The Fall Project
From Ashes
Kings and Queens
Six months ago...
General James Ironwood sat at his desk, impatiently tapping the cold metal with a prosthetic finger. The frigid air penetrated deep, and sent chills up and down his spine. His prosthetic sparked at the shoulder and sent his arm into a fit of spasms for a few moments, a byproduct of the high stress he was enduring.
With a practiced motion, he tapped an eight-digit password into a projected keypad to the left of his chair. Three holographic screens illuminated the dark room, showing scout reports of movement in the Vale branch of the White Fang; large initiation pushes, vehicles being sent from an unknown supplier, and most of the Dust in Vale stolen because of Torchwick's thievery.
And those were just the reports that had facts to prove the scouts' honesty. A few were giving hunches of massive movement of Grimm in between Vacuo and Vale, that they were somehow spawning at an immense rate.
It couldn't be more clear that something was happening soon, but there weren't many ways to deter an army that size beyond bringing an entire battle-cluster to Vale during the Vytal Festival. That ought to be enough to intimidate the Fang until the celebration is over, and everyone can go home in peace. As for the Grimm, the new Knights and Paladins should be enough to bolster the defenses.
A tone chirped, alerting the Headmaster of Atlas that someone was requesting to enter his office. With a wave of his hand he closed the files, then quickly adjusted a wire in his prosthetic shoulder. "Enter," he said into the intercom.
The doors opened with a hiss of decompressing air, and the light tap of footsteps announced the arrival of Winter Schnee. She walked briskly up to the General's desk and stood at rigid attention, "Sir."
She was empty-handed. He stood slowly, wearing a stern glare while he studied her subtle reactions. The vein in her neck pulsed rapidly, and he could ever so slightly detect the odor of a nervous sweat. Her eyes were slightly wider than usual, and her mouth was pressed firmly in a straight line.
Winter was very nervous. Disciplined, but nervous. "Did you find him? Report," he demanded sternly.
"Mission failed, sir. I tracked the target into the mountain ridge northeast of Vale, but the trail went dead. It appears as though he completely vanished. I searched the surrounding area, but no leads were found, sir."
"You gave up?!" Ironwood hissed, his face turning red with anger, "That is unacceptable, Winter!" he spat, "You are one of the best Atlas has to offer and all you have for me is 'he vanished'?!" His fists clenched in furious anger and he grit his teeth. His anger drove him to shatter his desk, to throw something fragile and break it, but such actions did not befit a General.
Winter was taken aback by his outburst. While she did expect him to be disappointed or angry for a failed mission, he had always shown restraint. To see the General act so upset was disconcerting to say the least. Taking several calming breaths, Ironwood ran his hands through his short hair as he sat down and tried to come up with a way to resolve the situation. "Where did you look?"
She blinked, snapping back into attention, "I looked extensively in the Vale Kingdom area for any evidence that target went or was taken there. I checked the police department, security cameras, traffic cameras, I even went to a well-known information dealer in the inner ring of the city, and he knew nothing."
"You have to give me more than that, Winter. Tell me you at least talked to Ozpin?"
"I didn't talk to him, but I checked Beacon," she nodded, "I managed to hack into their computers and look at the incoming transcripts to see if he may have applied because of his skillset, but all of them checked out."
Ironwood cursed under his breath. It wasn't likely that he went to a high-ranking official for help, it simply wasn't his style. He may have run into a Huntsman that would be willing to tutor him, but again, he wouldn't put that kind of trust in someone he never knew. Then…. maybe he remembered something, and the memory wipe may have been only temporary. "What about the White Fang? Could we find him if they recruited him?"
This time Winter shook her head, "There are too many new recruits to screen them all, sir. It would take months to find him, and by then they would have moved him somewhere secret. In all likelihood, that is the path he took. After all, he did disappear on a Fang assassination mission," she noted, and the General nodded in agreement.
He sunk back into his chair with a sigh and closed his eyes. If that was the case, they were all in serious trouble. But what was much worse is that if Nova remembers where he came from, then it would mean the end of the General.
She pursed her lips, "Permission to speak freely, sir?" He nodded, and she relaxed a bit, "What makes him, just one soldier, so important?"
He grit his teeth, "That is classified, Winter."
"Sir," she held firm, eager and determined to know the truth, "This boy was an adolescent in captivity against his own will. That fact alone is enough to make you face serious criminal charges by the Council, so what makes that boy so important as to risk the safety of your career, as well as the future of Atlas?"
Ironwood thought for a moment on how to explain, "That boy is the key to winning this war. With the proper training, he could become a true one-man army, a true victory for us even against the Grimm. But if the enemy is given the chance to poison his mind then everything we care about, everything we have worked so hard to build, will be destroyed."
Winter's eyes widened and she gulped as the seriousness of her failure began to sink in, and Ironwood cursed himself for not clarifying the gravity of the situation before sending her on the mission. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, "I need you to find that soldier, Winter."
Her heels clicked together as she snapped into attention once again, "Yes sir, I will begin searching immediately. Do... you want me to terminate the boy?"
"No! The boy must not die, you understand? If he dies then I'll be a dead man walking," Ironwood said with fear in his eyes.
A short pause followed as Winter stopped herself from pressing further, "Sorry sir, I'll find the boy as quickly as I can."
"I expect nothing less," Ironwood said, prompting her to turn and walk back through the doors. With a hiss, the room was sealed once again, and silence filled the room.
Ironwood's head rolled back and he stared at the ceiling, breathing to control the growing anxiety that swelled and twisted his stomach in knots. "So many sacrifices for the survival of Remnant."
He tapped a new password into the keypad, and a single, blank screen illuminated the desk. He raised his finger to the hologram, which beeped after analyzing his thumbprint. A single folder was shown, labeled 'The Fall Project.' Inside was the extensive collection of pictures, videos, informational notes, and mission files that pertained to the asset.
Ironwood's most glorious creation. Milo Aurelius, reborn as Nova Chrysus, meant to be the one great weapon to be used against the enemies of humanity. Against the boy's own will, perhaps, but the needs of the many far outweigh the needs of just one boy.
At the bottom of the list was one mission report, entitled 'Operation Genesis.'
He wanted to see how it all began again.
[Begin Transmission]
Objective:
-Retrieval of potential asset.
Details:
-Asset strategic value= ABSOLUTE.
-*Must be captured alive.* Has extensive and deadly training in melee and hand-to-hand combat, and is an exceptional marksman. Huntsman-in-training. Lives with 3 known civilians; Marcus (Father) and Akouo (Younger brother) Aurelius, and Vivian Aurelius (Step-mother). Family has no known combat experience.
-Further details on combat patterns and tendencies in full briefing.
…
Mission Assessment: AI-**********3313
-Standby for assessment-
...
[Assets deployed]
-25 (Twenty-five) Special Forces ['Shadow' class] troops. All 7 (seven) year veterans or greater-
-Mission progress unknown. Video recorders damaged-
-Explosive detonated [source unknown]. [NON-human aid required. Temperatures above 200(F)] Possible Grimm interference?-
…
[Mission Complete]
-Standby-
…
-Asset contained. *[EMERGENCY] ASSET REQUIRES IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION!*-
-Operation time: [Duration; 00:07:42:86]-
-Stable-
…
[Final Assessment]
-Remaining assets: 1(+1=TARGET)-
-Military casualties: 24-
-Civilian Casualties: 3-
…
-Strategic value of [TARGET]=ABSOLUTE-
-Losses acceptable-
-Mission Success-
...
[END TRANSMISSION]
The General who had ordered the operation closed and encrypted the file again, shaking his head at the loss of life. "So many sacrifices."
Present Day
"Of course he passed! I've never seen such aura control in anyone other than Glynda before, and this is just a boy," Professor Port exclaimed to the other Beacon staff. "Why, when I told him that he may need help clearing the initial mass of Grimm, he laughed and jumped off the plane! Ah, I remember having such enthusiasm in my youth."
"You mean before the Great War, correct?" Oobleck quipped, and the group of teachers heartily laughed.
They were all gathered in the teacher's lounge; a moderately sized room filled with various seating arrangements and plenty of coffee brewers. They often took the little spare time they had resting in the private room beneath Ozpin's office, and shared with each other the tales of their students' and their own adventures.
Yet for whatever reason, today Ozpin was a bit distant. He appeared to be lost in thought, and it wasn't long before Glynda took notice. "Professor Ozpin? What are your thoughts?" He snapped from his idle stare and looked at Glynda, unaware of the previous topic.
His only answer came in the form of a slurp from his coffee mug. Goodwitch rolled her eyes and turned back to the other teachers, while Ozpin considered a question he had pondered, "How is Nova adapting to school? I know it has been some time, but I would still like to keep tabs on his behavior," the Headmaster declared.
Sluurp.
Dr. Oobleck was the first to speak, "I believe he has adapted well. Lately he has invested far more time into his studies, and he treats not only his team, but most others as well."
Sluurp.
"Yes, it appears as though he is a completely different person from when he first arrived," Port added. "He still refuses to go without his mask and had it repaired, but besides that detail it seems that everyone has accepted Nova here at Beacon."
Sluuuuuurp.
"Would you stop that?!" Glynda shouted at the Headmaster, making everyone jump. He calmly placed his mug on the table, and Glynda cleared her throat, "I wouldn't exactly say that everyone is accepting of Nova."
They exchanged glances with raised eyebrows, uncertain. "Why not?" Professor Port asked.
"I have noticed that a member of Team JNPR, Lie Ren, does not trust him in the slightest," Glynda stated, "I'm not sure what he did to earn such behavior, they rarely speak with each other, and to my knowledge they have never even argued."
Oobleck put a finger to his chin in thought, "A personal vendetta of some kind? Possibly jealousy?"
"Young Ren isn't what I would call a jealous boy," Port added, "Perhaps we are simply misunderstanding him."
"No, I am certain," Glynda interrupted, "It almost seems like Ren despises him, despite the fact that they are barely affiliated with each other."
Ozpin did know one thing, but it raises many questions. "Ren has an innate ability to sense someone's intentions. It makes it easy for him to choose his friends, and explains the fact that he can be so close to someone so hyperactive as Nora Valkyrie, but what could he possibly see in Nova?" he asked out loud, but none of them could come up with an explanation reasonable enough for Ren to hate the boy.
The situation was concerning to say the least, and put a significant amount of stress on Ozpin's mind. Was there something he was missing? Could the boy be hiding a dark secret deep within? It was so difficult to tell; he seemed genuinely happy to be at Beacon, to learn how to control his semblance and to help those in dire need.
Perhaps it is nothing, and Ren simply doesn't like Nova's personality. Unlikely, but a possibility all the same. The best course of action would be to continue on as they are. In time, Nova would reveal his true nature, and it is Ozpin's belief that it will be for the better.
They called it The Summit.
A great castle of black stone that stood atop a mountain on the northeastern most continent of Remnant, built far before the four Kingdoms. The air was stale and dry, and the land had become a barren wasteland long ago. Over time wind eroded away at the dead land, exposing massive crystals that glowed with an inner shadowy purple flame.
The halls of the castle stayed alight with eternal black fire, witchcraft long forgotten to time. Grimm aimlessly crawled through the grounds, making the dark place seem like that of a nightmare. The shattered moon glowed with an eerie light, illuminating the old fortress in the deep of night.
The light tick of high-heels and a chime of Dust jewelry echoed throughout the deepest dungeons. Cinder hated going to the old fortress. It was always intolerably cold, and the air about her set her teeth on edge, making her feel like someone was watching her every movement.
And then there were the Grimm. Cinder had been so accustomed to slaughtering them on sight, that having even a single one of them cross her path without giving so much as a glance was incredibly unnerving. Eventually she came to a massive set of double doors, and paused before entering the great hall of The Summit.
Meeting the Witch was always a stressful endeavor.
With a quick, anxiety-filled breath, she quietly pushed the doors open. Only two people were present to greet her; the self-proclaimed Queen of Remnant, Salem, and High Lieutenant of the White Fang, Adam Taurus.
"Ah, Cinder. We have been awaiting your arrival," Salem greeted her with open arms, and gestured to a seat on her right hand side.
"Late, as usual," Adam spat, hatred laced in his voice.
She sneered at the radical faunus, then gave Salem a slight bow. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting, your grace." The words left a bad taste in her mouth. Cinder hated having to submit to someone else, but the only way to get what she wanted was to follow Salem's plan, at least for the time being.
"Adam, calm yourself. You are both young, and very important to me in this time of change," Salem said with a wicked grin, "Now is not the time for infighting, we must plan for the fall of a Kingdom. The Grimm will swell in great numbers, but the Atlas machines will be vitally important in making that force overwhelming." She turned to Cinder, her oddly-colored eyes sending chills down the young woman's spine, "Are you certain that the virus you planted is foolproof?"
"Without a doubt. It is untraceable, and the program will only activate under specific circumstances," Cinder confirmed.
"Excellent, it will be needed to incite the Grim invasion." The witch thought for a moment, foreseeing possible outcomes, predicting the reactions of Vale's defenses. "We are close, but something is missing… Ah yes, the 'Atlesian Paladins.' With a large enough supply of these mechanized play-things, the children at Beacon will be far too busy protecting themselves to worry about the citizens of Vale. We will need more."
Adam tapped the hilt of his sword in thought, "Roman Torchwick managed to steal a few, but I doubt we would be able to collect as many through him."
The Witch nodded, "I agree. Someone new should be sent to negotiate with our supplier, a candidate that no one would expect to aid us. Do either of you know of such a new and useful tool?"
Silence filled the room as the two leaders thought of someone that could fill the role. Cinder had an idea, though it may be a long shot, "I think I know someone we could use, but it may take time to convince him."
Salem lifted her chin and sneered, "You know the importance of this mission, Cinder. Who is this man?"
Cinder twitched, this was the hard part. "He is a huntsman-in-training at Beacon Academy, easily the best Vale has to offer, and he's only been there for less than a year."
"A boy?" Salem laughed, a shrill cackle that echoed through the dark halls of The Summit. "We need a professional, not some child who can barely handle his own weapon."
The young woman's cheeks flared, and she opened her mouth to protest when Adam interrupted, "Now is not the time for jokes, wench."
Cinder leaped to her feet, and Adams hand fell to the hilt of his blade, "Listen you little shi-"
"SILENCE!" The old witch's voice was laced with black magic, darkening the chamber and piercing their hearts with terror, making them both flinch and back away. She waited for them both to sit again before speaking, "Now. Cinder, your boy will be our last resort, should Adam be lacking."
Adam regained his composure by slicking back his hair with a comb of his fingers, "I know about a volunteer from Atlas that's perfect for the job. He has extensive experience with negotiation, and is trusted by his peers. No one will suspect him."
"Then it appears that we have our new recruit," the Witch nodded, accepting Adam's proposal.
Cinder huffed, frustrated for having been blown off so easily. "You don't understand, this kid is the best-"
"We will use Adam's man," Salem snapped. "If you are so adamant about this boy, then when the time is right, approach him for further endeavors." Cinder bit back a retort, careful to calm her fiery tongue, lest the Witch decide to use her black magic against her.
The old Witch smirked, "After all, the Grimm do love fresh meat."
Five months ago...
The world was ending.
At least that's what it felt like to Qrow, who was at the moment, sobering up. He had been tracking the movements of the enemy for weeks, and was far too busy to get even a single drink. Inevitably he ran out of his private stash, and the hangover came with a rabid vengeance.
These were desperate times indeed.
And now, just as he was catching a break, he got a call from an old acquaintance. They agreed to meet in Mistral, luckily near the place he was already staying. After a short flight into the next town, he plowed his way through the inn's aged doors.
The bar was filled with unsavory characters, all of which gave the Huntsman a hateful glare for a short moment. He gave them all a wide grin and the men and women at the bar rose their mugs in greeting, cheering at their favorite bar-fighter and drinking partner.
He found her with a quick scan of the room, hiding in a darkened corner of the saloon. She was doing well enough to avoid being noticed, and if you didn't already know it was her, you certainly wouldn't realize that it was Winter Schnee sitting in the corner.
Qrow ordered a drink that the bartender poured into a shot-glass, then downed the drink with a single gulp. He looked at Winter, raising an eyebrow at her uniform, a matte-black, hard leather armor, along with a dark cloak that did well to keep her blended with the darkness. In public, the Atlesian uniform was a stark white, but when something needed to be done discreetly, the Atlesian Special Forces donned their stealth armor.
He sauntered over and sat at the table across from her with an exaggerated sigh, leaning back in his chair. She made no motion to welcome him, but he saw the sneer she gave him from beneath her concealing hood.
"You know Winter, if we keep meeting like this the people are actually going to start saying things," Qrow remarked, a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth. He always enjoyed teasing the eldest Schnee daughter, mostly because of how flustered she would get after just a few words.
"Don't even start, Qrow," she hissed.
He gave a quiet chuckle, "Touchy today, what's got you all worked up?"
"Nothing," She said, far too quickly, "We need to get a room to speak in private, though."
He smiled evilly, she was making it too easy, how could he not tease her? "Straight to business, huh? You won't even buy me a drink first?" She growled and he gave an exaggerated sigh, "I get it, beggars can't be choosers, right?"
Her face contorted into a hateful glare, "Screw you," she hissed between her teeth.
Qrow shrugged, "Hey, if that's your plan I won't stop yo-" A hard slap echoed throughout the inn and many of the bar's patrons turned to see Qrow laughing hysterically, while being dragged up the stairs by a hooded, yet clearly enraged woman.
The trip to the already-rented room was enough for Winter to calm down a bit, and she gently closed and locked the door behind her, letting out a tired sigh as she pulled her hood down, "Would you at least try to be a bit more decent?"
Qrow raised an eyebrow and sat down at a small table next to the bed, "I could, but where's the fun in that?"
Winter did her best to control her temper, "Just. Try."
She turned to gaze at the room she had rented previously, taking in the modest accommodations for the first time. The walls, floors, and furnishings were all wooden, finished to a darkened sheen. One King sized bed on the right wall, opposite a small fireplace, and one bathroom and a small kitchen. It was indeed modest, but enough for a simple meeting such as this, not to mention that the walls were thick and insulated, preventing others from listening in on the people inside.
The bright moonlight illuminated the dust that slowly drifted through the musty air of the room, and small candles flickered in the darkness. Qrow sat at the table next to the bed, both hands behind his head as he leaned back to relax.
"What, is Jimmy treating you like a dog of the military again?" he teased, knowing she would hate his jesting.
"General Ironwood." She said firmly, giving him an angry glare.
The huntsman huffed, "Oh, so now he's worthy of respect? Last time we met you said he was intolerable!"
"I did not!" she yelled, then continued once she regained her composure, "I said that everyone makes mistakes."
Qrow's red eyes grew more intense for a moment, "Oh sure, mistakes like kidnapping a fifteen-year-old kid and turning him into a murdering psychopath. That's one hell of a guy you've got there!" he said, his voice layered thick with taunting sarcasm.
"The General makes choices for the good of Remnant," she snapped, jumping to her superior's defense, "He is a good man and a great leader, unlike you; a dirty, untrustful, scum-sucking, shallow, arrogant-"
"Who are you calling dirty?" he asked with mock hurt.
She let a hiss of air through her teeth to stifle the growing rage, "Focus," she breathed, telling not only Qrow, but herself as well. Once the tension died down a bit, Winter moved forward with the actual reason she came searching for the Huntsman, "Did you find out who he was?"
"Yep," he slapped a folder on the table, thick with numerous papers, "Some kid name Milo Aurelius, lived out in the boonies of Mistral. Apparently he was best-buddies with Pyrrha Nikos ever since they were five or so. Went to Sanctum for two years, but stayed pretty much under the radar, not exactly the 'attention-grabber' type of guy."
"So what happened?" Winter asked, "Any clues on why Atlas would want him?"
"More or less. I found a hospital report that says he got some virus, so they ran some blood tests and found something they didn't understand. They sent the sample to Atlas, and about a month later he was presumed dead from an explosion in his home. Sounds to me like Ironwood found something he liked."
Winter sat down, resting her head in a palm as he spoke. It seemed surreal, that the man she had looked up to for so long had done something so terrible. "This is enough to send to the Council, you know. We could get Ironwood thrown in jail for a very, very long time," he suggested.
"No no, we're going to need him," she said, shaking her head. A thought occurred, and she reached over to grab the folder of information on Milo. She stood, and with a flick of her wrist, the entire collection of papers flung into the fireplace, igniting the flames to brighten the room's glow.
"Why'd you do that?!" Qrow exclaimed, stunned that Winter would destroy something so important.
"It would only give someone a chance to track the two of us," she explained, poking at the embers with an iron rod.
"Whatever," he sighed, "Did Ironwood suspect anything?"
"He didn't suspect me, but he did order me to track Nova down." She seemed dejected, disappointed in herself and in the General.
"Then you'll be fine," Qrow reassured.
She nodded, then shook her head to focus again as she returned to the table, "How is he doing, anyway? Adapting well to Beacon I hope?"
"He made it onto a team called Crimson with a few misfits," the huntsman chuckled, "he's a bit out of their league but they seem to be getting along."
"That's not too bad," she nodded.
"True, but I can't figure out what's worse, someone figuring out who he is, or him remembering where he came from," Qrow added remorsefully.
If the enemy is given the chance to poison his mind then everything we care about, everything we have worked so hard to build, will be destroyed.
The huntsman frowned when he noticed her posture change, and she leaned forward in her chair, a tired and nervous expression on her pale face. "Did I make the right choice, Qrow?" she asked with a hushed voice, "Is the freedom of one boy worth risking so much?"
"Don't do that to yourself. You saw something that you knew was wrong, and made a judgment call. No one can fault you for that." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she slumped further, his words having no effect. "You said it yourself, what if it were Weiss in his place? You made the right choice, Winter." The corners of her lips curled ever so slightly, a smile that Qrow hadn't seen in a very long time.
Many people wondered why he was always drinking, and even more still simply wrote him off as a perpetual drunk. The truth was so much more simple, yet so complicated. Drinking held the longing at bay, kept the heartache from sinking too deep.
He would never forget the day Jacques Schnee forbid him from seeing his eldest daughter, and the battle that followed. He vastly underestimated the old man's skill, and the loss hurt him in spirit far more than in body.
Qrow started drinking ever since then, and things only got worse from there. Eventually, all good feelings she had for him were long gone, replaced by anger and disappointment, all the more reason to drink even more. All of that was eight years ago, and nothing much had changed. They met on occasion, but more likely than not they were arguing and fighting with each other.
He pulled away from her before she wizened to his touch, knowing that it could only end badly. "I just hope nothing goes wrong," she stated bluntly.
"Oh, I'm sure life will find a way to make something go wrong," he remarked with a grin. "Feels like old times, doesn't it? Ignoring our parents, running off to do what we know is right?"
He struck a nerve, and everything went downhill in an instant.
"That was before I knew you," she hissed.
Qrow rolled his eyes, "You've always known me-"
"You stabbed me in the back!"
"I told you already, making me follow orders works less than baptizing a cat. You knew I couldn't enslave myself in the military!" His head pounded as the hangover got the better of him, and he hated himself for shouting at her.
Winter's hand rested on the hilt of her sword, and her icy blue eyes glared at him with rage. "Get out," she said in a low whisper, tasting blood as she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.
He stood and walked for the door, shaking his head with a long sigh. "It was good to see you again, Winter. Maybe next time-"
"The next time I see you Qrow, I will cut out your tongue. Do you understand?" There it was again, the hatred that has rooted deep in her heart.
Qrow needed a drink.
He slowly moved for the door, and opened it wide. "I look forward to it," he whispered, and quickly closed the door before she could respond. A thud against the door and the sound of shattering glass told him that she had thrown something breakable, just a second too late.
He needed a lot to drink.
Winter crushed the table with a swing of her blade, then whirled around and threw it deep into the wall. Gripping her hair, she sat on the bed and wiped her eyes thoroughly before the tears could fall.
"I hate him," she lied to herself.
"I hate him."
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life.
-Psalm 143:8