written in the stars

Beyond the bridge, Qrow takes his first steps into what is known geographically as the Emerald Forest, the Emerald City- the future construction project announced, then cancelled, then announced again by the City Council more times than anyone can count, thanks to the fickle votes of the public- and immediately, he wants to run away.

There is no green to mimic its namesake. The entirety of these walkways, these sidewalks, these battered, strange, unused buildings and archways and structures which have clearly not seen use in god knows how many moons, is black obsidian; blocks of the dark stone form the ground, the walls, every step of the way glistening with a fluid-like texture that makes Qrow recoil in fear. Each step looks to be drenched in Tar, promising nothing but more conflict.

And yet, the only sound which seems to exist in this blackened void of Remnant is Oscar's voice echoing through the world through the proxy terminal. He seems calm, strangely so; his words are lilting, self-assured, as if this young man is merely explaining something to a child. Qrow's grip around the corded handle of the Harbinger tightens with every syllable until he is quaking in rage, for although he does not know this voice, he knows each pause, each breath, each mannerism. It has been years since he has last heard them, but he cannot forget.

And now, if he survives this- whatever this is- he knows he never will forget these words, either.

"The Grimm can't be stopped," Oscar murmurs, the tentacles dragging this eerie terminal along the ground in a horrifyingly-smooth manner. "It can't be stopped. However, the Grimm could be empowered to simply… go away. Take its business elsewhere. And we'll be well enough alone, at the end of it all." He chuckles, almost as if he is tittering. "As for the town, we'll have ourselves a blank canvas, and as for the Harbinger, well… we'll have ourselves a brush."

This isn't a fucking art project. Red eyes peek out from around a corner. Without hesitation, Qrow unfurls the blade, not missing a beat in his gait as he shoots and slices and rends flesh to pieces, leaving behind Grimm ash and more pools of Tar which become one with the already-processed world. There is no more patience in his heart for these battles- not when this child is so comfortably floating along in front of him.

Clover sighs, the sound leaden in Qrow's heart. "This kid- I don't understand where he's taking us, Qrow. I don't like this," he says. "Where're we supposed to- oh."

His words are cut off by the terminal pausing by a doorway, turning around and waiting for Qrow to catch up. As the Singer steps forward, flicking Tar off the blade clutched tightly in his grip, Oscar comments airily, "Trying times- very trying times, these days. James and Glynda are gone, huh?"

For a heartbeat, Qrow almost feels sorry for this creature; that sentiment vanishes almost immediately as Oscar continues, "Gone ahead without me now, haven't they? Well. I suppose it's just you and me now, isn't it. You and me and the Harbinger- or, the Harbingers, I suppose."

…there's more than one? There is not a lick of remorse in Oscar's voice, merely resignation, acceptance. If they were working with you, weren't you comrades? Anger burns beneath Qrow's bruised, battered skin as his mind fights to wrap around these careless phrases. How- if they trusted you, then how can you be so cold about all of this?

This isn't the person he used to know, he realizes dimly, trailing after the proxy terminal. The man he used to know had been his idol. This… he knows it is the same person, but the years have changed him, just as they have changed Qrow.

"Step through this door," Oscar murmurs. "Come now. More to go."

Gulping, Qrow does-

And when he opens his eyes, he is upside-down, feet attached to the ceiling above the very doorframe he had been standing in front of.

Clover audibly starts, stops, then starts again. "…Yeah… I got nothing," he mumbles, clearly baffled.

There is no sense of vertigo, however; and when he watches the creature-like proxy slither through the door, coming out onto the ceiling behind him, Qrow can only press his lips together and follow along, pushing out all sense of reason from his mind. There is no point in pretending that the world makes any modicum of sense.

Oscar is still philosophizing dreamily as he floats along via the proxy, completely unaffected by the strange shift in gravity. "We had a saying which goes, 'when everything changes nothing changes'. But all this- this isn't what we had in mind. You've probably figured that much out yourself, though. You've gone quite a bit farther than I think anyone could have expected tonight. I'm honestly quite impressed; watching you go tonight was a joy."

You… just watched? He does not know why he is surprised, and yet, the thought still makes him want to vomit. He has wept and screamed and been shattered over and over again this night, and this boy-man-monster just… watched?

Oscar clearly does not see anything wrong with it. "The Grimm is just doing a job. Doing its job, though I much preferred it when the Grimm did mine. I should have realized it was growing powerful when it started taking the form of- well… when it started resembling some old friends of mine, I should say." He chuckles, the sound soulless through the monitor. "You met her- what the Grimm made of her, I suppose. She didn't bother you much, though. She likes to focus on me."

Qrow does not understand, but it seems that Clover does. "…the Grimm saved as 'Salem'," he whispers after a moment of searching. "After the Circle became more involved- after Winter, we never saw it again."

…no wonder that name was familiar, he realizes in growing disgust. Well. You deserve it, Oz.

Oscar's proxy leads Qrow through another door which rights the world, bringing the group back onto firm ground once again without missing a beat in this broken, blackened world. "But our old friend James- I mean, I let him take a copy of the Harbinger's program. I let him borrow it when he asked. He's done so much for me over the years, as you know, and so I thought he would use it responsibly. You probably would've used it responsibly, Qrow. You always were good at following instructions." He sighs, rueful and mildly melancholic, the sound bringing bile up into Qrow's throat. "And he- well, anyways, here we are."

Qrow listens to these rambling, rhythm-less phrases, every pause and breath sending chills down his spine. He barely even notices the Grimm he cuts down as he walks; after hours upon hours of this conflict, it has become second nature to him once again. Once a soldier, he thinks brokenly, always a soldier. I guess I always was better as a weapon.

Oscar- Oz, whoever this is- is perhaps right, after all.

Clover hums, "C'mon, Qrow. Just ignore him- we're almost there."

To his surprise, the terminal seems to perk up. Qrow doubts the terminal can hear what he is saying; it never reacts to Clover's mumbled words of distaste, merely performing a monologue so endless it feels scripted. "We're almost there. The Grimm don't know their way in here yet, so we'll have some peace and quiet." With that, the terminal shuffles through another door, disappearing upon the other side.

Qrow brings the Harbinger up to his chest, pressing the clock face tight to his collarbone. Let's go, Clover, he says silently as he steps into the light oozing out of the doorframe.

The world is illuminated for a long, long time, the ground disappearing under his feet. He cannot feel anything but the vaguest sensation of floating along, a feather carried upon the wind to its next destination; strangely enough, he does not fear this feeling of levity. It lifts some of the burden off his shoulders, after all.

From within his arms, Clover murmurs, "Everyone always said you can be anything you want in this town. This is it for me… being with you, I mean. I could get used to this."

Qrow leans his forehead against the grip, a smile blossoming upon his lips despite himself. Of course you'd say something like that in the middle of all this, he thinks wryly, heart blooming with affection.

Too soon, however, this sentimental, light journey comes to an abrupt stop. Oscar's face flickers upon the domed screen, tentacles continuing to crawl their way along the shimmering obsidian ground. "There's these traces inside the Harbinger," he announces airily, beckoning Qrow forward with a slight pause in the proxy's movements, "that were people once upon a time, but now are not quite themselves, and they're trapped."

Yeah, I know, he thinks bitterly. What do you think we've been doing this entire night?

He does not push that idea further. He knows now who probably instilled this idea into James' head- who had told him that people were naught but skills and talents to download and use with the Harbinger. He does not want to even remotely offer that vein of dialogue to this man he used to know.

Lightly, Oscar says, "No walls in there, mind you- they're just there on their own. Listen close enough and maybe you can hear them. The ones you know, at least."

"As if this joker understands what it's truly like in here," Clover grumbles bitterly. Those words cause guilt to nearly knock Qrow off his feet as he realizes that not once this night has he ever asked Clover if he is alright in the Harbinger. He has no idea what it's like inside this strange program.

Fucking Clo, just worrying about me this whole time, this goddamned idiot-

"He wants the Harbinger bad, huh? Whatever he sees in this place," Clover continues, unaware of Qrow's turmoil, "I don't."

Suddenly, another Grimm appears from a pool of Tar in the floor, its mask of gnashing teeth and bone sending spittle flying everywhere. Qrow makes quick work of it, his heart no longer even reacting to the monsters' appearances, for his mind is far too occupied as Oscar carries on without a care in the world. "Whenever people make change, you see, whether to the sea, or the sky, or anywhere in between, the Grimm does the real work. Invisible, behind the scenes. Well I say whoever does the real work ought to get the credit. So I found a way to put the Grimm center stage, to keep the Grimm working in concert, in harmony."

Qrow doesn't even care to wrap his mind around that confession- that it is the Grimm who is responsible for building their world the way they do, that it is the Grimm who is responsible for implementing the changes in this perfect utopia that had once been Remnant. How can these monsters be anything but an infection, a plague?

Clover feels similarly, it seems. "Enough with the history," Clover growls, "I don't like it here."

"The Harbinger… I have no idea what's inside it really, or who, or what. I'm not keen to be data. I've seen inside it, just once- had myself a little look. Didn't see much. It was like… staring at the sky. Do you remember what it looked like, Qrow? In the real world?"

He does. He hates that even now, he misses that memory- of skies unchangeable by the whims of man.

He hasn't seen it since Ozpin gave him and his nieces that way out- that way in.

"Where I found the Harbinger or why… why, I found it on a lark. Right around here, geographically speaking." His voice lowers, oddly menacing for someone so young. "Sometimes I think I didn't find it at all- I wasn't myself when I found it, after all. Maybe it wanted to be found, so it was looking for someone like me."

Someone who wouldn't say no. Horror floods his veins, drowning out every other thought. Someone who was probably missing having the power he once had. Someone eager to be somebody again in this new world, where we can be anything- where none of us are anything.

It does not matter what he thinks, it seems. Oscar guides them down a darkened corridor into a large, cavernous room, the end of which is nowhere to be seen. The only thing Qrow can see glowing in the distance is a small white light, a glow breaking up the inky darkness. Based on the proxy terminal's trajectory, this light is their new goal. "Welcome into my studio," Oscar murmurs, two tentacles lifting to resemble arms wide open, proclaiming the darkness before them as his own with pride. "We're relatively safe in here, at least for now."

Qrow's blood runs cold, but it is Clover who puts those words into the ether, forming them into reality. "'For now'?"

The terminal is silent for a few minutes while they move forward, heading deeper and deeper into this abyss. Once the light grows big enough to actually hold shape, to hold some clarity, Oscar finally responds. "Here's the thing, now; if the Harbinger doesn't go back in its cradle, then you and I both, well… we just won't be anything anymore in a little while. You, me, and the rest of this town. It runs solely because there is a singular Harbinger plugged in, controlling it all, and right now, that isn't entirely the case, thanks to the little copy OS you're wielding. It's bugging the entire system." He sighs, almost apologetic as the terminal continues moving away, the screen turning around so that Qrow can stare at large, mournful eyes pleading, "So. Please. Don't let my work go to waste." His voice drops, growing a touch dark, menacing, although the look of innocence does not fade. "I'm being reasonable."

They are in front of the light. Oscar gives Qrow one final smile through the monitor, then walks towards it; it is a port dug into the floor, it seems. A docking port.

It is the same size as the Harbinger's blade. It is clear what must be done.

"This is it then," Clover breathes. "You know what you have to do."

Yeah. We have to put an end to this. He said that his actions caused this- I guess it's become our job to finish it.

"Look, no matter what happens, just…" Clover lets out a long shuddering sigh, the sound so broken and mournful that Qrow can only gather the blade up in his arms, holding the Harbinger against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding against his ribcage and reverberating through cold metal, through ticking clock hands. "I'll try and keep everyone together in here. I won't let us disappear. And…"

Yeah, Clo?

The voice which curls in his ear is like home. "I love you, Qrow Branwen. You know that, right?"

More than anything, he thinks. You gave me my second chance at life. It wasn't Oz- it's wasn't anyone else. It was you.

It always has been only Clover.

"Okay. It's time." There is a strange finality that is so familiar, so loving, in Clover's tone; it rings the same way his voice has countless times before. Qrow knows this voice. He had heard it time and time again before every single one of his performances, standing backstage with thick, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, the same words whispered in his ear. "Bye for now, but I will see you again. I will see you again-"

He puts the Harbinger into the glowing slot upon the floor, and the world disappears.