He was running.

Markus ran through a rolling grassland with jovial carelessness, glancing to his right to see Amber running alongside him. Her smile gleamed in the evening Sun, as the tall blades of grass gently caressed their flowing figures.

A rumble of thunder came from the north. The pair stopped, seeing billowing black storm clouds growing in size in the distance. The two had suddenly become five, a pair flanking either side of Markus, with the two closest to him being easily recognizable.

Amber and Pyrrha stepped forward and gave each other knowing nods, followed closely by the ones he did not know, but felt as if he did. The four women began to glow, becoming colors of white, green, yellow, and auburn, and charged toward the storm.

Markus sprinted after, but could not match their blinding speed. He attempted to bring forth his Aura in a desperate act to catch up, but as he physically saw the white glow of his Aural energy move in front of himself, he found it harder to run, and he began to slow. He tried to push it away, and it slowed him even more, finally stopping him completely.

He started to panic, as he saw the Aural glows of the Maidens begin to dance around a shadowed figure, clashing in brilliant strikes. Markus started to pull up a foot to move once again, but could not. His own Aural energy began to push him to the ground, the weight of it squeezing what little air he had out of him. In a last effort, he reached out to his energy, and pulled in toward his own body.

As soon as he began to pull downward, Markus flew into the air several feet, arms and legs flailing in sudden flight as he turned and fell, landing on his back. He arose quickly with a feeling of understanding, making himself into a glowing white light, and charged at the storm.

He reformed into his physical body, only to see the Four Maidens captured and bound by black tendrils coming from the central shadow. Their Aural glows were significantly diminished, their light being pulled away, when a tendril came for him.

Markus awoke, taking a sharp breath and feeling the sudden difference in temperature from when he last knew. His lungs filled and felt the familiar pain of cool air. Feels like home, he thought as he stood, stretching to shake the feeling of sleep from himself.

"Hey!" Castillo's voice shouted in his headset. "You awake back there?"

"Just woke up," Markus staid as he looked out a porthole. "Are we nearly there?"

"We're about ten minutes out. We'll begin descending soon."

"Negative on descent," Markus said as he moved to grab his supply pack.

A silent response came from the headset, denoting to Markus that Castillo was processing his request. "What do you mean 'Negative on descent?' You have a change of heart or somethin'?"

"Quite the contrary," Markus replied. "I'm doing an equipment test for General Ironwood. Descend for a high altitude jump."

He felt the craft angle down in descent. "Whatever you say, man. Recalculating for drop-off jump." The Bullhead leveled out. "Two minutes! Get ready!"

Markus fastened his supply cache to his chest, then grabbed and secured another pack with the Atlas Academy symbol proudly embroidered upon it. He took a pair of jump goggles from the Atlas pack and donned them.

"I thought you didn't care of Atlas tech," Castillo said.

"I usually don't," Markus responded, reaching for his headset. "This one caught my fancy too much."

"Right. One hundred second to drop."

Markus pulled off his headset and hung it on a nearby hook, hitting a switch in the process that opened the side hatch inward. He ducked to let the door swing, observing the mostly barren region lit by the first rays of morning. The push of a button on his goggles made its heads-up display come alive, green lines and numbers showing a level flight indicator, speed, altitude, downrange distance, and time to jump.

He stepped up and braced both arms on the hatch opening, the cold bite of the morning air lessening on his face as the Bullhead slowed. His hands, arms, and legs felt none of the chill, proving that the body liner portion of the test was working, In his HUD, the time to jump flashed by sixty seconds, his landing point now lit by a target reticle.

"Helljumper, Helljumper, where ya been?" he quietly sang to himself as he leaned back. "Been out on a drop, gonna jump again." Markus pulled himself forward, instinctively tucking his head, and fell back first in descent.

He looked back to the Bullhead as it pulled away to the north, heading to a nearby base. Markus turned himself over, spreading his limbs and checking his altitude. He had jumped higher than normal, but was falling rapidly, already down to forty-two hundred meters, and three kilometers downrange from his target.

Another check of his altitude ten seconds later showed he was now below thirty-eight hundred meters, and Markus reached for and grabbed a white pull cord. At thirty-six hundred, he pulled, releasing the Atlas pack.

Metal switchblade sheets sprang from the pack, forming metallic glider wings. The straps pulled on Markus's trunk, nearly squeezing the breath from him. He watched as his speed and his target distance go down as he brought a controller attached to his wrist to in front of himself, giving the rotary dial an adjustment.

The wings responded by changing their inclination, setting his forward and falling speed at a uniform pace. He glided for a full minute before his HUD alerted him to pull his chute, which Markus ignored. The green lines went red, and the projected words of "PULL CHUTE" flashed in the center.

Markus gave it another ten seconds before pulling on a blaze orange cable, deploying a canopy chute and retracting the wings. He flew for another twenty seconds before pulling his legs up and pushing the steering and toggle line forward. He realized he was coming in much faster than normal, putting a foot out and running when his boot made contact.

The parachute caught enough air from behind him to pull Markus to a stop. Well, that wasn't as unpleasant as I originally thought, he silently said to himself as he unbuckled both packs. Markus removed the goggles from his head and the control pad from his wrist, placing them in their respective receptacles on the Atlasian bag. The touchpad flashed the question "Jump complete?" with a "Yes" and "No" option below.

Markus pushed "Yes," backing up in time to see a compartment burst open, releasing Dust. He turned eastward while removing his Scroll. "Day one," he started to say in its audio recorder. "I've completed the Atlasian infiltration technology test, and it has performed admirably. The weight distribution needs work. As the wings were deploying, the air pressure caused the straps to tighten down hard enough that I could not breathe. I've been told that breathing during a freefall is a good thing, and this design flaw might interfere with said function."

He gave a quick glance behind him. "The wing pack itself is being disintegrated by its Dust power cell, as per its design. I'm now heading east to -" he unfolded his Scroll and brought up a map, "- the village of Kansa, which means 'people of the South wind' in Old Vytal. I am now mission begin." He collapsed his Scroll, moved his supply pack to his back, and began to trek east.

"You don't understand," a visibly exhausted Blake said to Yang. "I'm the only one that can do this!"

Yang quickly spun away from the lecture hall's blackboard, her eyes red with rage. "No, you don't understand!" She furiously extended a pointed finger to the entrance. "If Roman Torchwick came through that door, what would you do?"

"I'd fight him!"

Yang shoved Blake, pushing her back into the main desk. "You'd lose."

Blake threw an arm back, making contact with Yang's shoulder. "I can stop him!"

"You can't even stop me!" Yang gave her another push, sending Blake falling onto the desktop. "Markus couldn't even stop him, and he bested you in the dueling ring before any of this even started!"

"Markus had a Semblance awakening event!" Blake desperately reasoned. "He was distracted, and I'm… I'm…" she paused, reflecting on just where she was. Blake stood, still glaring at Yang, when Yang wrapped both arms around her, tightly embracing in a hug.

"I'm not asking you to stop," Yang quietly said. "Just, please… get some rest. Not just for you, but for the people you care about." She let go, walking up the lecture steps. "And if you feel like coming out tomorrow," Yang winked, "I'll save you a dance."

Blake watched as Yang departed, letting out a tired sigh. "She's right, you know," she heard as Markus's voice filled her mind. "You would rather watch yourself be destroyed instead of allowing yourself to have a moment's reprieve. This is not the redeeming path. If you continue this way, time surely will be on Roman's side, and he will have to do nothing but watch as you consume yourself. You must start forgiving yourself. And, for the Mother's sake, get some sleep. You look a right mess."

I wonder how he's doing out there, she asked herself.

"Day two," Markus said into his audio recorder. "I've reached the outskirts of the village of Kansa. I've spent yesterday, and the better portion of today, following a small game trail littered with the remains of human activity. I've found many discarded food wrappers, spent heater packs, a couple of kilometers back I found five lien, and every so often I'll come across a spent bullet casing. If this is White Fang, they're not making any effort to conceal their movements.

"The game trail led to a wider path, which then led to a cobblestone road. Following the continued evidence of human activity has led me east-northeast, and to Kansa. This village, at first glance, almost seems out of place. There doesn't seem to be any kind of nearby natural resources, wood is scarce, and the nearest body of water is five kilometers away, at least. I can only assume this settlement exists because of a well, or it sits at a major crossroad. Either way, the-"

Markus stopped both his recording and step as a single shot rang out. He looked toward the road leading into the village to see a group of people moving their way to him. "Halt!" one yelled. Markus's hands went up. "You are trespassing on our lands! We told your kind that you are no longer welcome here!"

Markus's brow furrowed in confusion. "Uhhh, this is the first time I've -"

"Shut it, Faunus scum!" the one Markus assumed was the leader said. The group was only fifty feet away, drawn weapons pointed and at the ready. "You will answer for your transgressions! We gave you hospitality, and in return, you did nothing but -"

"Hold, kinsman!" an older voice bellowed from behind the militia. "Hold!" Two of the armed men parted to reveal an elder, what remaining hair he had white as snow, cloaked in a long, drab brown overcoat. "Lower your weapons, this instant! This one is not of those who came before him!"

"Grandda, what are you doing out here?" the leader asked. The others had followed the man's order and were beginning to disperse. "I told you I would take care of this interloper."

"No, grandson. I'm stopping you from making a grave mistake," the elder replied. "This one is not with the White Fang."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can see it in his heart." The old man approached, bright hazel eyes vigorously studying Markus. "You can put your hands down, son. They won't hurt you now."

Markus's arms dropped slowly. "The White Fang has been here?"

"They have, and as you have undoubtedly been able to deduce, it was not the most pleasant of experiences." The man's pained expression softened. "But you lack the fury that was in was in their eyes. I see only a noble purpose."

Markus nodded. "I am their pursuer, and a seeker of lost men."

"Ah," the man drew out, raising his head in revelation. "So that is what brings a student this far south, during this turning of the age."

"You could tell I came from Beacon?"

"I assumed, yes." The man walked around Markus patting his pack. "Your bag was the most telling giveaway. Its material and weave are distinctly unique to…" he paused, "let's call them most populated areas." He circled back around. "I may be old, but my eyes are still full of youth."

Markus politely chuckled. "Thank the Mother for that."

The elderly man smiled back. "I am Oran, leader of this village." He dipped his head in a bow.

Markus mimicked his actions. "An honor, sir. I am Markus, of the aforementioned Beacon Academy." He looked to the younger man Oran identified as his grandson. "I must thank you for your timely arrival."

Oran turned to see his grandson walking away. "And I must apologize for their hasty reaction." He faced Markus, gesturing down the road as they began to walk. "My people are pragmatic and cautious. Two necessary qualities this far away from the safety of the city."

"They are good qualities."

"Yes. Standing at the crossroad of three major caravan highways makes one learn to be suspicious of outsiders."

"I can relate, in a unique way."

"Oh? How?"

"I may attend Beacon," Markus said as he stood tall, "but I am originally from Camaden, a small independent nation -"

"Who threw off the mighty shackles of Atlas," Oran finished.

Markus's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You know of Camaden?"

"Oh, of course! The story of how the island nation that broke away from the Atlasian binds with only the strength and resolution of spirit will ring throughout history."

"I'm surprised you have heard of it," Markus said as they stepped into the village. Several wooden buildings surrounded a central well, which was encompassed by a circular stone roadway. He heard the pounding of a hammer on metal, and the grinding of a wheel. "With most people, I have to explain to them where it is."

"There are those of us who choose to learn Remnant's full history, not just the parts which pertain to them."

"I see," Markus said in admiration.

"But, to the business of why you have come." As they turned to enter one of the structures, Markus's stomach grumbled loudly. "Are you hungry, lad?"

"A fair bit." Markus threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to his pack. "I did bring my own food, so I will eat once I am back on the road."

"Oh, I implore you to dine with us." Oran opened the wooden door. "It has been some time since we were able to entertain peaceful guests. We were about to begin before your approach was made known to us, and don't think you will be an inconvenience. I've brought in others for dinner often enough, it would not surprise me if they had a plate for you already prepared."

"If you're ever invited to eat, always accept," Amber's voice said. "It's an insult to the inviter's character if you refuse."

"I'd love to sample your local faire," Markus said.

"Most splendid," Oran said as they entered. "You and I will be able to discuss our mutual problem."

Markus was led into a great meeting hall, a long table and chairs occupying its center. The room itself was warm with a crackling fire on the far end. Markus looked to the table to see three set dining spaces.

"Please, help yourself to a seat," Oran said.

Markus did so, scooting to the table. "Bringing more unexpected guests again, father?" a woman emerged from a closed door. The new figure bore shoulder-length raven black hair, braids running behind each ear from her bangs, an oval face with high cheeks, eleven-shaped piercing purple eyes, wearing a white apron over a blue tunic.

"As I said," Oran directed to Markus, "it is usually expected."

"I assumed you would be bringing a fourth when the shouting stopped." The woman briefly disappeared through the door from which she came, returning with another set of flatware, plate, and cup.

"Markus, this is Lilac, my daughter."

Markus stood. "A pleasure, ma'am."

"'Ma'am?'" she said with a giggle. "How quaint."

"Manners of greeting may have fallen out of favor in the decadent time," Oran said as Markus resumed his seat, "but it gives an old man hope that at least one person still practices them."

"Oh, posh, father," Lilac said as she set the dinnerware. "You'll be happy to know the hunting party managed to track the caribou heard."

"Good," Oran said in relief. "Another unintended consequence of hosting the White Fang, when their true nature was unknown to us. They had driven away the sustenance we require here on the frontier."

"Oh, dear," Markus said, stunned.

"Yes. They also stole, caused a ruckus, and were in numerous fights with my people."

The door opened, revealing Oran's grandson. "Yeah. They came here thinking they ran the place."

"Oh, hush, my son," Lilac said. "Let it go, and introduce yourself."

"The grandson turned to Markus bringing the same purple eyes into view. "I'm Mauve." He sat. "Sorry about earlier."

Markus waved a hand. "Think nothing of it. A healthy dose of paranoia, especially after dealing with White Fang, is well-justified."

Oran reached for a flagon as Lilac retreated back into the other room. "You are surprisingly quick to forgive."

"It was a simple misunderstanding," Markus assured. "Nothing more."

Oran reached for Markus's cup, filling it with a steaming liquid. "To stand so fearlessly in the face of a mob must mean you have a powerful Semblance."

Lilac returned with a platter of food. "Well, my Semblance is unknown to me, at the moment," Markus said.

"I'm surprised," Mauve chimed in. "That's pretty atypical of Beacon to send out the uninitiated, is it not?"

Lilac set the tray in the center of the table, the steam emanating from the prepared steak chops, potatoes, and bread. "I hope you don't mind a meat and potatoes dinner."

Markus smiled. "Not at all. It reminds me of Camaden."

The serving plates began to make their round about the table. "So, your Semblance," Mauve said, returning to the prior conversation. "What's one who doesn't know it doing out here?"

"Try not to be so harsh, grandson," Oran said, taking a drink. "I should like to think those training the future huntsman and huntresses know what they're doing. However, the boy does have a point. I thought students were placed in teams for missions."

Markus took a drink of his own, the warm, sticky sweet beverage flooding his minds with memories of home. Ah, mead. "My mission requires a bit of subtlety and subterfuge," he said. "A team of students might have brought unwarranted attention."

"I see," Oran said. "Have you had a Semblance awakening event at all?"

"I've had several 'incidents,' but am not sure if they are related to a Semblance. My latest involved me moving to disengage from an opponent as I needed to vacate the area of a proximal detonation, but I ended up being going further than intended." Markus shook his head. "I left a white glow in my wake."

Oran had been chewing on a piece of caribou chop, but then slowly set his knife and fork down. "Was there a pressure-" he patted at his heart, "-here? Before you jumped?"

"There was," Markus replied, leaning forward with interest.

"I believe I may know what it is, but first," he raised his cup, "we must toast, and eat." Markus, Lilac, and Mauve followed suit. "To our new friendship, and, our hopeful resolution to our common problem."

"Pyrrha Nikos," Emerald said, bringing a picture of her up on her Scroll.

"Ah, the 'Invincible Girl,'" Cinder said, examining her nails.

"She's smart," Mercury said as he laid on his back, reading a comic book, "but I wouldn't say 'invincible.'"

"Do tell."

"Her Semblance is polarity," Emerald continued, "but you'd never know just by watching."

Mercury sat up, discarding his comic. "After she made contact with my boots, she was able to move them around however she wanted, but she only made slight adjustments."

"Just enough to make it look like she's untouchable. She doesn't broadcast her powers, so it puts her opponents at a disadvantage."

"Hmmm," Cinder hummed, "people assume she's fated for victory, when she's really taken fate into her own hands." She smiled. "Interesting. Add her to the list." She watched at Emerald's Scroll began to beep. "And what of the one Roman warned us?"

Emerald browsed through her device. "I made several inquiries, but they returned little. His name is Markus Frude, he isn't from Vale or any of the other kingdoms, and is currently away on a mission, but no one knows where."

"This is all you found?"

"Yes, ma'am. From what I've gathered, he tends to be on the reclusive side."

"We will have to do more research when he returns, but for the time being, add him to the list as well."

"I'm sorry, what?" Markus asked in disbelief.

"'Aural Grasp,' is what it is called," Oran said from his chair facing the fire. Lilac and Mauve had retired for the evening, leaving Oran and Markus to discuss Aura and Semblance. "It is a very rare gift, even more so than telekinesis. You have the ability to wield your own Aura, and use it directly."

"And you're sure that is what it is, based on the one example I gave?"

Oran leaned forward. "No."

Markus's Truthsense tingled. "By the Mother, you are."

"You are able to discern truth from fallacy without even a moment's hesitation. There are others who can as well, but for them it requires practice and concentration. For you, it comes as naturally as breathing."

"Ever since I've been able to remember, yes." Markus took a quick drink. "Does it have anything to do with the 'jumping' I seem to do when fighting?"

"I seem to recall that one with Aural Grasp can push against their own soul, sending them in the opposite direction. I believe you did this unintentionally in your confrontation with this Roman character." He leaned back. "Have you ever felt the pressure reach out of you, and strike someone, or something?"

"Once," Markus said, remembering the Aura awakening with Amber.

"That was your very Aura, reaching forth, and striking as a limb would," Oran took a draw from his cup. "Did it happen to be at a creature of Grimm?"

"It was at a person."

"Ah. Well, know that reaching with your Aura against a Grimm will cause them greater harm. Think of it like a holy weapon striking an undead."

"Noted."

"And, are you able to lay a hand upon a person, and see into their mind?"

Markus was momentarily shocked by the sheer amount of information Oran already knew about what he could do. "Yes. In Camaden, we call it the 'Soul Meld.'"

"An apt name," Oran said, "for they are correct. It comes second nature to you, doesn't it?" Markus nodded. "You physically impart a portion of your Aura into another, forcing the host's own Aura to intertwine with yours, and learning what it knows."

"I did not realize it was that involved of a process."

"You truly have the gift, of near magical ability." Oran set aside his cup. "I hope, and fear, for you, then. It has been written in some of the oldest legends that a terrible destiny awaited those with Aural Grasp."

Markus brought his own cup to his lips, finishing off the bit of mead that remained. "Lucky for me, then. I'm not a fan of destiny. My future is my own to make."

"A brave way of thinking," Oran said, "but perhaps even that is in Lady Destiny's design."

"I don't care for the thought of life being a predetermined path."

"Ahhh, do not confuse destiny with fate. The road of Lady Destiny is littered with paths from which to choose."

"Do these paths all lead to the same end, though?"

"Perhaps," Oran said with a shrug. "Perhaps not. That is not for us to know. All we can do is walk upon it."

Markus sat motionless, then rested elbows on his knees and placed his chin on his hands, staring into the fire in contemplation. Quiet moments passed before Markus turned to, but did not make eye contact with, Oran. "I will… meditate on this."

"Good," Oran said, rising from his chair, Markus following. "You are a Camaden, and a believer in the balance of things, yes?"

"I am."

"A debt needs to be settled, and brought back into balance." Oran sighed. "I'm sorry for having to do this, but I am a leader of people, and must think of their protection. The presence of the White Fang has discouraged people from using the roads, and our town has suffered because of it. We have not been about to conduct trade with caravaneers for necessities only available through them."

Markus only stood in silence, beckoning Oran to continue. "We have fed you, housed you, and I intervened on your behalf when Mauve was set to cause you harm."

"I see the discrepancy," Markus said.

"Should you find yourself able to rid of the White Fang, I will consider us in balance once again. They were last seen heading northeast, toward the mountains."

Markus nodded. "I understand."

"You may rest here, though I'm sorry that I cannot offer a spare bed."

"Think nothing of it. The bed roll I was supplied is surprisingly comfortable."

Oran gave a smile. "When will you depart on the morrow?"

"First light."

"An early riser. This is good. The foothills are at least a three day journey from here," Oran gave Markus a once over, "but someone with your youthful status might make it in two-and-a-half." He spun away from Markus. "I, most likely, will not be awake before you depart," he stopped short of a door, "so, until we meet again, I wish you safe travels, and may the wind be at your back."

Markus gave an appreciative smile as Oran went through the door's threshold. He untucked his bed roll onto the stone floor, crawling inside and promptly falling asleep, dreaming of broken paths.