"Arcuno I'm home!" I push the cabin door open. A large cat comes running from the back room, sitting in front of me. I bend to pet her, then start collecting my things. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go alone. Beacon doesn't allow pets." She lets out what I'm sure is a cat's way of sighing, then heads into my room. I follow her in after packing some clothes. My scroll goes off when I open the closet. "Yeah?"
"About done at my Cabin?"
"You really do like to rush people. I said I'd be out by tomorrow. There's plenty of time left in the day."
"Hey, calm down. Just trying to work out how much space I'll have to store my own things in."
"I'll be out in a few hours. Long before you're back from hunting."
"Well, stay safe cub."
"Yeah, you too Uncle."
Sitting on a stand within the closet is my armor. I strip out of my old clothes and get on a fresh, less stand outish set. Plain blue shirt and bluejeans. Next, the leather chestpiece of my set. Eighteen different pockets for my dust vials, equally divided into two large squares of nine on each side. My boots, with a knife holster in each boot. And a knife in each holster. Not my primary weapons, but Dad insists you can never be too prepared against the creatures of grimm. Next, my gauntlets. Fits right up to the elbow. Lightweight metal squares have been sewn into them, for the purpose of deflecting attacks. Doesn't work well on head on strikes, but making a glancing blow even less impactful never hurt. The wrist plates are flint based too, for creating sparks to ignite powdered dust incase my aura is depleted. My father's idea. You can never be too prepared. I hoist my backpack up, and pick up Arcuno.
"I'm going to miss you, little stray." She purrs, and I sit with her awhile. My eyes drift around my room, to a few decorative items. A picture of my family, my human mother and my father who looks more wolf than faunus. He's got a muzzle, eyes, ears, tail, and pure silver fur. Probably makes grooming rougher. My eyes settle on a collection of carved wooden sculptures my uncle gave me, several grimm sitting more regally than threateningly. Memories come calling.
Me, sitting at home with mom. Hearing about her day, Dad's missions. Occasionally her missions. Both were hunters, of a sort. Hunting the grimm around our Monastery to ensure it stayed monster free. Lessons of how to fight, to defend myself. How to harvest the dark side of the soul, to make it a weapon to aid the light. I was six when I saw my first grimm. It came barreling at me, teeth shining like freshly polished swords. My father barely got to me in time, digging his claws into it, carving it apart. Probably more brutally than it would have killed me, if I'm being honest. He can certainly be scary.
I wielded my first weapon at eight. Far from home, in another relative's training circle. I had to prove to my Aunt Ellen I could fight better than any other potential hunters before I could submit an application to Oscuro. In Sanctum I learned just how important it is to be quiet. The grimm in the mountains there listen well. And the thugs on the Mistral streets were rather dangerous to a twelve year old. Atlas taught me survival. Set loose in the tundra with nothing but a winter coat, I passed Kieth's test with barely any life in my primary school itself taught me how to be reckless correctly. Rigorous day in and day out formal education paired with multiple Dust courses, combat scenarios, and a whole day of sleep. Now I turn to Beacon. Running out the door, I can only wonder what this last step of my education will teach me.