written in the stars

In a world full of naught but light, it is Clover's voice that brings him back to awareness. "I know you can hear me, Songbird. I won't let you go. Stay with me. Stay with me."

Thanks, Clover.

He opens his eyes.

The first thing which strikes him is the sky. It is strangely familiar- vast, endless, limitless, tinging a myriad of colours as it creeps up from the horizon line, manifesting from warm, earthy oranges to soft corals, burning yellows to the thinnest hint of leaf green, until it turns blue overhead, the expanse breathtaking in its scope.

It is a welcoming sight after hours of seeing a world throttled by flames and smoke and ash. Colours make him almost feel alive.

He takes in a deep breath. The air is clear, his lungs expanding with delicious, crisp oxygen; he exhales, feeling some of the ache in his bones, his body, his heart, disappear. It's a lovely sensation, to breathe easy for the first time in what feels like days.

Then, he looks down.

The Harbinger is in his hand. "Hey, Qrow," Clover whispers. "Feelin' better?"

…yeah. It is not just the environment which fills him with this sense of ease. The world itself seems to be right again, although he does not know how to explain it.

"You made it, Qrow. It's good to see you again."

Any sense of ease vanishes in a heartbeat as a familiar voice, one not belonging to a young Oscar Pine, fills the air. Qrow bolts to his feet, blade clutched in his hands, body thrumming with adrenaline, ready to fight.

The figure standing before him is indeed different from young Oscar- or, at the very least, the guise of Oscar which Ozpin has been clearly using this entire time. The tall, calm, white-haired man standing fifty feet away smiles gently at him over a pair of thin, wire-rimmed circular sunglasses, a genial, calming smile on his face. He is dressed in familiar clothes- the man was always a little too cold, Qrow remembers, making this jacket and turtleneck the perfect combination for him- although the colours contrast starkly with the earthy tones of sand beneath their feet, peachy-yellows never quite matching with the man's dark ensemble.

He holds a cane in his hands. It is simple, silver and black with green trim; however, Qrow can see even at this distance the clock face which sits upon the hilt of this cane. That's… the original Harbinger, then, he thinks faintly. That's what Oz found, the thing that controls the Grimm.

"The Harbinger manifests to match the wielder, you see," Ozpin calls across the sand, his low, soothing voice melodic and at ease. "Whoever is programmed as the user shapes the world, including the physical form of the blade."

He snorts silently. I wonder how it figured out how to mimic his late wife, though. He deserves it. Then, he sighs, his former exhaustion crashing into him yet again. …so this isn't the real world then, huh. Qrow lifts his chin, looking up into the sky; directly above him, he sees what his excitement had failed to notice earlier: a thin line running across the midpoint of the sky, marking the gridlines which are surely hidden underneath textures and patches and data.

"But," Ozpin continues lightly, "we can't have two users wandering around with the power to change everything, you know. As I told you, having two Harbingers causes the Grimm to get a little… antsy."

Qrow bites his lip, then pulls out his Scroll, stabbing his Harbinger into the sand to hold it upright as he types. Frantically, he writes his question, then holds it up to the clock face for Clover to read aloud. "'Why'd you choose to look like a kid', he's asking," Clover calls.

Ozpin sighs, the first shred of true remorse that Qrow has seen from the man all night playing across his face. "Oscar was… an unwanted casualty. From before Remnant, mind you. I didn't want his life to be forgotten, so, I made my main avatar take on his form." He smiles thin, wan. "It's also far easier to live a full life when you don't have baggage to haunt you, as you can imagine."

You were my superior- James' superior- in a senseless war in the real world. You were the one who gave me the ticket to Remnant after everyone else in our team was dead. He grimaces, a sense of grief that feels almost childlike in its intensity, in its confusion, filling him up to the brim. You were my hero, Oz. I only fought as long as I did for you. And when you gave me a ticket out, somewhere I could raise my girls away from their parents' graves…

But Ozpin clearly has always been more of a coward than Qrow. He had just never realized it, he supposes bitterly. You couldn't live with what you ordered me to do, so you faked it all and ran here.

Ozpin shrugs. "It's the past, Qrow."

Qrow types, and Clover reads. "'Did you kill him?'"

Ozpin's rueful smile fades slightly. "Now, now. This is our reunion, remember? Let's not bring up the past, especially when I gave you everything you needed to rebuild your life." His eyes crease, a sense of fondness projected so clearly that it makes Qrow want to heave. "After all, who introduced you to that man who keeps clinging to the Harbinger?"

Clover whispers, "I- no, he didn't, I didn't know this guy nor the kid- I just… I responded to an ad on my Scroll feed, remember-"

"Who controls those?" Ozpin taps his cane upon the sand as if to prove his point.

Clover does not respond.

Hot tears blur his vision, and Qrow barks out a silent, coarse laugh as he realizes just how twisted his old idol has become- as he realizes the bitter truth of this night. Clover swallows thickly and clears his throat, reading aloud Qrow's next words with a shaking voice. "'You're saying that you did everything to restore some kind of control to this world, is that it? The point of Remnant was to have no more conflict- to end it all, to let the people decide. Stripping them of those rights wasn't your decision, and you- you can't call killing a child the past if you did the exact same fucking thing today, Oz. If you were watching everything that happened, you saw what happened to my little girls'-" and Clover pauses, lowering his voice to whisper, "-wait, Qrow, 'girls'? Do you know what happened to Yang?!"

It stings as if he has been slapped in the face when Ozpin sighs, shaking his head. "They fell when they needed to. If they weren't fast enough to flee, then the Grimm did its job. We've been over this," he says with the patient affectation of a schoolteacher.

"'The only reason I came to Remnant was to raise them. You let them die.'" Clover sounds as if he is about to break.

"Yes," Ozpin agrees gently. "And you raised them well. They're still protecting you, even now, can't you see? They've always loved their uncle. Or, I suppose, uncles, since you managed to find someone here who accepted you, blood-covered hands and all-"

"He did everything under your command!" Clover cuts in suddenly. Qrow cannot help but smile in the face of that anger. He understands who this is, I guess. Then, Clover goes quiet for a moment, letting out a long, weary breath. "…I found Yang's trace data. She's not responding. Was it when I was out of it?"

He traces the hands upon the clock lovingly. I'm sorry, Clover.

"Well, yes I commanded him, but we've seen how good commands go," Ozpin says mournfully. "James used to be like that, too- and then, he stopped listening. Thought he could issue commands himself. It's… sad, really. I guess there's nothing better than doing things yourself."

This callousness is baffling, stark and cold and horrifying despite the warmth his familiar visage emits. Qrow makes a decision. We cannot let him have the Harbinger.

Ozpin stretches his arms high above his head, then lets them fall, raising his cane to point at Qrow. "Let's see, the good news is that… well, the Grimm. I think we got it- contained it. So, the town is going to be alright. It's just… well… someone's going to have to rebuild. But we flew a little close to the flame there, and now, we're here," and he taps on the clock face of his cane, "not there, in town. We're stuck. And unfortunately the only way back that I'm aware of is, unpleasant."

Even at a distance, Qrow can see the shift in his stance. He was trained by that stance, once upon a time, after all.

"So," Ozpin trails off, "let's… get this over with."

The battle is a long one. Qrow's mind shuts off halfway through, his body moving through motions which are so practiced that he almost wants to laugh; if Ozpin had deigned to fight him at the start of this mess, then perhaps he would have had the upper hand. With hours upon hours of rigorous practice against the Grimm, however, Qrow's skills have been restored, even slightly, to their former glory. He always has been an effective weapon.

There is a grim sense of satisfaction which blooms across his chest as he realizes just what- or, more accurately, who- is striking blow after blow against this man he used to trust with his life. Coco's bullets aim true. Blake's speed dodges every attack. Bartholomew's fire, Jaune's strength, Winter's edge, Peter's strike- every single person whom he has downloaded over the course of this godforsaken journey seems to cry in tandem, aiding Qrow in throwing everything he has into each swing against Ozpin, the perpetrator behind the destruction of their home.

The sight of Ruby's explosive petals shattering his glasses is the most fulfilling thing Qrow has ever seen.

And throughout it all, Clover is there. He does not talk to Ozpin, only to Qrow- with each dodge, with each strike, Clover merely murmurs, "We're almost there, Qrow. We're almost free."

And finally, it seems that that mantra rings true. Qrow's Harbinger slides through Ozpin's chest with a sickening motion, crushing bone and shattering his heart; he pulls it away noisily, allowing the figure to slump to the floor. "Impossible," Ozpin gasps, scrabbling to hold onto a cane which rises into the air, slipping out of his grasp completely out of his will. "No, no, it's can't be, god, please don't be gone, please don't-"

It's over, Qrow thinks.

He is getting sick of these lights consuming the world. He does not have it within himself to feel gleeful or giddy at his victory, ignoring Ozpin's frantic cries as the noise is drowned out by nothingness, his data being processed into… something. Qrow is too empty, too hollowed out and cold, to care anymore. He just wants to rest.