Chapter Two: Magical Arrival

Beacon Academy…

Ozpin paced back and forth in the front of the classroom, glancing up at the tiered seats above him where his first-year students were sitting and taking notes, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. "This then, is another important reminder – every story, no matter how old, no matter where it may have originated from – has a kernel of truth to it. It doesn't matter how unlikely the story or contrived the details may become over the years. If we use that as a basis of supposition, we can also argue that every fairy tale or fable has an ulterior motive of some kind."

He paused for breath, glancing at the students again to make sure he still had their attention. What he was about to explain wasn't a difficult concept, but at their current ages his students were used to thinking of fairy tales and fables as simple stories, meant only to entertain them when they were younger. "Perhaps the story was intended as a cautionary tale to warn about the dangers in our world. Perhaps it was intended as a moral lesson which your parents or guardians wished to install in you when you were young." He paused in his pacing and looked up again at the students, offering a smile. "Or, perhaps the story was simply intended as entertainment. This story – 'The Indecisive King – is just another example of a story with ulterior motives."

He glanced at the clock on the back wall of the classroom, noting the time. He turned sharply on his heels and moved back to the center of the room, pausing in front of the desk before casting his gaze around at the class. He took care to make eye contact with each student in turn. "As we're nearly out of time for today, your assignment for next week's class is quite simple. I would like an essay analyzing what you believe to be the ulterior motive of 'The Indecisive King' to be, based on the things that we've talk about today, as well as the topics that we've covered with the previous stories we've discussed. You're free to make your own determination about what this story's ulterior motive may be, as a story never feels exactly the same to two different readers. However, I expect you to defend your answer with citations from the source material, as well as at least one additional fairy tale or fable to use as a point of comparison."

He reached behind himself and picked up a copy of the textbook. "You do not have to select an example from your textbook if you can think of another story that would better serve as a point of comparison. Remnant is full of stories and legends after all – the ones in your textbook are just a small sampling of the rich literary tradition that the Kingdoms, as well as the cities and villages beyond the Kingdoms – have to offer. I do expect at least two stories referenced in your essay – the tale of your choice, and 'The Indecisive King'. If you have any questions, please feel free to see me during my office hours, or you may reach out to me via scroll-message."

He could see nods from most of his students, along with a few confused expressions that told him that he was likely to see a floor of messages asking for more clarification – and likely those messages would come in a day or so before the assignment was due, as that's usually the way that things played out, especially when he assigned an essay just before a weekend.

"Class dismissed. I'll see all of you next week," he added as the bell rang. The students immediately gathered their belongings together, while he tucked the textbook into his briefcase and gathered up the stack of essays they'd turned in at the beginning of the lesson. This was the final class of the day, as well as the final class of the week, so he was certain that the students would be heading to their dorms to change out of their uniforms and seek out entertainment for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he had several hours of work left before he could call it a day, grading these essays not the least of the tasks he would have to deal with.

Briefcase in one hand, Long Memory in the other, Ozpin made his way out of the main classroom building and back towards his office at the top of Beacon Tower. All around him, he could see the students coming and going, meeting friends, and making plans. Many called out greetings to him as he passed, and he made sure to acknowledge and return the greetings.

Long Memory clicked with every step, but the timbre of the sound changed as he transitioned from the cobblestone walked between the buildings to the tiled floor of the Tower. He made his way towards the elevator, shifting his briefcase to the hand holding his cane so that he could pull out his scroll and scan it at the control terminal. The ride up to his office near the top of the Tower was uneventful, and upon opening the door, his lips curved into a small smile to see Glynda standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him.

"Glynda," he greeted her. He moved over to his desk and placed the briefcase down on the surface, leaned Long Memory on the far side before he moved to the mini kitchenette in the corner of his office. The kettle of water he'd set up before leaving for his class was waiting, and he moved it over to the small, quick-heat electric burner to warm while he added cocoa powder to his silver teapot.

"How was your class?" the Deputy Headmistress asked. "It was the first-years today, right?"

"Yes, and it went well," he said. "We finished our discussion about 'The Indecisive King' as far as the plot of the story goes and began talking about ulterior motives behind why stories are written. I was pleasantly surprised to see how well this group grasped some of the basic concepts behind that particular story, however." The kettle whistled and he pulled it off the heat and poured the steaming liquid into his teapot before pulling out a long spoon and mixing the cocoa powder and water together. He carried it over to his desk and took a seat before pouring himself a mugful and taking a long sip. "Were you waiting here for me for a reason?" Of everyone at Beacon, only Glynda had free access to his office at any time of day or night.

She nodded and placed a small stack of files on his desk. "There was an incident involving some of the first-years early this morning – Mazarin Magali and Azul Archer. Professor Oobleck was on hand and resolved the situation – it seemed to be a result of the fact that Ms. Magali is a Faunus and Mr. Archer shares many of his Atlesian countrymen's," her nose wrinkled in derision, "views."

Ozpin nodded solemnly, his lips turning downward in a slight frown. Prejudice against the Faunus was still strong in many parts of Remnant, which saddened him, but he could only try to change the opinions of his students by modeling proper behavior. That being said, he didn't tolerate bullying or assaults on other students once it was brought to his attention. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that there wasn't bullying going on – but some students preferred not to complain about it, and unless it was witnessed by a teacher or reported, he couldn't intervene on suspicion alone. He refused to try to impose his beliefs or viewpoints on others by force.

"This is Professor Oobleck's report on the incident, as well as the statements taken from the students involved and the ones who witnessed it," Glynda continued.

"Very well. I'll take a look and may meet with the students myself if it seems necessary."

"The most recent sparring and class rankings are also there too," Glynda added, tapping the topmost file with a manicured nail. "I'll post them in the morning before breakfast after you've had a chance to review and sign off on them."

"Excellent. Was there anything else, Glynda?"

She shook her head. "I believe that's all for now. I'll leave you to your essays," she added with a small, coy smile, before she turned and headed for the elevator, her heeled boots clicking against the glass floor before she exited. Once she was gone, he allowed himself a smile and a chuckle of his own before taking another sip from his mug and reaching for the files she'd left. There were some days when he didn't know what he would do without her.

Reviewing the sparring and academic rankings didn't take long, even with four classes worth of students to go through. The updated rankings came out every two weeks so that the students knew exactly where they stood and what areas they needed to focus on in order to improve. There was rarely any drastic shifting amongst the rankings unless a student suddenly awoke their Semblance or showed significant improvement in their aura management or developed a new weapon modification.

Oobleck's incident report was thoroughly documented, and while the incident itself was concerning, Ozpin was satisfied with how the situation had been resolved. He made a mental note to keep an eye on those particular students for a while. The two students in question weren't on the same team, so there was less incentive for them to work out their differences the way they would have to if they were living and working together.

With his administrative tasks finished for the time being, he turned his attention to the essays he'd collected earlier. He didn't do much direct teaching anymore – being Headmaster of Beacon, as well as holding a seat on the Vale Council didn't leave him much time to spend in the classroom after all – but after several years of watching his youngest students struggle through the introductory philosophy classes with various levels of success, he'd taken matters into his own hands.

The first- and second-year students were generally between seventeen and nineteen years old, depending on when their birthdays fell in the year. They were old enough to begin to grasp the higher-level critical thinking required of a philosophy class, but they didn't have enough life experiences to fully engage with hypotheticals and debates. However, although they often pretended to deny it, they were still young enough to respond to fairy tales and folklore.

Due to the many millennia he'd been walking the face of Remnant – as well as the perfect memory that seemed to be an aspect of the curse that the Brothers had bestowed on him – Ozpin had a great store of fairy tales and fables that he could access at will. After a great deal of thought and carefully sifting through the vast store of fables he knew, he'd developed both a curriculum and a textbook that combined an introduction to philosophy with literary analysis and history by using fairy tales and fables as the basis of analysis.

Being a Huntsman or Huntress wasn't just about combat skills, after all. The reason that he had founded the Academies in his previous incarnation as the last King of Vale was not only to train skilled warriors, but also to educate them, to get them used to working together, no matter what culture or background they came from. That was why students took classes in history, mathematics, and the sciences in addition to Grimm Studies and combat classes, and why teams were assigned randomly – to force different personalities to work together.

Fairy tales were excellent sources of lessons and morals, as well as historic and literary records that developed over time and cultural deviation. He used the same textbook for both the first years and the second years, but the approach to the class was different, depending on which group he was teaching. In their first year, they discussed the stories in a broad, obvious overview of the lessons and morals, while in the second year, he began teaching the students how to deep dive into a text and extract concepts that might not be obvious at first glance.

Fortunately, the class had proven to be successful the first year he had implemented it, so he had continued with it. It gave him some time in the classroom, since he still viewed himself as a teacher in this incarnation, first and foremost, without detracting from his other responsibilities. He had been considering expanding the class to the third- and fourth-year students as well. The upperclassmen spent less time in the classroom and more time on actual training missions in the field – but it could be a way to recruit more allies among the older students.

It was something to consider further, at any rate.

As the Headmaster of Beacon, he didn't really get to enjoy a weekend in the same way his students did. He had many hats to wear, after all – headmaster, politician, councilor, huntsman, leader of a secret cabal dedicated to the protection of humanity – and if there weren't administrative tasks related to Beacon to deal with, there were often Council matters to attend to, since the business of running a Kingdom didn't stop on Friday afternoons any more than running a boarding school for Huntsmen- and Huntresses-in-training did.

He devoted his attention to making his way through the essays, alternating turning pages with sips from his mug, the ticking of the clockwork around him creating a soothing, familiar sound. Despite the many lives he'd lived, he enjoyed subtle reminders about the passing of time and the reminder that it was both fleeting and precious. The sounds of clockwork, the chiming of bells…

Until a faint crackle, like that of electricity building in the air interrupted his concentration as a surge of energy went down his spine. A familiar surge.

Magic.

He immediately dropped the essay he was reading, one hand grasping the handle of Long Memory, the other reaching for his scroll as he rose to his feet. He hadn't felt magic this strong in many years, and that in and of itself was concerning. There were only six people on Remnant who had the ability to use magic without Dust – the four Maidens, himself… and Salem. He knew the feeling of magic – he could identify its user just by the way the power felt. He hadn't consciously decided to use his own magic, so he wasn't the one causing this.

He moved around to the front of his desk, Long Memory held in a low guard. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he wasn't going to be unprepared if this was some new attack from Salem. It would be a bold move on her part if it were – thus far, she hadn't dared to assault the Huntsman Academies directly nor did she have the forces to overcome all of the teachers and students at once.

The strength of the magic continued to build, and Ozpin knew that something would have to break sooner or later. The pressure of the magic was almost tangible against his skin. He was reluctant to utilize his own magic, but he was beginning to worry that he wouldn't have a choice in the matter. Doing so would risk revealing the extent of his powers to teachers and students who knew nothing about his shadow war with Salem, his magic…

There was a moment of absolute calm and pressure – like the moment right before a pending storm breaks.

A brilliant flash of white and green light had him bringing his arm up to shield his eyes, even as his other hand tightened on Long Memory's handle. Fortunately, the flash didn't last long, and he quickly looked around to see what had happened in that moment of blindness.

There was now something lying in the middle of his office, but he couldn't quite tell exactly what it was, as there was a distortion effect caused by a dome of crackling green, gold, and white energy – magic – that surrounded the object. Green, gold, and white were colors of life and creation and the dome was almost exactly like the shields he could create in combat if his Semblance proved to not be enough to allow him to defend himself from an attack.

But even more important than the crackling colors of the dome was the fact that this magic had an… echo? A resonance?... to his own magic, which was confusion, since he had not called upon his own magic in many years – not since the day he had given some of it to Qrow and Raven. So how had a dome – seemingly of his own magic – appeared inside his office without him conjuring it? And what was it protecting? He started to step forward, trying to get a better look at whatever was inside the dome, knowing he might possibly have to dispel it himself, when something in the air shifted again, and there was another surge of magic.

Tendrils of black and red lightning began to crawl all over the surface of the dome, lashing it as if looking for a weak spot. Ozpin knew immediately that this magic – those tendrils of black and red – those were hers. The feeling of darkness and destruction was as obvious to him as looking outside a window and seeing a blue sky or green grass would be.

Ozpin edged just slightly closer to the dome but was careful to keep his distance. Just as he could recognize Salem's magic for what it was, he knew that she could recognize his – and that black lightning spelled death for whatever it touched. He didn't dare get close enough to it for her to detect his presence and possibly turn it on him. Magically, she was stronger than he was. He was no longer truly Ozma and didn't command the full powers that the legendary hero once had.

The lightning continued to lash at the dome, but despite the way the colors flickered and changed from green to gold to white with each blow, the shield held strong against the assault, sheltering whatever it was that lay in the middle of the floor. Whatever it was, it remained motionless, so Ozpin wasn't able to tell if it was an object or a person.

It seemed to take a short eternity, but eventually he could sense the dark power beginning to weaken. The lightning crawling across the dome wasn't striking with the same force or frequency as it had been, which proved to be a good thing, as Ozpin could tell that the shield was also beginning to weaken. Fortunately, the lighting was failing faster than the protective magic.

The elevator door slid open and Glynda rushed into his office, The Disciplinarian brandished as if she were expecting an attack. "Ozpin?! Are you alright?"

"Glynda, stay back!" Ozpin snapped, holding up his free hand. He didn't want her to move any closer and possibly get injured, since he wasn't close enough to her to shield her without utilizing his own magic, and that could draw the attention of the black lightning – draw her attention, and he couldn't conjure two shields at once.

Glynda followed his orders, staying back near the elevator doors, her riding crop raised defensively, as they both watched the dome. With a final, seemingly desperate surge of power, the lightning died completely.

It could just be Ozpin's imagination, but in that moment, he thought he heard an angered, feminine scream of rage echoing in the distance. The dome remained in place for another thirty seconds before the green/gold/white energy flickered once, twice, and then collapsed in on itself. The sense of resonating magic vanished along with the dome and the air in the office again grew still, replaced by the distinct scent of blood and a sharp odor of charged electricity, like the air after a lightning strike.

With the protective dome gone, Ozpin could now make out more details of what it had sheltered throughout the magical lightning attack. It was… a boy, lying face-down on the ground. Smallish – around five and a half feet if Ozpin were to guess, with messy, short black hair and tan skin. He moved closer and dropped to his knees beside the boy, laying Long Memory on the ground within easy reach as he extended one hand towards the body and rested three fingers at the pulse point of the throat. It took a moment, but he found the boy's pulse – thready, but rapid. The smell of blood was prevalent enough to tell him that the boy was seriously wounded.

Many lifetimes of experience with fighting and wound care had given Ozpin a fairly strong knowledge base in medical and first aid skills. While it was true that aura could heal most wounds and damage, given enough time, there were some cases when medical intervention was necessary since it wouldn't be safe or advisable to allow aura to work on its own. As a warrior, huntsman, and now Headmaster, Ozpin had been careful to make sure that his medical skills didn't atrophy from lack of use. When one dealt with young, headstrong teenagers who had access to powerful explosives, Dust, and blades… well, it kept him on his toes.

"Ozpin, are you alright?" Glynda asked again, lowering her riding crop slowly.

"I'm fine, Glynda." He looked back down at the body in front of him. "Help me."

She moved immediately over to the body, dropping to her knees across from Ozpin. "What is going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Ozpin said. He carefully ran his hands down the boy's neck and spine, wanting to make sure that there weren't any injuries that would prevent him from moving the boy. There was a subtle shudder, along with a faint whimper from the boy, but it seemed to be more from the contact itself, and less from Ozpin touching an actual injury. Finding no damage to the neck or spine, he cupped the back of the boy's neck in his hand. "We need to roll him over."

Glynda positioned herself to help and together the two of them rolled the boy over onto his back, carefully keeping his neck in alignment. The boy groaned again at the movement, but Ozpin was able to get a better look at him. No more than sixteen years old, but probably younger, given the slight roundness of his cheeks, his height, and the wideness of his eyes – his face hadn't slimmed out with age and maturity yet. If Ozpin were to take a guess, he would say that the boy hadn't hit his final growth spurt yet, so he was probably closer to fourteen or fifteen.

He wore a thigh-length, olive green-colored combat coat with red shoulder pads and decorative straps around his upper arms. His hands were covered with orange battle gloves, and he had black supportive wristbands that crossed over and around themselves to go halfway up his forearm, although his wrists were tightly bound in front of him with thick strips of fabric which was tinted reddish-brown in places. His trousers were black, with stiff, darker patches that Ozpin suspected were dried blood.

His face was covered in bruises and cuts, as if he'd been beaten, and one eye was puffy and so swollen that Ozpin suspected the boy wouldn't be able to open it, even if he were conscious. His lower lip was split and there was dried blood along the corner of his mouth. There were more bruises around the upper half of his throat just below his jaw – four smaller ones and one large one, as if someone had held the boy by the throat – possibly to choke him – and if there were similar bruises on the lower part of his neck, they were concealed by the dirty bandages he wore there.

But by far the worst injury was exposed on the boy's chest. His olive-green coat and the white shirt he wore beneath the coat were charred black and spattered with blood. Ozpin carefully pulled the side of the coat away, wanting to get a better look at the wound, wincing when the fabric stuck to the boy's chest as if it had been melted into his skin. The skin beneath was severely burned and blistered. The boy's breathing was raspy and labored, whether from illness, injury to the muscles or lungs, or simple pain, Ozpin couldn't be sure.

"Glynda, call for an ambulance. We need to get this boy to a hospital." He placed one hand on the boy's forehead, recoiling slightly at the heat coming from the skin. At the very least, he had a fever, although that could have been caused by his body being overtaxed by the injuries as easily as it could be from illness.

Glynda went for her scroll immediately, as Ozpin continued to look the boy over. He was so gravely wounded, and there was no way to tell if he had any internal injuries without him being looked over by a doctor, but for his wounds to be this severe, his aura had to be completely depleted, else it would be healing him, or at least helping to stabilize his wounds.

"How will you explain his sudden appearance?" Glynda asked.

"A teleportation Semblance, I think," Ozpin said after a moment of thought. "He looks to be old enough to be enrolled at a combat school, so he could be old enough to have unlocked his Semblance. If he was being attacked and activated it in desperation, it may have just taken him somewhere random."

She looked at him seriously. "What actually happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Ozpin said, reaching for the boy's wrists and carefully removing the blood-spattered strips that bound them. "I was grading essays and he simply appeared here, surrounded by that magical shield."

"Magic?" Glynda asked. "Was it her?"

"That lightning was definitely her," Ozpin said firmly. "But how she managed to reach this far…" He shook his head. "It was a display of power that I've never seen from her before – and it concerns me."

Glynda's scroll beeped. "An ambulance will be here in just a few minutes," she said, rising to her feet. "I'll get Oobleck and Port to clear the courtyard – no point in feeding the rumor mill any more than necessary – and I'll escort the medics up. Will you be okay watching him?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," Ozpin assured her, moving one hand back to the boy's head. He could still sense a lingering echo of magic surrounding the boy, and he wanted to try to pinpoint it if he could, especially since it was fading quickly.

Glynda nodded and strode briskly to the elevator again, her scroll already up near her ear – presumably to call the other two professors to assist her in clearing the courtyard.

Ozpin closed his eyes and concentrated on those remaining traces of magic – they were so faint, so subtle… layered all around the boy, in fact. He could clearly detect traces of Salem's darker magic, especially centered around the burn on the boy's chest, but he'd already known those would be there. No, what interested him more were the traces that resonated with his own magic. They didn't have the elemental tint that would have allowed him to pinpoint that the shield had come from one of the Maidens, but those colors were clearly of the light, rather than the dark.

There was little doubt in Ozpin's mind – the magic that had protected this boy was his own… but how was that possible? Ozpin had never seen this boy in his life, and magic had to be deliberately cast.

The boy groaned again, his head lolling to the side slightly beneath Ozpin's hand, just before those wide eyes opened, revealing a hint of hazel irises. "Ozzzz," he slurred. "Hurts."

"Sshh," Ozpin soothed the boy, although he was more than a little surprised that the first word out of the boy's mouth was the derivative of his own name. "It will be alright. Help is coming."

The boy whimpered, before coughing weakly. His breathing was becoming more labored now that he was regaining consciousness and he was becoming more aware of the pain he was feeling. Ozpin wished there were something he could do, but magic had never been particularly well-attuned for healing, and first aid alone wouldn't help the boy when he needed a fully equipped hospital emergency room and trained doctors.

"What's your name?" Ozpin asked quietly, hoping to get some information, and distract the child from his wounds. Surely the ambulance would be here any moment.

"Os-" he coughed again, whimpering. " 'm Oscar. D-did you f-frget?"

"Oscar. All right, Oscar," Ozpin said. "It'll be okay. Just take slow breaths. Help will be here soon."

"D-don't let her hurt us 'gain," Oscar slurred, trying to curl in on himself, only to be stopped by Ozpin resting one hand on his shoulder and one on his knee and pressing him back down.

"She won't," Ozpin promised gently. He was fairly sure that the boy was speaking of Salem, given the magical attack he'd been involved in. But the question was, how had such a young boy drawn her ire?

The elevator doors opened again and Glynda led a pair of medics into the office. One of them was carrying a backboard, while the other was carrying several kits of supplies. They took one look at the scene before getting to work. Ozpin reached for Long Memory, retracted it, and slipped it onto his belt before moving out of the way.

"Ozzz," the boy slurred again, one of his hands reaching out for something. "D-don't g-"

He glanced at one of the medics, who nodded, before he dropped back down to the boy's side. "I'm here, Oscar."

He stayed close while the medics did their work. Oscar whimpered and moaned a few times as they checked his wounds and provided what aid they could to keep him stable. One of the medics laid the backboard on the ground. "Let's get him on this and into the ambulance." She glanced at Ozpin. "Will you be riding with him?"

Ozpin nodded.

The medic leaned over to meet Oscar's eyes. "We're going to get you out of here, Oscar," she said gently. "We're going to roll you over so I can slide the backboard underneath you, and then we'll get you into the ambulance and head for the hospital. Just stay as still as you can."

She and her partner log-rolled Oscar onto his side as gently as they could, wary of the injuries to his wrists and chest, before moving the backboard into position and lowering him down. The boy was tense, and his breathing seemed to be shallow and rapid – more so than it had been up to this point, but it was unclear whether it was from pain or fear. Once he was in place, the two medics moved to strap him down so he wouldn't slid off the backboard.

At the first touch of the straps, however, Oscar's breathing sped up even more. "No – no, pl'se," he managed between gasps. "D-don't." His hands were shaking as he tried to push the medic away. "C-can't."

Ozpin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oscar. Calm down. Slow, deep breaths. We're not going to hurt you."

"No," the boy moaned. "No, d-n't… no res-r-nts." He coughed, his breathing becoming more labored. "Ple'se."

"We'll remove them as soon as we can," Ozpin assured the boy. "We just need to make sure you're safe until we get to the hospital."

Oscar's hazel eyes were blown wide with fear as the medics continued to strap him down. The look of utter terror and fear on his face tugged at Ozpin's heart. He reached out and rested one hand on the boy's forehead. "It will be okay, Oscar. Just breathe." He moved his hand from the boy's forehead down to his hand, wrapping it in his larger one.

"We need to go," the female medic said, giving one more tug on the strap which crossed over Oscar's waist to make sure it was snug without being constricting. Her partner was gathering their things together as she spoke. Once all of their gear was packed away, they stood before picking up the backboard. Ozpin stood as they lifted the boy, keeping his hand entwined with the child's.

"Glynda, will you - ?"

"I've got things handled here," she interrupted. "Go. Let me know what happens when you get a moment to spare."

Ozpin nodded. "I will."

Of course, things were never that simple.

The ride on the air ambulance to the hospital had its own difficulties to deal with – all revolving around Oscar. The boy continued to beg and protest the restraints, tears pooling in his eyes as he squirmed as much as his injuries and the straps permitted. Ozpin stayed with him, trying to comfort him, but the longer he was strapped down, the more anxious he became. Oscar's anxiety and fear didn't help his physical condition either, as his breathing became more labored and each movement pulled at his wounds, causing him further pain and anxiety.

Ozpin had never liked seeing children in pain, and even though Oscar was not his son nor one of his students, he couldn't leave the boy alone to suffer – Salem's apparent interest in him and his mysterious appearance notwithstanding. So he sat beside the stretcher and held one of Oscar's hands in his own while the other hand carded through the boy's sweat and blood-dampened hair, trying to soothe him and comfort him.

Arrival at the hospital was a blur of activity as Oscar was whisked back to a treatment room, leaving Ozpin to wait for news. He had anticipated as much and found a quiet corner of the waiting room, pulling out his scroll.

Ozpin

Glynda, can you check with the local combat schools and see if they have any record of a missing student named Oscar matching our strange visitor's description?

Glynda

I've already reached out to the administrations at Pharos and Signal – waiting for a response from them.

Ozpin

Excellent. Keep me appraised.

Glynda

Of course.

After that, it was a simple matter of waiting for news. He had no doubt that someone from the Vale Police Department would arrive soon to take his statement – a child had been attacked, and the hospital would report it even if he had not intended to do so himself. Glynda may have already made the call and advised them that Ozpin was heading for the hospital since she was efficient in that way.

He was well-known in Vale, being both a Headmaster and a Councilman – but he was also a Huntsman. Huntsman rarely needed the service of a hospital since they had aura available to them, and while everyone in Remnant had aura and a Semblance, it was much less likely for someone who wasn't a Huntsman or Huntress to be able to utilize their aura or Semblance effectively when it came to wounds. So the side-long glances that people threw at him didn't faze him, since he recognized their curiosity for what it was.

He took a seat, pulling out Long Memory and resting it on the floor in front of him, his hands folded over the pommel while he waited for someone to either speak to him or for Glynda to get back to him regarding her inquires to the Vale combat schools. His thoughts turned inward, as much to keep his mind off the fact that he was in a hospital waiting room as to try to piece together the problem that young Oscar represented.

Why would Salem's ire have been focused on such a young boy? What could he have done to even draw her attention in the first place? While it was true that the Academies were a target for her due to the fact that they sheltered the Relics, she shouldn't have any reason to target the primary combat schools.

Then there was the fact of the magic. His magic, which shouldn't have happened. Magic didn't work that way. It took a conscious decision to use it under most cases, or emotional stress to such a degree that he lost all control. He hadn't consciously chosen to use his magic to shield Oscar and reading first-year essays wasn't stressful.

"Professor Ozpin?"

Ozpin looked up, drawn from his thoughts at the sound of his name to see a doctor standing in front of him with a large tablet. "Yes?" He braced Long Memory and rose to his feet. "How is the boy? Oscar?"

"We're working on stabilizing him," the doctor said. "We need parental consent to treat him since he's underage…"

"I'm afraid we don't have that at the moment," Ozpin replied. "He unexpectedly teleported into my office at Beacon – I believe he may have lost control of his Semblance when he was attacked."

"You know him?" the doctor – whose nametag read Dr. Laurel Ashburn – asked.

"I never saw him before this afternoon," Ozpin replied. "He's not a Beacon student – he's too young. My deputy headmistress – Professor Goodwitch – is working on checking with Pharos Academy and Signal Academy to see if he may be enrolled there. However, if you must have an adult's permission to proceed with his treatment, I am prepared to take responsibility for him as a member of the Council until we are able to locate his family since I called it in."

The doctor hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded. "Very well." She handed him a tablet. "Sign here please, and we'll be able to take him in for surgery."

"What exactly is wrong with him?" Ozpin asked, taking the tablet from her, and reading over the form displayed there.

"He's not in good shape," Ashburn admitted. "He was severely beaten – possibly over a period of at least a day, but it's hard to tell since he does have an active aura, even if it's drained at the moment. We've already found several broken ribs and indications of internal bleeding, as well as a punctured lung, which is why we need to get him into surgery so we can set his ribs and get his lung patched up and the bleeding stopped. He also has a severe burn on his chest that we'll need to treat before it gets infected. We're currently giving him fluids as well, since he was dehydrated."

Ozpin signed his name to the tablet, just before his own scroll vibrated in his waist-coat pocket. He handed the tablet back to the doctor and pulled it out.

Glynda

I've heard from Pharos and Signal. Neither school has a student named Oscar at the moment, nor are they missing any of their students.

Ozpin

That's concerning. Let's expand the search to the other combat schools in the other Kingdoms. Given how he arrived, we shouldn't assume that he's from Vale.

Glynda

Of course. I'll let you know what they say.

"It seems that Oscar is not from one of the Vale combat schools," Ozpin informed the doctor, slipping his scroll back into his pocket. "We're expanding the search to the other combat schools – it's possible that stress caused the range of effect for his Semblance to be pushed much further than his conscious limit."

The doctor sighed. "Alright. Then we'll get him into surgery and get him patched up. The length of his recovery will depend on how quickly his aura can restore itself." With that, she turned and headed back towards the treatment rooms, leaving Ozpin to reclaim his seat and wait for news from Glynda or the doctor about Oscar.

Ozpin disliked hospitals.

He knew and appreciated the value of what they had to offer, of course. Not everyone had the same level of control over their aura as Huntsmen and Huntresses did, and some people never unlocked their aura. For those people, hospitals were a necessity.

But it was rather different for Ozpin, who could – at will – recall any number of ways to die. And when one of his oldest and most painful memories was lying in a bed, weakening slowly, and feeling as if he couldn't breathe, while Salem bathed his forehead with a cool cloth and begged him to stay with her…

Such a memory didn't predispose one to feel comfortable in a hospital, surrounded by sick and injured people. It was iron will and a vast amount of patience born from millennia of walking Remnant that allowed him to keep his place in the waiting room and not get up to pace while he waited for news on young Oscar.

As he had expected, an officer came by to take his statement about the incident, and Ozpin promised to follow up with them once Oscar was able to talk, which seemed to satisfy the officer for the time being.

Glynda had texted him further to let him know that the students had been corralled, but rumors were already beginning to circulate around campus – ranging from two students getting into a severe enough fight that not only were their auras depleted but they had seriously hurt each other, to Ozpin himself becoming ill and needing to be rushed to the hospital instead of Glynda calling the campus nurse.

Well, that was enough to divert his attention for a few minutes, and he sent back instructions for her to send out a mass notification to the staff and students that everything was under control, that he was perfectly healthy, and that more news would be sent at a later date. Hopefully, that would quell the school's grapevine.

The combat schools in the other kingdoms were beginning to respond to Glynda's inquiries, but so far, they hadn't had any luck in locating a boy who fit Oscar's description – although given that he had somehow managed to get involved with Salem, Ozpin was becoming more convinced that he wasn't a student at all. But if he wasn't a student, then how…?

Somehow, it was all tied back to the magic, but even that explanation didn't make sense given Ozpin's extensive knowledge of the subject. He retreated into his own thoughts again, probing at the oldest memories he had, wondering if he had somehow forgotten something that could provide the answer to this mystery.

It was several hours of waiting before the sound of footsteps drew his attention out of his thoughts. The same doctor as before – Dr. Ashburn – approached, her tablet in her hands. He pushed himself to his feet again. "Doctor. How is he?"

She sighed. "He came through surgery, but he's looking at a long recovery. The damage was far more extensive than we initially thought once we ran more scans and tests. On their own, none of the injuries were particularly serious, and if his aura had been functioning, the damage would have healed in a short time without too much trouble. But the cumulative effect of the injuries, and the fact that his aura was shattered and hasn't been able to recover yet has only complicated his condition. We'll have to monitor him closely, and we may have to administer aura suppressants until his wounds heal on their own a little more."

"Aura suppressants?" Ozpin said with a frown. "Is that really going to be necessary?" He knew that aura suppressants were an accepted form of medical treatment for severely injured Huntsman who couldn't recover on their own without outside intervention – but the idea of having to give them to a child…

"We're not sure," the doctor replied. "His injuries are so wide-spread, depending on how practiced he is with his aura, he may do himself more harm than good trying to heal the damage himself." She tapped on her tablet a few times. "He's in post-op recovery now, but we'll be moving him to a room shortly." She looked up. "Has there been any word on locating his family?"

"Not as yet," Ozpin replied. "Under the circumstances, I'll remain available until we locate his family. However, given the information I have at the moment, we may have to wait until we can speak to Oscar himself."

Ashburn nodded. "Alright. I'll have a nurse take you up to his room as soon as he's been moved out of recovery. It shouldn't be more than another hour or so until we can move him."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The doctor nodded and turned away, no doubt heading to her next patient. Ozpin sighed and turned back, intending to retake his seat, when he saw the front door opening and Glynda entering the hospital. She took a look around, spotted him, and moved briskly to his side. "Glynda?"

"The other teachers are keeping an eye on the campus," Glynda said immediately. "Although I'm still waiting to hear back from the combat schools in Vacuo, but the Atlas and Mistral schools have all responded – no one is missing any students. I also reached out to Leo, James, and Theodore – none of their students are unaccounted for."

Ozpin nodded. "I didn't honestly expect that he was a combat school student, given the way he arrived, but we need to explore all possible options. What I don't understand is what he would have done to draw her attention." He tapped the tip of Long Memory against the white tile floor thoughtfully. "She isn't one to target random children without a purpose behind her actions."

"So this boy could have vital information?" Glynda asked, eyebrow raising slightly as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"I believe so," Ozpin said. "Before you arrived with the medics, he said 'Don't let her hurt us again'. There may be another child in danger – as well as someone we might be able to save if Oscar can give us the information in time." He looked at her seriously. "I intend to stay here, at least until I'm able to speak with him."

Glynda nodded, as if she had expected that, before she handed him a folder. "I took the liberty of gathering up the essays you were working on," she said with a coy smile. "Something to occupy your mind, at least."

Ozpin levelled a stern look at her over the top of his glasses before reaching out and taking the folder from her, his lips quirking up into a small smile of his own. "You know me far too well."

"I've worked with you for long enough," Glynda agreed. "You'll let me know if you need anything else, right?"

"Of course."

"Professor Ozpin?"

Ozpin turned around and saw a nurse approaching. "Yes?"

"Doctor Ashburn said you would be staying overnight with the boy that was brought in?"

"Yes, until we locate his family and someone else can arrive to take charge of him."

"Come with me, and I'll take you up to his room. We're moving him out of recovery now, but it will probably be some time before he wakes up."

"Thank you." He glanced back at Glynda. "You're fine with overseeing the campus tonight?"

"Of course." Glynda made a shooing motion. "Go. I'll see you tomorrow and I'll let you know if any more information about the boy comes in."

Ozpin nodded and followed the nurse towards the elevator and up to the fifth floor, then down the hallway to a small room. The boy – Oscar – was lying tucked under the clean sheets, still unconscious, but looking better now that he'd been cleaned up and his scorched combat coat had been removed.

White bandages were wrapped around his chest, no doubt covering the burn that Ozpin had noticed, and a thin tube snaked up his body into his nose from an oxygen tank that was positioned behind the bed. His left eye was still puffy and swollen, and the spectacular bruise around it likely wouldn't go away for several days, unless the boy woke up and was able to direct his aura to healing it. Some other monitoring equipment was arranged around the head of the bed as well.

"The nurse on duty will be coming by regularly, but if you notice any signs that he may be in distress or waking up, don't hesitate to call for someone," the nurse told him before turning and leaving the room.

Ozpin nodded and took the padded chair that was sitting next to the bed, studying the body more closely with the leisure of time now that he'd been tended to. He had messy, straight black hair – a little longer in the front than in the back – and quite a few freckles scattered across his cheeks, although they were slightly hidden under the spectacular bruising.

Somehow, he looked younger lying in the bed than he had when he was sprawled on the floor of Ozpin's office. It was more evident that he was still a young teenager – fifteen years old at most, if Ozpin was any judge of such things.

He opened the file of essays that Glynda had given him, pulling a pen out of his jacket pocket, prepared to get back to his grading task while he waited… but his eyes drifted one more time over to the boy in the bed. Salem had hurt him, if what he had said in Ozpin's office was true – and that was unforgiveable. It woke the slow burn of hatred deep inside him. The hatred wasn't something he dwelled on often, forcefully tucked deep inside his combined souls along with any slight trace of love that he may still feel for her, but to assault an innocent child like this? No.

Some things couldn't be forgiven, no matter how much time passed or what their reason.

He sighed, clamping down on the building rage as best he could. All he could do now was watch over Oscar and protect him until he woke. Then he would get his answers. With any luck, Salem wouldn't be able to trace him to Beacon, or to Ozpin, and whatever information Oscar held would be of use in countering her next moves.