written in the stars
Atlas… looks safe.
As he steps off of the gondola onto the uppermost level of Atlas, his chins lifts, eyes sweeping across perfectly-clean streets and elegant, decorative fountains and statues and architecture lining the main road. His mouth automatically curls into a frown as he notes the cars parked in neat rows, not a hair out of place; perfectly manicured gardens in partitions and nooks along the avenue add a splash of colour which contrasts wonderfully with this tepid snowfall that continues to linger, continues to fall, as if wholly unbothered by the fact that Atlas Academy still touts spigots of smoke from its spires.
A chill crosses over his skin, raising the hairs upon the back of his neck. It is not out of fear, nor the cold; it is mere discomfort, for he does not recognize this street. He has been to Atlas a million and one times before, and yet, he does not recognize anything whatsoever.
It's the elites, he thinks sardonically, exhausted legs automatically beginning a light jog down the road towards the Academy in the distance. Everything is always decided by vote, so obviously these pampered fools would jump on any trend. He snorts, feeling no amusement. Now if only people here weren't so backwards about human rights…
He does not linger on that thought for long, gaze fixated upon his target. It is honestly a miracle that, despite the constant reconstruction and renovation and destruction and rebuilding of Atlas's main, wealthiest tier, that Atlas Academy remains unchanged. He knows of amendments that have been put to the vote, but with the way the government working out of Atlas operates, he knows in his heart that they likely always voted for stability.
In this city, nothing looks the same, and yet… Qrow still feels as if he would rather be anywhere but here. There is no comfort to be found in this veiled, thin veneer of calm.
Without the Grimm, the only indication of the monsters which have haunted his footsteps all night are the plumes of smoke from the Academy and the tinge of red which has consumed the darkening sky. Normally upon Atlas, with its high vantage point, the lights of Vale and Beacon and Mantle and the distant Mistral are all visible; Shade Towers normally hosts events, their multicoloured spotlights dancing across the air, the perfect mirror to Amity's performance extravaganzas taking over the night.
There is nothing anymore- just red in the sky, the clouds indistinguishable from smoke.
Qrow turns the corner, griping silently at the addition of a new statue located in the centre of the road. It is utterly impractical; while he bitches and moans about the frankly ugly piece and its interruption of his gait, Clover suddenly begins to speak. "Qrow?" he whimpers.
As if struck by lightning, Qrow grows stock-still, raising the Harbinger so that his face is level with the clock face. Still tinged with red, he sees the green light flicker on, off, and on again; then, Clover breathes, "The… the dragon is coming…"
He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the clock. The world goes dark, still, silent; he hums, his body resonating with his song, the metal touching his skin thrumming with energy, with life, with warmth.
What the hell is he talking about? Qrow sighs, opening his eyes and resuming his path. With the Academy being as tall and imposing as it is, Qrow knows how to navigate the streets even though they are entirely unfamiliar; as long as he keeps the menacing spires in sight, he should be fine, he thinks.
At least, until he turns a corner. Feasting on the body of a nearly completely processed corpse are two Ursai, the giant, bear-like Grimm feasting on nothingness with a gusto that makes Qrow want to retch.
He does not get a chance to, however. Before he can blink, suddenly, the world explodes into a cacophony of sound. His eyes shut automatically to protect himself from the shrapnel, a burst of colour blinding him; when he is finally able to open pressed lids, however, all coherent thought fades away, leaving behind nothing but abject horror.
It is a giant, bone-covered Grimm- or, more accurately, the tail of a giant, bone-covered Grimm. White spikes dot and cover black, dripping flesh, red veins of energy pulsating with a heartbeat simultaneously too fast and too slow. It has landed to strike clean through the pavement, cutting through the processed obsidian corpse, and the ground below it. The Ursai which had been feasting in its place are now naught but scattered ash and Tar, little flecks splattered gruesomely across the white, formerly-pristine ground.
We're going to die.
He does not register the fact that he is running once again, his body screaming with every movement; the Harbinger is held haphazardly in one hand rather than being hooked back onto his belt. Perhaps it is out of reassurance, out of the need to even have the semblance of protection.
One true blow from that tail, and his data…
"See, Songbirdy?" Clover giggles, almost sounded delighted- clearly still completely out of his mind, with whatever ailment is destroying him growing more intense by the second. "See? It's a dragon!"
Then, the tail lifts back into the air. Qrow's heart stops beating for a moment as he feels the rush of wind which attacks his back as the tail strikes again, shattering the ground where Qrow had been standing just a breath earlier.
"Don't mind us, big guy," Clover slurs, nearly cackling, his voice filtered through static and haziness. "We're just… headin' out! Hey, Qrow? Qrow? Qrow?"
Qrow spares a moment to tap the clock face, blinking icy sweat out of his eyes as he tears down the lane.
"Qrow," Clover begins to croon, "Songbird, light o' my life… hey, where's everyone?"
Qrow wants to weep as he turns the corner, only to find more rifts appearing in the air.
"Oh," Clover chuckles like a child. "There they all are!"
I can't do this anymore.
His other hand reaches down to grip onto the Harbinger, but Clover sing-songs, "I see the dragon… it's comin', Qrow. Don't- don't let it see us."
So, he takes in a haggard breath, clips the Harbinger onto his belt, and for the first time that night, he does nothing but run.