon and conquered the world.

Alright, that was being somewhat hyperbolic, but reality was not too far off. He had spent most of the previous night reading, with only a few hours for sleep (this was how he had spent several nights, fueled by coffee and raw anxiety). He had read a book on the Breaking of the Moon.

It was an event so major in Remnant's history that they even used it to measure time, with the year that the moon broke being accepted as year zero. They now lived in the year 1023, over a millennium later. Back then, people assumed it was some godly act that had destroyed the moon; nowadays, the longstanding theory was that a meteor had struck it. Now the moon and its various fragments remained together through a precarious balance of gravity dust deposits within it. Considering nobody had quite worked out how to make dust work well in space, it was impossible to check and test these theories.

He agreed that gravity dust probably held all the pieces close, but he had a different theory for how it got destroyed in the first place.

All the ancient accounts described a massive blast of yellow light in the sky. Next thing anybody knew, the moon had been shattered like a porcelain plate dropped on the floor. He could believe it was a coincidence that it was a yellow flash of power—the same as the alien machine's energy and lightning—that had destroyed the moon. What came next, however, threw the plausibility of coincidence out the window.

In the aftermath of the Break, amidst the chaos and confusion of disrupted tides, a few meteors and general hysteria, the Englo speakers had arisen.

After seeing them mentioned, Jaune had gone to Oobleck's office hours and asked him—purely as a matter of scholarly curiosity—for a rundown. The doctor was all too happy to oblige.

They were a community that arose from somewhere in Mistral during the disarray of the post-Break world, and they accomplished things previously unprecedented. They were the first to harness dust in new ways, giving them an edge against the Grimm and other groups. In a short time, they also achieved breakthroughs in agriculture, medicine, metalworking, science and architecture. During all the chaos, the Englo were ten steps ahead of every other society in the world, building cities with complicated sewage systems, aqueducts, irrigation, furnaces and the like while everybody else cowered in their huts. They were the only light during a worldwide dark age, and their flame was bound to spread.

Scholars have debated for centuries about how this was so, and the most prominent ideas seemed to revolve around luck. There just happened to be some greats minds clustered in the right place at the right time.

Conspiracy theories alleged that they were assisted by aliens to facilitate their rise to power or were aliens themselves. Such thoughts were laughed away by the mainstream, of course.

Oh, if only the world knew.

Jaune shut his eyes and stopped walking for a moment. He leaned his back up against the wall and rubbed a hand against his forehead, then massaged his temples with his knuckles. Thinking this stuff over gave him a headache.

He had, ever since Oobleck's little history lesson, been reading about it in more detail for himself. Apparently, the Englo had even been able to make more advanced ship designs and used the seas to accelerate the spread of their ideas through contact and commerce. They even figured out how to create an early version of the printing press and paper. This enabled them to start making all sorts of records and books to serve the logistics of their spread and trade. Importantly, they made dictionaries and manuals for their language that detailed how to speak and write it, using their own totally distinct alphabet.

In the disorder caused by the Break, societies across the continents were left reeling and confused, susceptible to significant change. People adopted Englo methods to survive and further themselves. A lot of those copiers then went on and inspired others to copy them; if they did not inspire others, they dominated and assimilated. It was a like a series of dominoes that fell and spread all across the world.

Of course, many cultures continued to be distinct, and many indigenous languages survived. Nevertheless, Englo and evolved forms of it became the dominant speech over the course of nearly a thousand years. After the Great War a century ago, the great powers sat down at the table and decided to mandate that the codified old version of Englo be made an international language. While very controversial at first, the "Common" as it was dubbed has since become widely spoken across the planet. As it turned out, the original language wasn't even too different from the mutated forms spoken after the Great War, and it wasn't too hard to make the switch.

Jaune's father had said that Earth's cultures had become incredibly obstinate and slow to change, even after centuries… maybe that was the same even after swapping planets?

So yeah, it looked like a bunch of Earthlings had come and fucked everything up.

They must have been remarkably talented people in order to pull off so much; they had to have had literal libraries of knowledge from Earth, as well as the know-how to implement it all. There must have been a lot of them too, at least thousands to start. Or maybe a small number of people who somehow took control of a preexisting society and managed to mold it to their liking? There were too many possibilities to count.

Whoever came must also have been extremely secretive, since somehow their true origin had still not been discovered. Other survivors from the Enclave lab? Were the Enclave the foundation of Remnant's civilization? Or maybe the Brotherhood? Some other place on Earth with a different alien device? Or maybe Zeta? Where the hell—

"Hello Jaune."

Jaune jumped at the sudden greeting. After being startled for a second, he turned around and look at his addresser.

Weiss looked back at him curiously, then smirked. "What, did I scare you?" Her voice was smug in a not unkind way.

His thinking and rethinking had flopped around ceaselessly the last week, so he felt honest gratitude for someone coming along to bring him back into reality. He chuckled lightly and pushed off from the wall. "No, no, just surprised me. I was kinda lost in thought."

"You've been lost in thought a lot lately, hm?" Weiss pointed down the hall. "Let's walk while we talk."

"Yeah," he agreed, getting in stride beside her. "Think we're gonna be late. Not like you."

"I'm unsurprised to see you in the same situation," Weiss said while rolling her eyes. "If you must know, I lost track of time in the armory." She tapped Myrtesnaster, which was strapped to her hip. "I've been polishing her a lot recently, ever since she was straightened out again."

"Right," Jaune said, remembering that Bishop had twisted her sword like a wet noodle. "Yeah I guess it's natural to look after it more now."

He looked down at Crocea Mors, fastened to his side. Its chain was durasteel, only really susceptible to damage by energy weapons. The frame and backbone, however, were made of titanium. Was Bishop capable of destroying it with his bare hands?

Well, hopefully not.

"Yes, while I'm not quite as connected to my weapon as Ruby is, I still find myself caring for it as more than just a piece of equipment. I know Blake and Yang feel the same." She cocked her head to Jaune. "I suppose you share the sentiment?"

"Not really, no."

That put some curiosity in her. "Why not?"

"Well I didn't make Crocea Mors, for one." Jaune shrugged and rested a hand on the sword's handle. "So I don't have the sentimentality of that. I just take care of it now that I have it." He looked back down at the sword, frowning slightly. "If anything, I kinda don't like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah." A slight scowl came on his face. "It was originally made for the Enclave, after all."

"Ah yes, I can imagine that staining it a bit," Weiss said. "But can't it be redeemed by your use? Something's origin does not completely dictate its future."

"I guess not," he said. Jaune had thought before, occasionally while cleaning his sword, about what sorts of things the Enclave might had used it for before it came to him. Supposedly, it hadn't seen battle yet by the time the Brotherhood captured it, but… that didn't mean the testing phase wasn't cruelty free.

That send a shiver under his skin, and the sword suddenly felt heavier at his hip.

"It's just plain mean," Jaune said. "It was made to be scary and painful. Psychological damage and wounds that can't be stitched up. At least your rapier has finesse, skill, a good look to it. Crocea Mors is just nasty."

"Hm." Weiss hummed lightly, giving it some thought. "I do remember you speaking of its capabilities in rather negative ways."

"Yeah," he said.

Jaune would have continued, but at that moment they reached the entrance for their reserved training room. Qualification trials for the Vytal Tournament were soon, meaning they needed to prepare as much as they could.

Jaune had originally considered blowing off the competition due to the state of things... but he had been excited for it before, if only because of the others' anticipation. He wouldn't let Bishop ruin their plans. Besides, it would be totally safe in a heavily guarded and monitored arena with a ton of other hunters around.

Jaune flexed his leg, making sure everything was good to go—

"Actually," Weiss said. "Could we stop and chat for a second longer?"

He turned away from the door, curious and a little confused. "Oh, uh, yeah alright. What about?"

"Well, it might be good to just tell you this now." Weiss tapped her foot. She glanced away nervously, before clutching her resolve and speaking. "The others are worried about you."

Now more confusion hit him. "Huh? Why?"

"Have you looked in a mirror?" Weiss said. "Your eyes make it obvious you haven't slept much, a fact that Pyrrha confirmed to us just yesterday."

"You all…"

"Were talking about you? Yes. Only in the capacity as worried friends, and of course"– she forced her foot to stop tapping –"we are simply worried about how much your 'research' is taking from you. It seems you spend more and more time reading and whatnot, even staying up through the night now.

"The others just want to make sure that this doesn't become a repeat of the Blake incident." Weiss's face soured when recalling how her teammate had worked herself half to death. "I can personally attest that such a situation is undesirable."

"Oh, well," Jaune looked away and crossed his arms over his chest protectively. "Sorry about that. I thought I was being good about it. I've still been spending some time with you all…"

"Yes, and we appreciate that," Weiss said. "We do. But I think we'd all rather you compromise on making sure you get proper sleep along with your research and training. Nora even mentioned she'd rather see you less if it meant you were sleeping well—that is, if you really can't lessen your work.

"Or we could help you research—"

"No." Jaune said the word immediately and absolutely, and it came out sounding more rude than he had intended.

Weiss raised an eyebrow, expression suddenly chilly.

"Uh, sorry," Jaune said sheepishly, looking away and immediately cursing his flash of harshness. "Didn't mean to cut you off like that."

"Hm."

Weiss looked at him with a bit of her famed coldness in her eyes. She tapped her foot against the ground once, twice, three times; then she just sighed.

"It's fine," she said. "We just want to make sure you aren't pushing yourself too hard. Blake will admit now that she went overboard before. And with a matter like the Enclave, I think that trying to research them is a poor endeavor. Atlas and Vale are pouring their all into it, and they have the actual resources to do it, unlike us."

But they don't know where to look and what to look for. They'll never get to the bottom of this.

"Okay," Jaune said. He tried to relax the stern look on his face. "I'll try to sleep better. Though part of the reason I've been staying up reading is because I can't really go to sleep in the first place. This stuff is sorta keeping me up at night."

Weiss nodded along; the coldness in her eyes from when he had offended her melted away into empathy. Jaune had not believed—for a long time—that Weiss would ever look at him that way.

"Oh well, some things aren't to be avoided easily," she said, reaching out and giving him a pat on the arm.

There was no one with whom he could share his uneasy thoughts, not even Peach; no one would believe him… except for one.

The only person he could talk about this with was Orion. God, here he was wishing to meet up with a deathclaw again. Not just a deathclaw, but a person who had—in a short encounter—become his friend.

That last thought actually put a small smile on his face, and Weiss, not knowing exactly what he was thinking, was at least glad to see his mood pick up a bit.

"Alright," she said, "let's not keep them waiting anymore, shall we?"

"Nah, we shouldn't," Jaune replied. "Thanks for telling me this. I'll make sure to talk it out with the others soon."

"Sounds like a plan," she said with a nod.

The two pushed through the training room doors, and Jaune was immediately overcome by the sounds of gunfire. More specifically, shotgun blasts. He walked into the room just in time to see Yang dueling with Ruby within a thick, protective glass casing. He glanced over to his team, seeing them sitting on a bench by the side. Weiss broke off to sit beside Blake, while he went straight to Pyrrha.

"Sup," he said as he sat down beside his partner. He noted that Pyrrha and Nora were covered in sweat. "I guess you two duked it out?"

"Yup!" Nora cheered.

"Indeed," Pyrrha said.

"One beat the other," Ren said from beside his partner. "And there's certainly a sore loser."

"Oh please," Nora complained, "she wouldn't have won if I hadn't tripped!"

"You tripped because she outmatched your footwork."

As those two bickered good-naturedly, Pyrrha chuckled and turned to Jaune. She patted her forehead with a rag, wiping off some of the sweat there. Then she said, "How are you feeling today? You left for the library early."

"Yeah, sort of tired, I guess—"

"Hya!" Yang yelled, gunning for her sister with a killer jab. Ruby ducked back and skidded away, avoiding her sister's follow up attacks.

Jaune frowned at what he saw.

"You can tell quickly, can't you?" Pyrrha asked him, observing his reaction to the fight.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can."

Ruby normally would have taken the opportunity there to swing. Now, however, she kept backpedaling, never letting her sister get too close.

"Ruby's fighting has gotten much more skittish," Pyrrha said sadly. "I can understand why she would want to dial back now, but she's lost her will to seize the initiative."

"Yeah," Jaune said. She was playing all defense.

Didn't take a genius to know why.

"It's affected her deeply," Pyrrha said with a sigh. "Her form is still excellent; the skill is still there. It's an issue of too much hesitation."

Jaune rested his chin on his hand and watched the fight play out. Indeed, Ruby dodged, ran and swung her scythe with remarkable fluidity, and her prosthetic didn't seem to be causing her any problems.

It looked odd to see her right hand while she fought; the robotic prosthetic was white as a bone, and indeed it looked like her arm suddenly ended with her skeleton made bare. The color contrasted starkly with the rest of her crimson and black uniform.

Yang went in for a punch, only prompting Ruby to block it with her scythe and flow with the momentum; she pulled off a backflip, landed gracefully and pivoted away. It was an incredible acrobatic move, and she made it look easy.

"Still very talented," he muttered.

"Indeed," Pyrrha said. "All the more impressive for being fifteen. I admire her, really."

Jaune perked up at that. "Really?" He didn't voice it out loud, since he knew Pyrrha didn't like her fame being mentioned, but for a renowned champion to acknowledge that she admires another student—someone younger than her, no less—was quite a statement.

"I do," Pyrrha said. "She's better than I was at her age. In a few years, she may very well be better than me. It's odd, honestly."

"What do you mean?"

"She seems to adapt quickly to things that take years to learn, normally," Pyrrha said. "Someone who's old enough to be in Signal is more capable than half the people in Beacon. That's out of the ordinary. I suppose she's just one of those kinds that you see rarely, the naturally adept."

"Hm," Jaune hummed contemplatively and looked back to the arena. "Yeah, you're probably right about that." He had overhead some other students talking about Ruby with jealous tones. Two years younger than them and already just as—in many cases, more—talented than they were.

Pyrrha cocked her head and observed as Ruby pulled a swift spin on her heel and swiped back at Yang. "Talented indeed."

"That's my girlfriend for you," Jaune said, smiling with a spot of pride.

Pyrrha grinned back and said, "You certainly got lucky here."

"I definitely did." He nodded and looked back at the fight. She really was so, so strong.

"Oh but also," Pyrrha said, "Jaune… if I could pull you aside later to talk about something, that would be nice."

Anxiety suddenly crawled around in his chest, for he knew exactly what this was about. He looked at Pyrrha, who had her "serious face" on. Behind her, Nora and Ren had also stopped bickering and waited quietly for what he would say.

"Ah…" Jaune sighed regretfully. "Is this about how much time I've been spending researching and stuff."

"Um, yes." Pyrrha nodded sheepishly. "I know it may be difficult for you to scale back, but I think—"

"I will," Jaune said. He met her eyes and nodded. "I'll try to see if I can get some sleeping pills or something, and I think I can work out a bit of a schedule for how much time I spend in the library."

After all, I'm going to be stuck in this school for a long time anyway, since the threat of Bishop and the White Fang has us practically trapped. No need to burn myself out.

Pyrrha was suddenly flush with relief, and a smile stretched across her face, a very genuine and happy smile.

"Thank you," she told him. "We were worried you wouldn't take the request well…"

"Eh, I'm a bit more chill than I used to be," he replied. He pointed to Weiss, who sat on the other side of the room, watching the fight and talking with Blake. "She told me about this just now."

"Did she?" Pyrrha asked curiously. "there was a time not too long ago that I would've thought she'd be the worst person to try and have that talk with you."

Jaune chuckled and shrugged in the way that said: yup, you got me.

"I definitely wouldn't have wanted to hear it from her, but you know we made up last week and…" Jaune furrowed his brow, trying to think of the right words. "I… I dunno. There's more we have in common than I thought. I like her."

She has a good heart. I understand what it feels like to think you don't deserve what you have or that you're not a good person.

Pyrrha beamed. "I'm glad to see you making more friends."

"Are you my mom?"

"Sometimes it feels like it," his partner said with a playful laugh. "I mean, picking you up from detention and trying desperately to stop you from other shenanigans are some motherly actions, I suppose."

Jaune scoffed and lightly shoved her; Pyrrha giggled and swayed away from his playful push.

"Maybe I'm more like a big sister, how about that?" she asked as she straightened back up.

"That actually does sound better."

A sudden blare made Jaune jump in his seat from surprise. It was the aura-meter for the arena sounding off. Ruby had just dipped halfway through the yellow, which they had set for the endpoint of their match. Yang had just a tad bit still left in the green.

Jaune watched his girlfriend wipe sweat off her brow as Yang came up and started talking to her. They were swapping perspectives on the battle, giving tips and suggestions to one another and breaking down their choices. He saw Ruby frown from something Yang said. Her sister had likely pointed out that her combat style had become too subdued, just as Jaune and Pyrrha had noticed. In the past, she was always able to get Yang into the yellow, even if she was never able to eke out a victory.

After a minute, the sisters split off; Ruby came straight to him. A small smile popped up on her face, and the sight of it never failed to make Jaune feel nice. That he could make her smile just by being there… that fact never ceased to amaze him.

She plopped down right next to him and leaned over on his shoulder, a more overt expression of affection than she had mustered in a week. He reached and arm around her and pulled her closer.

"Missed you," she said.

"We saw each other at breakfast like a few hours ago."

"So?"

Jaune chuckled. "I missed you too."
"Alright losers," Yang haughtily yelled out, "who wants to fight next?" She spread her arms wide and looked around the room. "We ain't gonna qualify for the tournament if we just keep sitting around!"

"Go out and beat her for me," Ruby said to Jaune with a voice that echoed the playfulness she used to so easily embody.

"Don't think it'd be fair to fight her right after you," Jaune replied. "Although…"

He pulled back his arm from around Ruby, who scooted to the side to let him rise from the bench.

"Think I'm in the mood for something a bit new. Hey Weiss, you down for me to trash you?" He nodded at his former rival, who looked genuinely surprised to be mentioned.

"Me?" She pointed at herself, confounded.

"Yeah, you." Jaune taunted her as he drew Crocea Mors; its nasty teeth produced a grating rasp against the sheath. "What, you scared?"

Weiss's trademark scowl came full into play as she rose from the bench with a stomp. She held her chin up with her usual pomp and said, "Your jeering will be repaid with suffering, Arc."

"I'm terrified," Jaune said with a mocking smile. "What's a Snow Angel like you gonna do to me?"

Weiss huffed and drew her rapier with a shing! as she took long strides into the arena.

Some of the others, namely Blake and Yang, clearly became worried from the antagonizing. Their worry softened, however, when they saw Weiss adopt her own sly grin to counter Jaune's.

Jaune pulled out his scroll and tapped into the aura monitor function, then connected its signal to the arena's aura meter. Weiss did the same. During this, he became aware of a growing anticipation.

A good-natured duel between friends. It felt nice.

The monitor above the arena flashed their bars of aura, showing it was ready. Both he and his opponent settled into their respective fighting stances.

Jaune held Crocea Mors before him with two hands. He pulled on the trigger, revving the chainsword and getting the engine going; its violent little growl radiated with excitement. Hips and shoulders set, his was a simple but effective stance.

Weiss, meanwhile, gracefully stepped back and faced him sidelong, holding Myrtenaster's pointed out before her with her left hand. She shifted from foot to foot, swaying for a moment and finding her balance. Her movements were fluid like a dancer's.

"This could be fun," he said. "We've never fought before. Don't think I've ever faced a fencer."

"And I don't believe I've ever faced an opponent with your kind of barbarity. Countering your wanton volatility may prove interesting."

"Somebody count down," Jaune said.

"Okay!"

It was Ruby. The genuine excitement in her voice surprised both Jaune and Weiss, who had gotten used to her quietness. Now, however, she literally sat on the edge of her seat, leaning forward with a bigger smile on her face than Jaune had seen in a while.

The pure joy of seeing her best friend and her boyfriend finally getting along, even acting like friends themselves, had shoved aside her melancholy if only for the moment.

"Five!" she said.

Jaune beamed at her.

"Four!"

Weiss was happy to see her best friend be happy.

"Three!"

They both turned to face one another.

"Two!"

They adjusted their footing, both ready to spring into attack.

"One!"

They locked eyes and saw one another's determination.

"Go!"

Jaune revved Crocea Mors and held down the trigger, making the sword roar as he charged forward. His boots thudded heavily against the ground as Weiss noiselessly sprung toward him. She glided across the ground, leading with the sharp point of her rapier.

The two clashed. Weiss pivoted at the last moment to avoid the brute force of his swing, instead deflecting the sword in a spray of sparks and a dreadfully piercing sound of scratching metal. She spun like a ballerina and stabbed for his ribs, but Jaune was able to dodge back with the tip of her sword just barely scraping against his aura.

Weiss grunted and did not relent, keeping up the fast pace of the battle by spinning the revolver in Myrtenaster's hilt. She swiped the sword and a spray of blue dust shot out, seeming to miss Jaune as he ducked to the side.

Weiss had not missed.

Jaune grit his teeth in frustration when he heard Crocea Mors's usual cry suddenly halt. He glanced at his sword and saw it encased by ice. It shuddered as the internal engine tried to move the frozen chains to no avail.

Weiss seized the initiative, dashing forward and feinting a jab to his gut which Jaune swung to block. Instead, a black sigil formed under her foot at the last moment. It suddenly shifted momentum radically, letting her spin around, kick off another sigil and swing for Jaune's exposed shoulder. The hit landed, making him wince as his aura flared.

He ignored the pain, turned and charged her, wielding Crocea Mors like a club now that it was frozen solid. His relentless swinging forced her on the backstep since she did not quite have the muscle mass to directly block him. All the while, however, Jaune had to be careful not to overextend by the slightest, knowing she would exploit any opening with instantaneous precision.

From that caution, however, sprung a dangerous idea. It was one of those battlefield thoughts that springs up, floats around hesitantly for a second and then gets executed.

Jaune suddenly leapt forward and swung Crocea Mors like a batter going for the home run, except Weiss's head in this instance replaced a baseball. Wide-eyed, she managed to twist and lean back enough to dodge.

Weiss's eyes widened when Jaune let him momentum carry him into a sloppy spin and lashed out with his hand. The attack threw him completely off balance, but the risk paid off.

The onlookers winced at the loud thwump! that sounded out when he back-handed Weiss hard enough to shatter a brick.

Her head snapped to the side and she spun away as Jaune fell to the ground. He rolled with the fall and quickly came up on one knee. Weiss, to her credit, took the strike relatively well; she at least managed to stay on her feet and right herself after a few seconds, though certainly stunned and wobbly. She rubbed her cheek, shocked by the hit.

Jaune took advantage of the time and space he'd bought to heft up Crocea Mors and bring it crashing back down against the ground. The ice on it shattered, and when he pulled the trigger this time, the sword growled back to life and spun its chain.

Weiss was being too aggressive to give him any time to draw the magnum, determine to keep the advantage of long-range attacks for herself. She hastily pushed away the daze and sent a ball of flame his way, which he narrowly dodged with a roll. He felt the fire pass by his head, buffeting him with heat and almost singing his hair.

He threw himself to his feet, immediately needing to swing and fend off a fresh stab from Weiss, who had closed the distance by kicking off a sigil. He managed to hit her sword pretty hard, sending her stumbling back. Instead of chasing in, he shuffled away, giving himself room to breathe and strategize for a moment.

Weiss instantly flowed back into her graceful stance. Steely determination shone in her eyes, the look of a serious competitor.

Jaune met her in kind. Adrenaline now fueled him heartily as his thoughts worked overtime to spin out a winning plan. Excitement pulsed beneath his skin, for this new opponent brought a fresh challenge, a method of fighting he had never experienced before. Not only that, but dueling a friend was downright fun.

He grinned. She grinned.

They both dashed forward once again, a clash of warriors.

Watts did not like coming all the way out here, but it was the only truly safe place for him. To be sure, the journey there was not safe at all. There had been pirates, choppy waters and Grimm to worry about. The destination, however, was worth the journey.

In the Grimmlands, he was untouchable.

Well, at least once he managed to reach her fortress. And it really was a fortress. Or at least the ruins of one.

Watts currently sat at a large table, with that insane cretin sitting further down. Tyrian was mumbling to himself about something or other, agitated that his 'goddess' had yet to arrive. Watts just sighed and looked down into his drink. Whereas he normally preferred brandy, now he was left with just a cup of water.

A breeze blew through the large, long-broken windows of the meeting hall. As impressive as the structure may have been, it was a far cry from what it once was. It was a massive castle that stood watch by the seaside, its stones now eroded and weary. The outer walls were crumbling, and half the towers had collapsed, with the other half staying dutifully upright like aged soldiers that had never lost their loyalty. It was in one of those that Watts slept. He had never quite been able to shake off the paranoia that one night it would just collapse during his sleep.

The stone was a deep red, the color of wine—or fresh blood. The whole Grimmlands had this tell-tale rock. The entire castle itself was made out of it, even the massive table he and the freak sat at was a huge slab of the stone. The chair under him was carved out of it as well. Long, long ago the mighty walls of this fortress would have held a noble or lord of the proud kingdom that had called these barren lands and craggy shores its own. But that was before even the breaking of the moon, a legacy lost to time. Word and legend claimed that a grueling civil war in the midst of famine had caused enough negativity to raise a horde of Grimm incapable of defeat. The humans of this continent were extinguished, and it was known as the Grimmlands forever after.

Of course this was the place she chose. Honestly, it was quite a sensible decision for one of her… abilities. Only she could possibly bring human life back to this place, ironic as it were. The castle was, for the first time in certainly centuries, populated with a decent number of people.

Sure, most of them were slaves abducted and dragged here to mine a nearby deposit of rare high-quality dust; sure, they got here because human traffickers had dumped them off on the beach; sure, they were relegated to a life where ursa and beowolves watched over them as they took their picks to the mines; sure, this place only existed as a source of income and refuge for her shadowy organization. None of that changed the fact that things were livelier than they had been in more than thousand years. A rather excellent base, all thing considered.

"Maybe I should go get the goddess…" Tyrian mumbled. His head snapped back and forth violently. "No, no, no. Could never go into her chamber… never…"

Watts sighed. This cultist bastard really thought she was some kind of divine spirit. Honestly, the woman's semblance certainly was unique enough to garner awe. There were a few other stooges in the castle that worshipped her and were crazy enough to be here of their own free will, but Watts had never bothered to learn their names. Even some of the slaves—those whose spirits were especially broken—had come to think of her as some kind of evil manifestation. Watts, however, was not about to get down on his knees and pray to her.

Oh no, his motivation was hardly so odd. This woman was just the best bet he had at killing General Ironwood and reaping revenge. He could also get rich in the process, a definite bonus.

As such, he tolerated his bizarre cohorts and their twisted beliefs. She herself, thankfully, never called herself a queen or a goddess. She had told Watts, Cinder, Hazel and their other sane allies that no, she did not in fact believe herself to be divine. Tyrian and his like were just useful fools. Of course, however, having people literally worship you could certainly get to anyone's head.

Oh well. She was still sane for now, and that was good enough.

Watts sighed in boredom. He had been hiding here ever since Atlas got a whiff of his whereabouts a month ago, and there really was not much to do. No computers. Not many books. Little to be had other than simply existing and giving council to the woman in charge. She was always speaking with nevermore or bizarre jellyfish-like Grimm, creatures that could ferry messages and information.

He looked up lazily and glanced around the room, craving any kind of escape from the boredom. The distant sound of mining picks shuddered in through the broken windows, originating from the dust quarry not far away. A lucky find, certainly, that had given them some cash to work with from the black market.

He drummed his fingers against the table. It could easily host two dozen people at once. The windows were as tall as three men, looming big and open and without the glass they once would have framed. The roof vaulted up high in a great curve, arching over the hall. Certainly, this place had been the point of convergence for great people in a time forgotten.

Watts smirked. A king may very well have sat where he was at that very moment—

His thoughts were broken when the "Queen" entered.

As usual, he heard her pet before he saw her. The loud breathing of a beowolf as big as a truck came with its pounding footsteps and the scraping of its claws against the stone floor. She always had this one with her, a special one.

Watts looked over when it came into the room, and he felt an uncomfortable feeling crawl up his spine, like little spiders skittering over his vertebrae. He had still not gotten used to the sight of it.

The beowolf glared at him with its triple set of eyes. This was no ordinary alpha Grimm. Oh no, this was the rare Cerberus breed, a three-headed monstrosity that was larger and meaner than just about any other beowolf out there. Watts decided to look past it, to its master.

She wore the same black robe that she always did. Her skin—a most unnatural and ghostly shade of white, as pale as decrepit bone—was streaked with black veins; her hair was the same unhealthy shade. Her deep red eyes shone just like those of the Cerberus beside her. Except whereas the Cerberus's eyes radiated only a sense of violence at bay, hers were relaxed, calculating, observant and intelligent eyes. That was all the more frightening.

"Salem," Watts nodded to her, "I'm glad we can call this meeting. News from the front?"

Tyrian turned and glared at him murderously. One thing that Watts quite enjoyed was enraging the madman by 'disrespecting' his goddess through actions like addressing her by her first name. Salem herself did not care how her subordinates addressed her so long as they were subordinate.

"Be calm, Tyrian," she said. Her voice was chilling and without feeling, dry and empty like a fall breeze. "We have a purpose for this talk beyond infighting."

"Yes mistress!" Tyrian immediately bowed his head to her, more servile than the Cerberus beside her.

"The negotiation with Lionheart is going well," Salem said. She slowly stalked by her Cerberus, idly patting one of its muzzles. "His jealousy empowers us. It will complement well the hatred of the White Fang and the Enclave."

"Certainly none can be trusted," Watts said. "We still hardly know them well."

"That is known," Salem said. She brushed a hand back through her hair as she ambled along, looking up at nothing in particular. She was an aloof person, looking like she was constantly distracted by deep thoughts. Watts figured she was.

She tilted her head and tapped a finger against her cheek, thinking quietly.

"They will be let go or eliminated as necessary," Salem said. "Not before Beacon falls. Perhaps before Haven falls. It is hard to know. You take advantage of an animal as long as it lives, or as long it is useful. Whichever comes first. In the latter case, you put it down yourself."

During her ensuing silence, the only sound in the hall was the crashing ocean waves down the cliff below them, the salty breeze blowing around them and the slight din of the slave mine nearby.

"It should be ready to awaken," Salem spoke again. "I have been informed of the plans for the festival and approved them. This will surely be enough to shake it from its slumber."

Salem looked out through one of the windows, gazing at the horizon or maybe something else entirely.

"It should be more than necessary."

She crossed her arms and stared out over the ocean. The wind brushed back her hair. Her face showed utterly no sign of emotion. Cerberus, ever loyal, came by her side and sat down. Without taking her eyes from whatever it was she could be looking at, not even blinking, she reached out a hand and stroked the thick, bristling fur on one of its necks. The monster growled contentedly.

A host of grizzly nevermore flapped down and squawked loudly, having been roosting somewhere on the roof above. Further below amidst the ruins, beowolves and ursa began to growl and bark; Watts even heard some reptilian screeches.

That same feeling of little spiders creeping up his spine returned. The grimm were restless. They often reacted to Salem's own feelings, he had surmised. No matter how emotionless she seemed, a vicious anticipation was beginning to build within her.

"I think," she said softly, "that it is about time I head for Vale."

Figured I'd toss y'all a bone with a bit of a fight scene. I often skip them just because I think a lot of them are unnecessary for advancing the story; in this case, however, I think it showcases Weiss and Jaune's growing friendship. I also have gotten a few reviews asking for some fighting, and I can oblige a bit.

Here's also the first look at my own version of Salem. She's definitely a very different character with a very different background from the creature in the show. Figured I ought to introduce her and her differences a bit earlier than she is directly relevant. If this were an original work, I would have introduced her in the beginning since it's just not good writing to wait until far into a series to introduce the big bad out of nowhere, but we all have the benefit in this case of knowing the base material. So Salem isn't getting the same gradual introduction that Orion got or that the specialist and huntsman in Vacuo are getting (neither of those are oc's, btw).

And yeah, the way that English spread and stayed the same is a tad far-fetched. Then again, since culture was nearly impervious to change over the course of centuries in Fallout, I see no reason why the English language and some of its associated culture would not be as stubborn in Remnant. I'm also inspired by how English has spread irl and is now an official language across the world, from the USA to Australia and even India, Singapore and Nigeria, as well as being a global lingua franca. I'm also inspired by how Hebrew was brought back into play for Israel in how Common was established after the Great War on Remnant. It's also easier, since Remnant's population numbers in the millions not the billions, to imagine that some homogeneity in language may happen. Of course actual cultures still different across the planet.

Anyway, feel free to leave comments, reviews and questions! See you soon!