written in the stars

There is only one living life form in James Ironwood's office when Qrow walks in; that much is made abundantly clear in seconds. He takes in a shuddering breath as he looks past strange containers, the bureau-turned-science lab covered in equipment, the rounded room lined with shelves and whiteboards and equations all hell-bent on comprehending one thing, and one thing alone:

The Grimm.

He almost gags when he sees the bone-white mask of a Grimm- a Creep, he thinks faintly- suspended in a large container filled with thick, viscous liquid in the right corner of the room. He shivers; the back wall of the office is naught but glass, the domed room with the red tint of smoke and fire coming in through the glass panels resembling a cage which has been shattered by hellfire, the scent of rank Grimm ash and the burning city below wafting through that breakage little by little.

And leaning against the large, authoritative office desk at the back of the room are two slumped-over bodies, a blonde head of rumpled curls leaning against a dark, short cut streaked with grey.

"They're dead," Clover breathes as Qrow carefully steps his way through shattered debris, head slowly fogging over as he attempts to comprehend what in the world he sees before him. "They… they're not processed at all, though. They must've-"

They did it to themselves.

"Cowards," Clover mutters. "I… this isn't…"

He has nothing left in his tank. Qrow wishes he did- he wants to cry, but there's nothing left in his heart anymore, a wave of fatigue so thick that it is dizzying, cloying, filling his lungs with bitterness as he stands on his feet, washing over him without his consent. He wants to weep. He wants closure.

After all, these two figures are far too small to be part of what has turned the world inside out this night. James has always been a large man, and Glynda has always appeared imposing in her press releases, but to see them huddled together on the floor like this makes them far too human compared to the mangled, processed body which had been Winter after her involvement in all of this. To make matters worse, James looks at peace. His lips bear a small smile, so painfully, eerily similar to that which Ruby's corpse had worn; however, his body has not been desecrated by the creatures he has unleashed upon this city. This isn't fair, Qrow longs to cry out. Why is he the one left to suffer- to bear the brunt of this burden, when he has never been responsible for any of this?

I didn't choose the Harbinger, he wants to scream, sinking to a crouch. It takes all he has not to fall over; he props himself up using the folded-up blade, leaning his forehead against it as he struggles to regulate his breathing. I didn't choose this.

"I guess… they're in Patch."

Clover's words are innocent. He does not understand why Qrow hates that euphemism, that idea that the media on the CCTS has been propagating since the start of this entire mess, and so, Qrow does not blame him. It doesn't make the fact that Qrow wants to scream any easier, for he is one of the few who remembers. He knows the truth.

Patch is not idyllic. Patch is not the place where one can find peace within the real world, far away from the safe, closed channels of Remnant. The pictures and archives of that location have been almost turned into myth over time, but he doubts most people understand just why no one ever returns.

He snorts despite himself. Maybe it has become a utopia like everyone says. It has been years since he has been there, after all- since he has buried his best friends, his sister- Ruby and Yang's parents- in Patch. No one had received a ceremony, a memorial; there had been no time nor safety to perform such measures, for when he had been deployed, that little island had turned into a scorched battlefield just like the rest of the world affected by that war. There is a reason he left that life. There is a reason he never wanted to pick up a weapon again. There is a fucking reason that he grabbed his little nieces and signed up when his superior gave him an out, an option to flee, an entry into the utopia which was supposed to be this new, breathtaking world called Remnant-

He is sick and tired of hearing how Patch is an isle of safety and green. Perhaps it is now- all he knows is that he had dug three graves upon a cliff side overlooking the ocean years ago, and he has never wanted to go back. If it really is idyllic, he thinks, absolutely exhausted, then James has no fucking right to go there. No one responsible for this mess has the right to be at peace.

It just isn't fair.

Clover clears his throat. "It looks like… James went first. Glynda followed," he says softly. "I think they left you a note."

Qrow searches the area for a terminal, but the projector built into the work desk appears to be cracked; however, clutched within Glynda's left hand is a Scroll which is still logged in. With a sigh, he picks it up and opens up the last saved note. It is yet another recording. I guess they broke the terminal before they could send this to me. Not like it matters.

"I couldn't stay to meet with you in person, Qrow. I'm… I'm really sorry," Glynda's weak, tear-filled voice quavers out of the tinny speakers of this work Scroll. "James couldn't wait any longer, apparently. Why he would leave so quick- he didn't even want to try and make it out with me, I…" She lets out a shuddering sigh, the sound so pathetic compared to the strong, vibrant figure he faintly remembers in news bulletins and interviews of the past. "I'd… sooner take an eternity in the Harbinger, but he was no longer seeing straight. Or… perhaps he'd decided he'd seen enough." She laughs, empty, broken. "We knew the stakes of what we'd accomplish, and we knew that if we failed, we'd- we'd fail together. I just wish I had stopped him earlier. I wish I had stopped everyone. I guess I… I gave a lot of people more credit than they deserved. Focusing on potential, rather than the actual product, I suppose."

That mistake has cost us our world, Glynda Goodwitch.

"Well. We have failed as one."

He grits his teeth, fingers trembling around the Scroll.

"I… always liked your music, you know. James pretended he didn't- I know you had some history, but he still listened. I don't think we'll get to listen anymore, though."

No, you won't.

"See you in Patch, Qrow Branwen."

And that is the end of the message.

It is Clover who responds first. "Bullshit. They don't get to leave before we let them." Qrow yelps as the blade extends on its own, but he obliges anyways; after all, with no processing, their data must still be entirely intact. So, he stabs the Harbinger into James' chest.

It is nowhere near as cathartic as he would've thought. Now, it just feels… sad.

"Wake up, buddy," Clover mutters. "Some goddamn councilman you are. We've got some questions for you." Qrow closes his eyes, allowing the interrogation to happen within the Harbinger as the world lights up, James Ironwood's data flowing into the blade. Clover continues, "Wait- the Emerald City? On the other side of Beacon and Vale, with the Emerald Forest, right? How the hell are we supposed to get to the other side of Vale?!" He hums, then sighs as he listens to the answer which remains silent in Qrow's ears. "Okay. There's one left in the circle- that Oscar guy?" He pauses again, then murmurs slowly, carefully, doubtfully, "This… this asshole's saying you know him, Songbird. That true?"

Qrow shudders. …I was afraid of that.

James Ironwood was always capable, but only in developing plans, in implementing them. Ideating a scheme this convoluted, this elaborate- it is not the work of the soldier with whom Qrow had fought alongside all those years ago. There is only one man who could have convinced James that this is all a good idea, that it is for the greater good. There has only ever been one man.

…he is so, so tired.

Clover sighs. "No, we're not taking you with us. You can rot here. You made your choice." To Qrow, he says, "Let's move onto her?"

Silently, Qrow obeys, but it takes only a few moments to download her data. "She doesn't want to talk," Clover mutters at last. "Fine." He sighs again heavily. "…I know. You didn't know."

Qrow removes the Harbinger from Glynda's chest, then perches atop the edge of the bureau desk. What do we do now? You mentioned the Emerald City? he wonders, tapping the clock face gently and pointing to the door.

To his surprise, Clover hums a no. "Apparently there's a faster way. Head to the window."

He follows those commands, although each step is tentative, picking through shattered glass with growing fear and confusion in his heart. There is no other exit aside from the one leading to the elevator which they had used to arrive here. What in the world could-

"Glynda told me before we disconnected. Originally, the Harbinger could control these things," Clover says quietly. "The more evolved forms of the Grimm won't listen, but… we might be able to hitch a ride."

…I hope you're right.

Clover would not lie to him, though. So, Qrow listens to Clover's next instructions without complaint, too emotionally exhausted to disobey, anyways; he shoots a larger opening into the window, steps to the edge, closes his eyes… and jumps.

The fall does not last long. His brain struggles to catch up, vertigo knocking him off-balance, forcing him to take solace in clutching onto giant, thick feathers coating the broad back upon which he has landed. The scent is nauseating; it takes everything he has not to vomit right then and there, the feeling of some of the creature's flesh shifting between solid matter and liquid, oozing Tar enough to make him retch.

It is alright, though. Clover is able to speak where he cannot. "That's a good Nevermore," he says quietly. "Take us back as far as you can. We have a score to settle in the Forest."

And so, this giant, raven-like Grimm spreads its wings and begins its surging flight forward. Qrow does not open his eyes once the entire way. He does not need to witness the proof of the end of his world laid bare for him to see. He already knows it is all over.