23

The long night passed. A new day dawned over Vale.

Geralt slashed through another Beowolf. Then he looked up, breathing heavily, and realized that it was over. The rest of the horde was fleeing, pouring out of the breached walls and into the dim gray of early morning. Hints of gold were just touching the shattered tip of the mountain Nidhoggr had broken when—or so Geralt had been told—it had burst from the ground like a harbinger from the underworld.

He watched the tide of Grimm receding, streaks of Dust and bullets streaming after them. Slowly, almost worried that they would be called back by his tempting fate, he sheathed his sword.

The Grimm did not turn around. They melded into the forests and were gone.

Geralt let his eyes slide shut as the cheering began all around him.


Emerald finally touched down, gasping for breath, in the red forests of Forever Fall. Regis landed two dozen paces away, reverting his transformation and straightening the harness carrying his alchemy kit. The young vampire glared over at him with blood-red eyes. They glimmered like rubies in the glow of the luminous sunrise.

"I won't… let you… take her…" she panted, voice distorted by her teeth.

"I am afraid, my dear," said Regis gently, "that you do not have a choice."

Emerald bared her teeth at him and did not answer. Regis sighed and rolled his shoulders.

"Emerald," said the woman behind the vampire quietly. "There's no point to this."

Emerald's lip curled. "I disagree."

"I promised that you'd never go hungry again," said Cinder Fall quietly. "I can't keep that promise any more. You should just leave."

"I don't care," said Emerald flatly, flexing her claws. "You'll have to go through me, old man."

"If you insist," said Regis, already transforming back into his vampire form.

The battle was short and brutal. Emerald was a Higher Vampire, possessed of the same incredible powers of regeneration that Regis himself possessed.

But Dettlaff had been blessed with the same abilities. They had not saved him.

Emerald writhed helplessly, impaled upon a branch several feet above the ground. The stumps where Regis had torn away her wings were slowly regrowing, but far too slowly to make a difference. She hissed at him, spitting thick, maroon blood. "What does it matter to you, anyway?" she screeched. "Why is it so damn important that Cinder come back with you? She's no threat to you! She's not even a threat to the humans you care so much about anymore!"

"No, she is not," Regis agreed. "But that does not absolve her of her crimes. Nor does it absolve you, for that matter."

She snorted. "What can they do to me?" she asked dryly. "Even if they try to kill me, at worst they'll take me out for a few centuries."

"Bold words for someone who can't have even seen one century yet," Regis observed. "But you're right—they can't kill you. I, however, can."

Emerald stopped struggling. "You wouldn't," she said.

"Wouldn't I?"

"It's forbidden!" she exclaimed, staring down at him with real fear now. "The only law every single one of us honors! The elders would hunt you down!"

"I doubt that," said Regis quietly. "They were content to let me go into hiding last time, after all."

Emerald was shaking like meat sizzling on a spit. "You're bluffing."

"I am not." He gave her a look, as gentle as he could manage with his face still transformed. "I do not want to kill you, child. You are so very young. You should have centuries more to make mistakes. But if it is my only option to prevent you coming back to haunt my friends or their descendants… yes, I am willing." He nodded in the direction of Cinder Fall, who seemed willing to watch their exchange with an empty, hollow look in her eyes. "But you are one of us," he said. "She is not. If you swear not to seek retribution, I will let you go. She, however, is human—and subject to their laws and customs, not ours. She must return with me."

She visibly considered it. Then, with an air of defeat, she shook her head. "Over my dead body," she said, not in defiance, but in surrender.

Regis frowned. "Why are you so determined to protect her?" he asked.

"Because she was the only person who ever tried to protect me," said Emerald.

"You have to realize I was manipulating you," Cinder said woodenly. "Using you."

"Don't care," Emerald said. "Even if you were manipulating me… you were the only one who saw me."

"She need not be," said Regis.

Emerald glared down at him. "What, because I've got long enough to find someone else?" she asked. "She cared for me when no one else would. When I couldn't rely on anyone—human, faunus, or vampire—she looked after me. She gave me blood from her own vein when I was healing. I'm not going to let you take her back to her enemies."

Regis considered her. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement," he said.

Emerald's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, an agreement?"

"I am not attached to the idea of seeing Miss Fall dead for her crimes," said Regis. "As a rule, I am not attached to the idea of pain or death in general. Cinder Fall must be neutralized as a threat, and I suspect that the Fall Maidenhood—which, I gather, she possesses?—will be necessary in the coming weeks as we uncover the details of her mistress' research. However… I am willing to guarantee her safety."

Emerald's eyes widened. Then they narrowed. "What's the catch?"

"To be clear," Regis said, "I will guarantee her safety, not her freedom. She will likely face life in prison for what she has done. But I will see to it that her stay in detention is long and comfortable. In exchange, I would like you to return with me as well."

"Why would I do that?"

"Not as a prisoner," Regis said. "As a student."

Emerald froze.

"Perhaps I am growing sentimental in my old age," said Regis, "but in my opinion, it's a tragedy that you were left to fend for yourself for so long. Our kind should stick together rather more than we do, I think. And I have recently been watching my best friend find his own place teaching his successors. The idea has some appeal, I must admit."

"You… want to teach me?" Emerald asked.

"If you accept this offer," Regis said. "I cannot make too many guarantees—I am, after all, not a person of influence in Vale. However, I will promise that if they insist on seeing Miss Fall hurt or killed for what she has done, I will assist you in facilitating her escape. In exchange, I would have you swear to do no harm while I am your teacher, except in defense of yourself or others. Does that seem acceptable?"

"You're not going to get a better deal," commented Cinder.

"You'd be imprisoned!" Emerald protested. "Probably for the rest of your life!"

"Not sure how much I care," said Cinder flatly. "I have one hand—even with Maiden powers, I'm not going to be able to survive out in the wilds for long on my own. And I don't want to be your charity case."

"You wouldn't—"

"Oh, of course, because it's love." Cinder scoffed. "Grow up, Emerald, and learn to take an opportunity when it comes."

Emerald bared her teeth for a moment, then slumped upon the branch. "Fine," she said.


"Ozpin," said James with an exhausted smile as he stepped into the office. Qrow, Geralt, and Glynda followed him in. "Good to see you."

"You as well, James," said Ozpin, smiling back. "I imagine your night was no easier than mine."

"Probably not," James agreed with a chuckle. He glanced at Qrow. "By the way, Qrow, I am sorry about suspecting your sister."

Qrow snorted. "Jimmy, if I didn't know she wasn't aware Summer was leaving, I'd have been right there with you. My sister's a bitch."

"Yes, your niece did mention as much," said James, looking slightly amused. Then he turned to Ozpin, his smile fading. "Oz, I probably don't need to tell you there's still a few lingering… questions about what happened last night."

Ozpin nodded. "I certainly don't yet have all the answers," he said, "but I have some. What would you like to know first?"

"Is Salem dead?" Ironwood asked immediately.

"Yes," said Geralt flatly. "Very."

"How certain are you?" James asked him.

"Probably more than I can express," said Geralt darkly. He met Ozpin's eyes. "The Man in the Mirror came to collect," he said grimly. "She's very dead."

Ozpin sighed and nodded. "I can only assume that whatever happened was deeply unpleasant," he said. "For her most of all."

"You could say that."

"You don't seem especially happy about that, Headmaster," Glynda observed softly.

Ozpin's lips twitched. "I am certainly happy to see Salem defeated and gone," he said. "But no, I take no joy in her suffering. She suffered for a very, very long time. At least it's over now."

"Hopefully," said Geralt under his breath.

"Well, in any case," said Ironwood, "if we really can trust that Salem will never come back…"

"We can," said Geralt.

"…Then the next most pressing question is, will the Grimm?" James met Ozpin's eyes. "Do you have any idea why the Titans left? Why the horde did? What will they do now?"

"I can guess," said Ozpin. "For the Titans, I can only assume that they somehow felt Salem's passing. Why that made them retreat north, I can only speculate. As to the rest of the Grimm…" He frowned, closing his eyes, stretching his memory back into the distant past, so many lives ago it barely felt real anymore. "…I believe that, with Salem gone, they have reverted to their original behavior," he said slowly.

"Their original behavior?" Qrow asked. "I thought Salem created them."

"She iterated upon them, certainly," said Ozpin, "but no—the first Creatures of Grimm existed long before Salem did. In those days they were confined to the lands ruled by the Brother of Darkness, the continent we now call the Grimmlands. They were far less varied, but they did exist—and they were known, even then, to be drawn to negative emotion. However, back then, they were not the implacable killing machines they have been while under Salem's control. They were much more… animal. They would attack humans steeped in negative emotion, but they would not mindlessly throw themselves at a target capable of defending themselves. Without Salem, the Grimm were still attracted to the panic in Vale—but not to the extent that they would continue attacking without regard to their own survival."

"So instead of legions of mindless killing machines, we have legions of dangerous animals all over Remnant," said Ironwood, his eyes going wide. "That is… a much bigger improvement than I was expecting, honestly."

"I agree," said Ozpin, smiling slightly. "I had assumed that Salem had bred the self-preservation instinct out of her Grimm, rather than suppressing it manually. I am very pleased to be wrong." He tilted his head slightly at James. "Did you have any other questions?"

"None as pressing," James answered, slumping slightly. "There's so much to do… we have to figure out how to spread the word, what we can tell the public and how. Not to mention the damage control after the automated defense forces were turned against civilians. But I think most of that can wait while we all catch at least an hour of sleep."

"I can keep going a while yet," said Geralt, meeting Ozpin's gaze. "I'll try to get things organized, put out any fires, while you all recover."

Ozpin smiled gratefully. "I appreciate it deeply, Geralt," he said. "Feel free to wake me if anything needs my attention, however."

"Sure," said Geralt.


"The Titans are sapient," Yennefer said the moment Geralt stepped inside their suite.

"Good to see you too," said Geralt. "I'm well, thanks for asking."

Yennefer gave him a look over the edge of Salem's journal. He shrugged. "What was that about the Titans?" he asked.

"They're sapient," she said. "Aware. They weren't just weapons—they were experiments. Salem was trying to recreate the process whereby Ozpin reincarnates."

"She sort of succeeded," Geralt observed. "Except for Grimm."

"Yes," said Yennefer. "Apparently it took several iterations before consciousness was transferred properly, but a few centuries ago she succeeded in that, too."

"She was trying to get her daughters back," Geralt said.

"You put it together, too?" Yennefer asked. Without waiting for an answer, she nodded at the book in her hands. "She is explicit here. O'Dimm returned her daughters to the world in the form of the Maidens, but their consciousnesses were discontinuous. Only power was transferred from one Maiden to the next. Salem was attempting to modify their sustaining spell to work the way Ozpin's does, so that her daughters' minds would return alongside their magic."

"How would that get her daughters' minds back, though?" Geralt asked. "Even if she succeeded, wouldn't that just mean the current Maidens would start being reborn like Oz is?"

"Salem theorized that the Maidens' magic carried with it an imprint of her daughters' identities," Yennefer said. "She apparently performed some experiments to corroborate this, but I haven't gotten to that journal yet. If she was right, then her goal might have been eminently possible. She might even have been near to achieving it, once her agent claimed the Fall Maidenhood."

"Huh," said Geralt. "Ozpin might be glad to hear that."


Ozpin stared at Yennefer in silence, his face inscrutable. Then, his eyes closed and he seemed to collapse into his seat. "I imagine you can guess just how tempting a prospect this is," he said softly.

Yennefer frowned. "You make it sound as if you don't wish to pursue it," she said.

"In good conscience, I cannot," said Ozpin quietly. "When I reincarnate, it is not into a newborn body. It is into a person already living, with their own life, identity, memory. I remember each one. Some welcome me—are happy to accept my soul into their own as we gradually merge. Others… are not. And I remember the horror of ever one of those lifetimes."

He opened his eyes, staring down at his desk. "Thirty-four times," he said, "I have woken up and remembered going to sleep being afraid that it would not be me who saw the sunrise. And every time, I am correct. I am not the people who I replace. In the best cases—in most cases, even—I am a symbiote, gradually taking in the best of my hosts and offering my strengths to their problems. But in the worst cases, I am a parasite eating the unfortunates who receive me from the inside out." He looked up and met Yennefer's gaze. "So I thank you, truly, for the offer," he said, "but I cannot accept it. My daughters—" his voice broke, but he soldiered on. "My daughters are dead. I have accepted it—partly, perhaps, because I am not the same person as the Ozma who first held them. But I would not wish upon anyone my fate—least of all those four innocent children whom I loved and lost."

Geralt watched the headmaster for a moment. It was so easy to forget that Ozpin was older than just about anyone Geralt had ever met. He didn't look a day over fifty. But his memory stretched back literal eons.

Yennefer took a deep breath. "I understand," she said. "I… apologize." Then, mechanically, she turned and left the office.

Geralt followed her out and found her standing in the hallway, brow furrowed, muttering to herself. "Yen?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "I suspect," she said, "that there is a third option."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "What sort of third option?"

"Nidhoggr is a unique Grimm," said Yennefer, "as is the Leviathan. Yet these are Titans, and as far as I can tell from the research I have read so far, they are reborn just the same as the others. Yet there are no other dragons for Nidhoggr to replace. There is something I am missing."

"You think we can get Ozpin his kids back without forcing someone to be replaced every time they die?"

"I do," said Yennefer slowly. "I just need to figure out how."


Nanook was the last to arrive. This was expected, as Nanook was large, heavy, and ill-equipped to traverse the sea. But eventually, Nanook did arrive, and they were all assembled.

Nidhoggr looked down at the ruined citadel. He had inhabited this body so long that by now it dwarfed this building that had once been his entire world.

The Thunderbird nudged him. He looked up, glancing between his siblings. They were all looking to him, expectant. What do we do now? they seemed to be asking him. Where do we go from here?

Nidhoggr looked down at the opening in the keep's grand hall—at the skeleton laying there, its skull missing, the scent of ash masking the last traces of his mother. He closed his eyes.

Then he looked up at his siblings. An idea was conveyed. There were protests. Then, gradually, those protests quieted.

One by one, the Titans turned and left the ruined citadel. Each went in a different direction.

Nidhoggr did not breathe, but if he did, he would have sighed. He did not think in words, but if he had, he might have thought, Farewell, my siblings. We may, or might never, all meet here again.

And then Nidhoggr, First of the Titans, spread his wings and took to the sky. He wheeled above the castle that had once been his home, looking down. Then he turned west, into the setting sun, and flew away without a backward glance.


Ruby glanced over when someone sat down beside her. Yang lowered her legs off the cliff beside her sister, looking out at the sunset. "Hey Rubes," she said. "What a day, huh?"

"No kidding," said Ruby, grinning. "The day Mom saved the world. Ha!"

Yang laughed. "Oh man, yeah! Insane to think about." Then her smile faded slightly, and she looked Ruby in the eye. "But, yeah, that. I wanted to talk to you about it."

Ruby had known this was coming, but she wasn't quite certain what 'this' was. "Which of us?" she asked.

"What?"

"Which of us do you think should stop trying to be a Huntress?"

Yang froze.

"You've been worried about me since I was injured," Ruby said, patting her own cyberleg. "But you've also been scared of the responsibility you signed up for without really understanding it. So—which is it?"

"…Both?" said Yang in a small voice. "I was hoping we could, you know… with the Grimm kinda gone—"

"But they're not gone," said Ruby quietly. "And they're also not the only monster out there. You know that as well as I do. The world is safer, but it isn't safe. Not yet."

"But it's safe enough that they don't need everyone to be a Huntress!" Yang said desperately. "Ruby, I don't—"

"You're more worried about me," Ruby decided. "You don't mind continuing to fight, but you don't want to have to watch me get hurt. Right?"

Yang grimaced. "You just see right through me, don't you?" she said, sounding one part angry, two parts defeated.

Ruby took her sister's hand. "Yang," she said. "Why do you think I want to be a Huntress?"

"Because you want to be a hero," said Yang immediately.

"Yes, but what do you think that means?"

Yang blinked. Her brow furrowed, and she looked at Ruby as if she'd never really seen her before. Privately, Ruby didn't think she had. "I… never thought about it."

"I know," said Ruby quietly.

"I guess… I thought you wanted to be like Mom," said Yang.

"You'd be wrong," said Ruby simply.

"Then what?"

"I want to be the reason Mom comes home," said Ruby. "Not our mom—someone's mom. I want to be the reason someone doesn't have to go through what we did." She gestured out at the smoke rising from the north. "I want to be the reason the Grimm stay outside those walls. I want to be a Huntress so that someone else doesn't have to."

"But we don't need as many Huntresses as we have before!" Yang exclaimed.

"We still need Huntresses," said Ruby simply. "And while we do, I want to be one of them."

Yang seemed to shrink on herself. "Why does it have to be you?" she asked.

Ruby smiled. "It doesn't," she said. "But it can be. So it is. I'm on the walls so someone else doesn't have to be. I'm on the walls so someone else can be a baker, or a teacher, or an engineer, or a poet." She chuckled softly as she remembered what Professor Oobleck had said in the ruins of Mountain Glen. "I'm a Huntress," she said, "because there's nothing else I'd rather be."

"You'll die," Yang whispered.

"Everybody dies," said Ruby. "I'll last longer than someone else would."

"But why doesn't your life matter?" Yang asked, eyes flashing red. "Why is everything about this hypothetical someone else?"

"But it's not hypothetical," said Ruby. "It's Dad."

Yang blinked.

"Or Miss Yennefer," said Ruby. "Or the lady who serves lunch at the cafeteria. Or my third-grade teacher. Or the guy who runs the dust shop a few blocks from the garage where you get Bumblebee fixed. Or the guy who fixes Bumblebee." She smiled at Yang. "It can even be you, if you want."

Yang stared at her. "Most of those people wouldn't become Huntsmen if you stopped," she said.

"But one of them might," said Ruby. "And any of them might be worse at it than I will. It's a job that needs to be done, that I'm good at, and that I enjoy. Why would I want to do anything else?"

Yang took a deep breath. "I… don't think I understand," she said.

"That's okay," said Ruby. "I will miss you, though."

"No, you won't," Yang said. "Because I may not understand why you want to be a Huntress, but I understand why I do." She met Ruby's gaze. "I'm not selfless like you," she said. "But I refuse to be selfish like Raven. And I'm not going to hide behind the walls while my baby sister is out there risking her life."

Ruby thought about telling Yang that there was nothing selfish about finding some other way to help people. She thought about pointing out that, after graduation, they'd probably end up on a lot of missions apart from each other. She thought about telling Yang that she didn't need to be looked after.

She didn't say any of these things, both because she had a feeling Yang would eventually bounce back and find joy in the work again… and because, selfishly, she wanted her sister to stay. Team RWBY was hers, and she didn't want to give it up.

So instead she just put her arms around Yang and squeezed. Yang hugged her back. And if Ruby felt a hint of damp in her shoulder, she felt no need to bring it up.


Three people sat around a small table. Birds sang outside. The sun streamed in through the windows, heedless of the tension thick in the air between them.

Taiyang put his head in his hands. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this," he said.

Summer gingerly reached out and squeezed his arm. Relief flooded her when he did not shake her away. "There's no one way you're supposed to feel," she said.

He looked up at her, eyes tired and red. "What happens if I say no?" he asked, the words falling almost reluctantly from his lips. "Hypothetically."

"Then I stay with you," Summer said immediately. "Raven goes back to her tribe. We visit, sometimes, but we don't stay in regular contact." She smiled at him. "I do love you, Tai. More than I can express."

"You stayed with Ruby and Yang while she was… away," said Raven hoarsely. "Let's be honest, I'm always going to be second fiddle. I think I'm okay with that, though. If you are."

Tai grimaced. "I'm not," he said flatly. "If we're doing this, we're doing it. No one third-wheels."

Raven looked at him, and something seemed to spark in her eyes. "I'd forgotten what I saw in you in the first place," she said slowly. "Thanks for the reminder."

Taiyang flushed, eyes narrowing at her. Then he sighed. "We can try it," he said. "Maybe it'll blow up in our faces, but I raised Yang. I'm used to that."

Summer threw her arms around him, laughing and thanking him repeatedly. He couldn't help but smile into her shoulder. Then he looked over it at Raven, sitting stock still, staring at them like she couldn't believe her eyes.

He beckoned. She twitched, then jerkily joined in.

It wouldn't be easy. But they would try.


Sixty-eight years later, the Rose-Xiao Long-Branwen family all collectively agreed that they had succeeded.

By this point, Geralt had several more lines in his face. Even Yennefer was starting to show her age. Ciri, when she visited, still looked as young as she had the day she faced the White Frost. Geralt had never asked, and she had never offered, how.

Ozpin had been reborn into Oscar, and Oscar was, by now, an old man. That old man was not informed when a messenger came to fetch Yennefer. He was not present when she met Regis in the lobby of the hospital.

The old vampire smiled at her. The younger one beside him tried to do the same, but wasn't quite able to manage it.

"Regis," she said. "Emerald. How is she?"

"Comfortable," said Regis quietly. "That is all we can hope for. Are you certain this will work?"

"As certain as I can be without having yet seen the results," said Yennefer.

They were led into a small white room. The woman who lay on the bed was emaciated, but her eyes were as bright as ever. "Emerald," she said hoarsely. "Regis. Yennefer. It's about that time, isn't it?"

"Most likely," said Yennefer. "I am sorry."

Cinder Fall tried to shrug. "It happens," she said. "Let's be honest, if I'd had my way when I was younger I wouldn't have made it nearly this long."

Cinder Fall had never fully escaped scrutiny, but neither had she been locked in a cell for her whole life. She had been released to probation after twenty-five years on the understanding that her two vampiric caretakers would see to it that she could never harm anyone again.

"You've got that spell of yours ready?" Cinder asked.

"I have," said Yennefer, already examining the array of megascopes around the room. "I do appreciate you being willing to do this."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Cinder asked dryly. "I'll be dead—what do I care what you do with my Aura afterwards?"

"Some would care very much," Regis commented.

"Religion," snorted Cinder. "No thanks."

Emerald stepped up next to her bedside. "I'm really going to miss you, Cinder," she said quietly.

Cinder met her eyes. Something passed between them. "You'll get over it," said Cinder, but it wasn't said with bitterness or cynicism. The words were warm. Yennefer averted her eyes, busying herself with a megascope.

The three of them remained with Cinder for the next fifty-six minutes. At that point, Cinder let out a final sigh, her eyes drifting shut, and did not breathe again.

As Emerald sniffled, Yennefer went to work.

One month later, an infant was born in a small house in Vale, with eyes like liquid flame and a nine years of memories and ten thousand years of history to catch up on.

When Oscar found out, he wept. When Yennefer offered to do the same procedure for him upon his next death, he could not agree fast enough.

Geralt watched the decades pass. He watched as humanity spread. The Titans resurfaced occasionally, but always by chance, and they rarely stood their ground, preferring to flee and escape. Through it all, he continued to teach. Generations of Huntsmen passed before him, and he did his best to leave all of them equipped to fight whatever monsters Remnant might throw at them.

The moon remained shattered. The gods remained gone. The world remained dangerous, but it was far safer than it had been. And Geralt taught generation after generation of students to continue to make it safer, year after year.

Because while Remnant needed heroes, it needed professionals too. And at their best, students who passed through Beacon Academy were ready to be both.

The End