How could this have happened? How could he be here?
Pyrrha couldn't help but stare at the clock, watching the minutes tick slowly by. It was taking all of her discipline to keep from tapping her toe against the floor, so she let her finger tap her notebook instead and tried to focus on the class. Professor Port, however, was not making it easy to do so. She was happy for him that he'd had the opportunity to go on so many adventures, but it really should've been obvious that such stories weren't necessarily the most educational ones he could've used. Pyrrha, for one, was getting no useful information from the fact that he'd managed to wrestle a beowulf into submission at the age of 7.
The only thing that had the potential to make this class worse was the fact that he was going to be a first year student, and would thus probably be there too, every day. Oh… oh no…
A bubble of panic began to work its way up her throat. The world seemed to shift around her—her vision was blurring. She—she was going to faint. She needed to get out of here, but, how? Bathroom. Go to the bathroom. She raised her hand, though she wasn't sure she even had the breath to ask.
"Ah, Miss Nikos! Yes, you may very well be the most experienced fighter in this room, given your renown as a champion. However, how shall that experience fare in combat against a true mortal foe?" Port said.
"S-sir! I would like to prove that I'm a true huntress as well!" Weiss exclaimed, standing from her seat.
"Apologies, my dear, but we only have time for one such trial today, and miss Nikos has already volunteered." Port said.
She'd… volunteered? The immediate confusion forced the existential panic back down. Volunteered for what?
She watched as Port walked over to an ominously rattling cage as Weiss sat back down with a "hmph".
"Now then, Miss Nikos, it is time to prove yourself! Step forward," Port said, gesturing to the cage, "and face your opponent."
Opponent? He wanted her to fight? Fighting, with her head as it was… would be perfect, actually.
Pyrrha stood, picked up her beloved weapon/shield duo Milo and Akouo, and made her way down the stairs to the stage. As Port went to unlock the cage, Pyrrha schooled her mind into place, pushing each overactive emotion to the forefront and channeling her panic and confusion into her muscles until they felt ready to explode. She let herself fall naturally into her combat stance as the cage door creaked open.
"Go Pyrrha!" Someone shouted. She glanced up and saw it was Jaune, shooting her a thumbs-up, and Nora pumping her fist in the air as well. Ren shouted nothing, but set her an encouraging smile. It was so nice, having teammates. She'd only had them for a day so far, but already it had been wonderful. She shot a smile up at them before turning back to face the cage entrance.
Red eyes glared out at her from the darkness.
There was no warning before the beast charged straight at her—but Pyrrha needed no warning. She rolled to the side, letting it pass uncontested as she studied its exterior. It resembled some kind of armored demon boar. The bone plates covering its back meant that any chopping or slicing attack to the exterior would be futile. No use in that approach.
It turned and seemed to try to size her up, unintentionally giving her the initiative. She immediately transformed Milo into its rifle form and fired a shot into the boar's left eye. The beast screamed in rage, and began to spin like some sort of monstrous wheel, rolling rapidly across the floor towards Pyrrha. She sidestepped again, allowing the beast to smash itself into the far wall and rebound onto its back. At a glance she realized that its underbelly was unarmored—the perfect spot for a killing blow.
The beast was beginning to rise, but before it could Pyrrha shifted Milo into javelin form, took aim, and spear sailed across the room, burying itself into the beast's chest with a satisfying thunk. The beast let out one long, final squeal, then began to disintegrate, taking the intensity of the combat atmosphere with it.
"Bravo, Miss Nikos, Bravo! It appears we are in the presence of a true huntress in training." Port said. Pyrrha felt the little thrill that always accompanied even the smallest victory, and schooled her breath back to normalcy. Even that brief battle had been enough to calm her down.
"I'm afraid," Port said, glancing at the clock, "that's all the time we have for the day. Be sure to cover the assigned readings, and—stay vigilant! Class dismissed."
The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur—Weiss storming out of the room after Port's class with Ruby on her tail, a quick lunch, then another class, and then dinner, and then homework, and then the sun had already set and all her teammates had gone to sleep and she was on the edge of doing so herself. She'd almost managed to forget that morning, almost managed to convince herself that it was merely a daydream. But, her sleep was haunted by dreams and memories…
She was there, again, that stadium with the green-sand floor and the high granite columns. She could hear the crowd roar, feel the excitement saturating the air, feel her own excitement mixed with trepidation and dour determination. She held Milo and Akouo tight, taking comfort in their familiarity.
Across the dream-blurred stadium stood her opponent, tall and still. Suddenly they were clashing, a desperate melee of quick movements, but she had a shield—she had Akouo—and her opponent had only a blade. She smashed her way forward again. She heard the crowd roar, heard her mother—her coach—cheer her on. Then, there was nothing in her way. She thrust Milo forward. It bit deep into flesh, and suddenly everything was quiet. Somehow, she knew, the crowds were still cheering, her mother was laughing grinning like a maniac, but a deeper crimson began to flow up Milo's blade…
She tried to let go. Her hand was stuck fast. She tried and she tried and she tried as what could only be blood seeped up Milo's blade, Milo's handle, onto her fingers, onto her arm, crawling up her sides, onto her face, sinking deep, covering her mouth, going down her throat, covering her eyes—"
Pyrrha woke with a start, gasping for air and covered in sweat.
"Pyrrha… you alright?' Jaune asked from nearby, concern written across his sweet, adorable face.
"I… I'm fine, Jaune." She said, flashing him a smile that she hoped looked more real than it felt.
Having showered off the sweat and put on her clean uniform, Pyrrha walked with the rest of her team to lunch, chiming in occasionally on Ren, Jaune and Nora's conversation. That is to say, Jaune and Nora's conversation. Ultimately, one might go so far as to suggest that it was Nora's conversation.
"And I just can't wait for the waffles! Missing breakfast yesterday was the worst thing ever." Nora said. She glanced up at Ren, and chuckled nervously. "Not that I wouldn't definitely like yours more, Renny." Ren nodded.
"Yeah, sorry again about that. At my old school, they did announcements, you know? I was expecting some sort of, I don't know, breakfast bell." Jaune said, looking a bit down—which was as cute as it was endearing.
"None of us blame you, Jaune—consider it water under the bridge." Pyrrha said, putting a hand on Jaune's shoulder. He shot her a grateful glance, and she felt like giggling with glee. That was strange, too—she'd had crushes before, but with Jaune it felt… different, somehow. A little deeper.
As they walked though the doorway into the cafeteria, however, she caught sight of someone that made those thoughts take an emotional nosedive.
There he was. Just sitting there, opposite his two teammates, eating scrambled eggs.
Pyrrha nearly toppled over as someone ran into her from behind.
"Oof—uh, sorry, didn't see you there." It was a tall second-year student she'd never met before.
"My apologies, I'm afraid I was lost in thought for a moment there." Pyrrha said, a little embarrassed that she had just been standing in the doorway like that. She quickly made her way over to the table her teammates had chosen. Team RWBY, it seemed, had beaten them to breakfast, as they already sat opposite. Ruby had already helped herself to an absurd number of eggs—Nora likewise had stacked her plate high with a precarious tower of waffles and was cackling with glee as she poured syrup over it. Ren was somehow artfully dissecting an omelette with a pair of chopsticks, Weiss was daintily working her way through a parfait, Yang was plowing through hash browns and bacon at a truly terrifying rate, Blake was reading a book while transporting bites of salmon to her mouth with her fork in the other hand, and Jaune was adorably munching on some cereal—which Pyrrha realized, with a flush of embarrassment, was from a nearby box of Pumpkin Pete's with her image emblazoned across it. Everyone was too busy eating, it seemed, to have struck up a conversation, so Pyrrha just sat down at the open spot next to Jaune and began collecting her preferred breakfast from the food still left on the table—bacon, scrambled eggs, assorted fruit, and hashbrowns. It was good she hadn't wanted waffles, as Nora had claimed all of them.
It wasn't long before everyone had finished their food. They still had time before their first class of the day, however, and everyone was loath to just get up and leave when they could simply sit and talk. The two teams chatted amongst themselves, discussing Port's readings, the weather, and various other equally innocuous topics. Pyrrha noticed, however, that every once and awhile Weiss would glance back and scan the cafeteria. She wasn't fully participating in the small-talk, either.
"Weiss, are you okay?" Ruby asked. Pyrrha was glad she hadn't been the only one to notice.
"I'm fine." The Schnee heiress said, a little too quickly. She looked at Ruby's disbelieving face, and seemed to cave—which was a little strange; Weiss had been so irritated with Ruby the other day hadn't she? It would have been difficult for Pyrrha, who had been trained to pay attention to and analyze the smallest of sounds, to have not heard pieces of the fight the two of them had in the hall the day before over leadership. Perhaps they had made up?
"Alright, but I'm not not fine. I'm… nervous." Weiss said. Ruby's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Nervous? Why?" Ruby asked. Weiss frowned a little.
"Not… nervous, per say. More, anxious. I'm being… wary, I suppose." Weiss said.
"Wary of what?" Ruby asked, expression getting a bit more serious. Pyrrha felt the rest of the table's conversations die down a little, listening to the two girl's discussion a little more intently.
"The Britannians, obviously!" Weiss said.
"Oookay… why are you nervous about the Britannians?" Ruby asked.
"I'm not nervous! I'm wary. And you should be too." Weiss looked around at the rest of the table, whose conversations had fully died down. "You all should be."
"What's wrong with Britannians?" The question came from Yang this time. "I mean, they're a bit warlike or whatever, but so's Atlas, yeah?"
"It's not the same!" Weiss exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the table. "The Britannians are bloodthirsty, and vile, and they're all like slaves to their spoiled aristocrats—people like that prince over there!"
"Woah there, Weiss cream—I didn't mean to step on your toes there or anything, sheesh." Yang said, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "But, for real, it seems like that might just be the sort of thing they tell you in Atlas, you know? At Signal they told us Atlas and Britannia hated each other's guts, but were pretty similar army-and-government-wise; just different kinds of people in charge." Yang said.
"That's not even remotely true! The Britannians have done abominable things. They're almost as bad as the Grimm—maybe worse! Grimm don't think, don't pretend to be people. Britannians choose to be evil." Weiss said, suddenly turning to face Pyrrha. "Pyrrha, you're from Mistral—don't you agree that that creature over there is dangerous to all of us?"
Pyrrha froze as the whole table turned to look at her. She hadn't wanted to be a part of this.
"…no." Pyrrha said, shaking her head. Weiss was dumbstruck.
"B-but, the Britannians—" Weiss began to say.
"Have done horrible things, yes, but I don't think individual people deserve to be judged solely on the merits of their nationality." Pyrrha said, meeting Weiss' gaze.
"That doesn't change the fact that he's a prince. He's one of their leaders, not just some random subject." Weiss said, crossing her arms.
"Perhaps normally I might agree with you, but in this case, I cannot. I owe him that much, at least." Pyrrha said—and then instantly resisted the urge to cover her mouth in alarm at what she'd just said. the entire table was staring at her now.
"…owe who that much?" Weiss asked, eyes narrowing. Pyrrha felt the panic rising again, and scrambled to come up with an answer.
"I… um…" Pyrrha stalled.
"Oh crap—guys, class starts in five minutes! We're gonna be late again!" Jaune cried out, almost flipping the table as he stood up and making everyone acutely aware of the fact that the mess hall had emptied out significantly. Instantly the other members of the table began to scramble to gather their things and get going, even Weiss, although she shot a parting suspicious glare Pyrrha's way. Jaune—amazing, wonderful Jaune—shot her a wink as he collected his things and got going. Pyrrha followed, and was almost relieved until she remembered that the Britannian prince would be in class as well.
Their first class of the day was 'The History of Remnant: A Complete Overview and Deconstruction of the Major Events that Shaped and Continue to Shape Our World, Part 1'. They'd all shuffled into their desks, Pyrrha ending up in a spot next to Blake relatively near the center of the room. She caught sight of black hair and violet eyes, and watched anxiously out of the corner of her eye as the Britannian prince walked up the stairs, passed up her row and entered into the row above hers, which at least meant she wouldn't have to look at him. She was dismayed to realize, however, that he'd unwittingly sat down right next to Weiss.
Thankfully, before anything or anyone could be stabbed repeatedly, their professor entered the room. It was quite the entrance, too—one moment, there was no one there, and then with a whoosh of air there was someone, whose name turned out to be Oobleck—he'd already written it on the board. After having met Nora two days prior, Pyrrha hadn't been sure it was possible to find someone with more energy. She saw now that she was wrong. Professor Oobleck moved—and spoke—at a speed the eye and ear could only barely follow. Mere moments after entering the classroom, a syllabus had appeared as if by magic on her desk and those of everyone around her, accompanied by another gust of air that required her to slam her notebook down onto that syllabus to keep it from escaping with the wind. Several other students weren't so lucky, if the small dusting of syllabi falling from the ceiling was any indication. By that time, he'd already jumped fully into lecture mode. Thankfully, he began to slow down to a comprehensible pace about a third of the way through class, and Pyrrha's notes began to become closer to actual recordings than confused guesswork. It ended up being a surprisingly good distraction from her troubles, since even a moment spent out of focus would mean an entire theory on the history of Remnant would be lost.
"…and, we shall conclude with the Great War and its aftereffects, of which there are many—the rise of Atlas, the creation of the CCT network, governmental reform, the end of slavery, and so forth." Professor Oobleck said. Pausing for a moment. "Yes, Miss Schnee?"
"Professor, why are we stopping at the Great War? Shouldn't we be learning about more recent events?" Weiss asked.
"That, I'm afraid, will be reserved for the second half of The History of Remnant: A Complete Overview and Deconstruction of the Major Events that Shaped and Continue to Shape Our World. I applaud your enthusiasm, but we cannot be putting our carts before our horses, as it were. Any more questions?" Professor Oobleck asked. No one raised a hand.
"Very well, then—class dismissed." He said. And suddenly, he was gone. Pyrrha looked up at the clock, a little dismayed that two hours had already passed. Had she been focusing that hard? Regardless, she stood up, grabbed her things, and began to walk along the row where she'd been sitting towards the closest aisle. She stopped, however, when she suddenly made eye contact with the last person she wanted to see, and her stomach flopped.
She stared into those violet eyes, expecting to see hatred, or disgust, or bitterness. All she could see, though, was recognition—whatever else he was feeling, he hid it well. He nodded once, and then moved on down the stairs, becoming a part of the crowd making their way out of the room.
That nod... what was that nod supposed to mean?
"Hey, Pyrrha—are you ok?" Blake asked from behind her, startling her back to focus. Pyrrha turned quickly, and tried to smile.
"You look like you just saw a ghost." Blake said, raising an eyebrow at Pyrrha's attempt to smile.
"I—it's fine." Pyrrha said. Blake frowned, but nodded.
They had 'Dust Chemistry 101' with Professor Peach shortly after that, which while interesting was not really Pyrrha's specialty. Then, it was time for lunch.
On the way into the mess hall, she bumped into him again. Again, he nodded at her, and moved on. This time, she followed him.
She'd always been taught to go at her problems head-on, to face conflict and bring it to a head. Waiting only seemed to make things worse, and there was no running from this. She had to address it eventually—better now than never.
He didn't seem to notice that she'd followed him until he had almost reached the table where two of his teammates already sat, chatting. He glanced back and seemed a bit surprised to see her following him, and turned to face her.
"Pyrrha Nikos—greetings. We've met before." He said. Pyrrha nodded instinctually.
"Yes… I remember." She managed, struggling for words. The silence that followed seemed to drag on. Panic and shame began to crawl up her throat again, pushing her to reconsider, to leave and try to pretend it hadn't happened and she was fine and nothing was wrong. She fought it back. He was just standing there, waiting, expression guarded.
"Was there something you wanted?" He asked, finally. She resisted the urge to say 'nothing' and leave, even if she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by shame.
"Yes. I… I came to apologize." She said, dropping her eyes from his gaze.
"Apologize…?" He said, sounding confused, which only made her feel more ashamed. He thought her incapable of realizing how dishonorable she had been—she supposed she couldn't blame him for that.
"Yes. What I did was cruel, shameful, and absolutely reprehensible–I do not expect or ask for your forgiveness, but I wanted to express to you that I am deeply sorry for it." Pyrrha said, rushing out the words as if saying them more quickly would absolve her. The silence grew heavy as she awaited judgement—but part of her felt lighter now, having gotten that off of her chest. She had vowed to do it some day, but having no way of contacting a Britannian prince she had allowed herself to put it off. Seeing him again the day before had brought it all back to the forefront of her mind…
"…uh… I appreciate the sentiment, but I have no idea what you're apologizing for." He said. Pyrrha's mind drew a blank.
"What?" She said, meeting his age once more and seeing a glimmer of uncomfortable confusion there. "But, how, how is that possible?" She asked. The prince smiled politely, clearly not understanding the magnitude of her alarm.
"Maybe you should tell me what you're apologizing for, first?" The prince suggested, and the mix of fear and shame and irritation that that dredged up in Pyrrha was a problem that she had to move quickly to address.
"I'm apologizing for mocking you, trying to seriously injure you, and refusing to acknowledge you as a worthy opponent." Pyrrha said, forcibly keeping the tremor out of her voice. She was surprised to see his expression soften somewhat at that.
"Ah. Well… I appreciate your apology, then, and accept it." He said, which threw Pyrrha's emotions into disarray yet again.
"Y-you—just like that? But… how? Why?" Pyrrha asked, dumbfounded.
"To be honest, when you followed me over here I was worried you were going to challenge me to a duel of some sort. This is a pleasant surprise." He said.
"A—a duel? Why would I challenge you to a duel?" Pyrrha asked.
"It was the theory that seemed to make the most sense, after how you'd acted during our last battle." He said, and Pyrrha went back to feeling ashamed. He seemed to notice that immediately, however.
"—But again, there's no need for you to feel ashamed—I can sympathize with your perspective. If anything, I think you're far more honorable than most for holding your insults to a stranger against yourself for this long." He said, making Pyrrha feel slightly better.
"It's just… I don't know if you know, but the woman you saved that day was my mother." She saw something light up deep in his eyes at that, and a sort of compassion well up that she felt she really didn't deserve. "I owe you a deep debt for that." She said.
"Ah." He said, looking down. "Well, then… thank you for your apology. In repayment for your debt," he met her eyes again, "I ask that you stop holding your past actions against yourself. You're clearly a decent, honorable person; move forward, knowing that. You came to get my forgiveness, and you have it, but it would be easy to forget to forgive yourself. Don't let such small mistakes tie you down." He looked past her for a moment. "It looks like your team is expecting you." He said. Pyrrha glanced back, and saw her friends all looking across the room at her.
"So it would seem…" She said, looking back at him. "Thank you, your highness." She said, quietly. He chuckled.
"Lelouch is fine. See you around, then." He said, and with that, he went to go join his table. Feeling better, if somewhat exhausted and emotionally confused, Pyrrha went to rejoin her team.
It was going to be an interesting year.