A hawk circled overhead just a block away. Buckets observed its flight pattern with some intrigue. The bird made no move to land or continue onwards. It flew in the same spiral radius again and again, occasionally letting out a piercing cry. What was it waiting for? A hawk was no vulture looming above, waiting to feast on the leftovers. They would sweep down and snatch their prey the instant the opportunity arrived. So what was this one doing? Buckets grew curious enough about the bird that he even lost track of where he was heading.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" asked a skeptical Kiera, "We're getting a little too close to the Spine for my tastes." Her panther tail fidgeted in agitation.

"Scared?" teased Buckets, using her few seconds of flusterment to reacquaint himself with the path he was taking.

"Unlike you I have a keen sense of my environment. The closer we get to the Spine the more that little voice inside tells me to turn and run in the opposite direction."

"These are the directions Clementine gave me." Said Buckets once he figured where they were.

"Last week there was another sinkhole." Said Kiera, her voice quiet like a kitchen mouse. "This one dangerously close to Greenberg's. A whole building gone in a matter of seconds. Swallowed up by the very ground we're treading on."

"Worry isn't a good look for you." Said Buckets.

"We can't all be as carefree as you are."

"I must look like a grinning fool to you."

A slim smile touched Kiera's lips, "Most of the time you do. But I'm not complaining."

"Good." Buckets turned off the path, heading in the direction of the circling hawk.

"Where are you going?" called Kiera, "You're lost aren't you? Dammit, you should've written the directions down."

"I thought you weren't complaining?" He climbed on top of a building, which had sunken so far down that the roof was waist level. Free of the clinging mud, Buckets hurried across the slanted rooftop. On the other side, the hawk flew directly overhead. Below it, stuck in the middle of the street was another hawk. Its wings were glued to the thick muck. Probably dove to catch a similarly snared prey and got caught itself. The trapped hawk struggled but no matter how hard it strained it couldn't break free.

Kiera clapped him on the back, her ravenous eyes fixed on the bird. "Nice find. I'm thinking dinner."

"Is that all you think about when you look at it?" asked Buckets.

"No." she admitted, "Makes me wish I had wings rather than a tail."

The circling hawk landed on a skeletal rooftop opposite of them. It regarded the human and faunus both with a cold, unblinking stare. Buckets hopped off the rooftop and trudged his way closer to the trapped bird. His eyes though never left the partner perched across the street.

"Careful," warned Kiera, "they can claw your eyes out with those talons of theirs."

As Buckets came within ten feet of the trapped hawk its partner spread its wings and arched its body ready to take flight. Buckets froze momentarily. Kiera watched from behind in tense silence. For that, Buckets was thankful. Any sudden movements and that hawk would sweep down.

Raising his open hands into the air, Buckets started forward once more, slower this time. "Easy now." He knelt next to the snared hawk who fixed him with an all too human expression. Fear. Confusion. Wonder. Its partner made no move, but remained poised to strike if necassary. With one hand, Buckets started to scoop out the mud surrounding the snared hawk. The entire time it just stared at him, as if contemplating his actions.

When it could, the hawk walked clear of the mini pit it had dug itself in and spread its muddied wings. The majestic beast had dark feathers tinged orange near its shoulders and feet. Using his fingertips, Buckets scraped the large chunks of mud off the feathers and flicked them away. When he finished, the hawk craned its head up towards him. Those golden eyes stared into his own. Then with a few flaps of it wings it was in the air once more. Joining its mate, the two hawks circled a few more times before flying off into the distance.

Kiera spoke from behind him. "Why'd you let it go?"

"It had a mate…or a friend at least. How would you feel if someone came along and unceremoniously took a person like that away from you?"

She sighed as if she expected that answer, but was still disappointed. "You're too soft for this world."

"Why do you say that?"

"Survival of the fittest. The strong thrive while the weak die. It's the way of the world we live in."

Buckets held up a hand to shield himself from the sun. Off in the distance the two hawks swerved around each other in some kind of dance or celebration. He couldn't help but smile. "Those who are strong…Who are really strong. They are the ones who are able to look out for the weak. Don't you agree?"

"I protect you and look out for the district because I'm going against threats still weaker than myself. If I ever faced an opponent stronger than me then I'd run and leave you all behind."

"You don't mean that."

She turned away so he couldn't see her face. "I've done it before."

"I once chewed on an eraser thinking it was gum, that doesn't mean I'll do it again."

Kiera chuckled at that, but the joy was short-lived. "Sometimes there are situations you just can't fight your way out of. And with things heading in the direction that they are, I fear that day is soon to come. When it does I want you to flee with me."

"Leave the Mud District?" Just posing the question felt wrong. "Leave Refuge?"

"There's more to the world than this!" she exclaimed, "We can see it all…together."

Buckets staggered as if struck. In the distance the hawks cawed. "All my life I've been searching for a place to be happy. A place to smile and really mean it. After all this time, I've finally found it…I've come to admire the Mud District and the people here a great deal. But my mother used to say that home is where the heart is. Mine is with you. Even when you don't want it to be."

Relief flushed Kiera's cheeks. Her panther tail which had been dragging now swayed happily. Kiera took him by the arm and continued onwards.

"Let's go," she said with a smile, "They're probably waiting for us."

Buckets allowed himself to be tugged along, unmindful to the fact that Kiera had no idea where they were going.

"I still don't understand why we're meeting here." Complained an obviously uncomfortable Kiera.

"Clementine likes his secret places." Said Runt.

Clementine stared up past the absent roof to the burnt evening sky. "It's true I like my secluded spots, but that's beside the point. Here, no one can hear us. If we stand any chance of success then we must trust each other and that means talking honestly."

"What he means to say is that we will be arguing. Quite a lot I imagine. It would be best if people didn't hear that."

"But you've already won them." Said Kiera, "The district is behind you and so are we."

"They will follow Runt, yes, but people are fickle. We can't give them any cause to doubt our new enterprise. This peace amongst ourselves is still fragile. Any crack can undo us. It's right after the victory do we stand the highest chance of defeat."

Buckets chuckled in amusement, "Where do you get these ideas?"

"I read a lot." Said Clementine with a sly smirk.

Kiera kicked her legs up onto the table and leaned back in her chair so that it balanced on both its hind legs. "So, what's the plan then? How do we fight an enemy when we don't even know their name?"

"That's not entirely true," corrected Clementine, "Before his ostracization, Sned informed me that he has just one contact in the city. One person that's been providing him with resources this whole time. The Dust and weapons were gifted to him by Councilman Colton Moss."

Kiera was oblivious to the name. She just leaned back in the chair, her panther tail swinging. Buckets on the other hand pricked up in alarm. However, Clementine noted the lack of surprise in the young man's face.

"A member of the Mistral council?" Buckets scratched at his chin stubble. "This is most disturbing news."

"What can he want from us?" asked Kiera, on guard after witnessing Buckets reaction.

"We know they want us gone." Answered Clementine, "Other than that I'm not so sure."

"Why though?" asked Runt, "Backing Sned…Causing the fire. Why go to such lengths?"

Clementine shrugged, "Maybe he needs space for a new project of his and we're in the way. Maybe we're just an eyesore in his otherwise beautiful city. Or maybe he just hates us. The why doesn't matter in this moment. When someone bloodies your nose, you don't stand there and ask him why. You punch back."

Buckets shook his head as if he didn't want to believe anything he was hearing. "Against who? Moss? He's a member of the Mistral Council. The fate of one effects all the others. If we strike at him the Council will bring the full might of Mistral down on our heads. The councilor is untouchable and believe it or not, the least of my worries."

Runt removed himself from his self-isolation in the corner of the room. "How so?"

Recognizing the uncomfortable situation Buckets put himself in, Clementine spoke up. "While Refuge is a part of the Kingdom of Mistral in truth it acts more like a city-state with every passing year. I've been watching for a long time now. There's more mystery to this city than I care to admit."

Runt leaned both hands on the table, studying Clementine's map. "And what have you learned so far?"

Despite himself, Clementine smiled. He's spent years researching. Always by himself. Discreet. Never did he dream he would be discussing his findings with anyone else. Now here they were, a gathering of individuals sharing the same desire that's driven him for the latter half of his life. With their support and backed by the rest of the Mud District things seemed within reach for the first time.

"Every week the same box trucks drive past the gates. Always at noon on Sunday. Like clockwork. They deliver their cargo to the Buffer warehouses. From there they're goods are distributed throughout the districts. Primarily to Vulcan Industries in the Craft and the Trade District Bazaar. The truckers themselves spend a day and night in the private rooms of the Flower District's brothels." Clementine pointed out the locations on the map as he spoke. "The trucks come from outside the city that much is clear. Yet, as far as I can tell no one knows the specific whereabouts or what they're holding. However, judging by their tires' grit I'd say they're within the Spine's valley or not far from it. Yet none of the known villages or hamlets in the valley glades have seen them. This is but one of the many mysteries of Refuge I've been looking into. There is a lot of traffic here, which means there are bound to be other players out there. Maybe more powerful than the councilor himself."

"We can't be sure who's against us and who's not." Added Kiera.

"That's why we have to force them out. They've been using the Buffer to squeeze us for years now. It's time we pushed back. Hardly anyone recognizes we exist. I say we remind them. Push the garrison of City Guard out of the Buffer and claim it as our own along with whatever they got stored in those warehouses. They won't be able to ignore us then. This way our enemies will have no choice but to reveal themselves to us."

"You make it sound so simple." sighed Runt, "Those City Guardsmen aren't just going to pick up and leave, even if we ask nicely."

"I don't imagine they would." Said Clementine.

Buckets fidgeted, "You want to fight your way through?"

"If it comes to that."

Kiera cracked her knuckles, "What's the matter? Don't think we'll win?"

Runt spoke up, "Incapacitating street thugs is one thing. The City Guard is a little something else. They're trained, organized, and well-equipped. Not to mention their numbers."

Clementine choked on a laugh, "You hold a high opinion of them. Truth of the matter is most City Guardsmen are just common citizens. The most they have to deal with on a daily basis is lost tourists. Isn't that right, Buckets?"

The accusing way Clementine framed the question drew everyone's attention. The young man smiled nervously, "How long have you known?"

"I never knew for sure." Said Clementine, a hint of guilt in his voice for putting Buckets on the spot. "Until now."

Kiera's eyes went wide. "Hold up. What are you implying?"

Clementine winced, "He never told you?"

"Told me what?"

Buckets cringed, "I suppose you three deserve to know. Especially if we're being truthful and all…"

Kiera leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over. "You were part of the City Guard!"

Buckets retreated back a few steps, "Technically I was still considered a recruit when I left. Worked patrol in the Buffer. It's a tradition for all recruits about to join any form of Refuge's military. A rite of passage they say. But it's really meant to establish the understanding of the situation in the Mud District."

"Why'd you leave?" asked Runt, awestruck.

"The night of the fire I rushed to a superior officer and asked him what we should do to help. He said to let the place burn to ashes and save us the trouble." Buckets' face scrunched in disgust. "I wouldn't have that. When the officer saw the defiance in my eyes he told me that if I went to help then I shouldn't bother coming back. Well, I did just that. Didn't think twice about it. Just filled as many buckets of water as I could find and set off. The rest you know."

Kiera hadn't moved an inch. She stared at Buckets with a dumbstruck expression. The former recruit squirmed under her gaze like an ant under a magnifying glass. "Listen, Kiera-"

"How can you not tell me?"

"It wasn't important."

"Not important?!" Her voice rasped with rage.

"You never asked about my past."

Kiera lunged at Buckets, grabbing him by the hem of his shirt and pulling him in close. She raised her fist to strike him. Buckets closed his eyes in acceptance of the blow but it never came. Clementine watched as her fist wilted and fell limp to her side like a dead plant. What Buckets said stabbed deeper than any knife could. Kiera released him and moved to retake her chair. Dazed, she plopped down with a defeated look in her eyes. The structure of the conversation died away in the awkward silence that followed. A palpable tension emanated from the two partners. Clementine feared that would be the end of the conversation until Buckets started up again, picking up where they left of as if nothing happened.

"In terms of the City Guard, you're both right and both wrong. They're trained, yes and organized, but they lack any experience in dealing with matters of violence. They won't be able to hold an organized front for long. Still, their numbers pose a problem. When I was a recruit the garrison at the Buffer was comprised of around fifty or so. I'd imagined its increased since then. Then there are the rest of the guard who patrol the other districts. When the precinct catches word they'll send reinforcements. If you don't break through before those reinforcements arrive then you will most likely be overrun."

Clementine cleared his throat, "What about their individual strength? What's a singular guard capable of?"

"It's like you said, they are normal people. Few would even have unlocked their aura. The real guard are the ones outside the city. The Ranger Division. They patrol Refuge's borders and see to safe passage of its caravans and train tracks. Why you think Refuge never has any real problem with Grimm? Rangers keep them at bay. This whole valley and the land beyond it are under their protection. They can hold their own in a fight and can even rival Huntsman in combat. I was being groomed for such a position."

"You possess an aura?" asked an even more bewildered Kiera.

Buckets' nod was meek, "Among other skills." For a split-second Kiera opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but she quickly closed it. She stared straight ahead once again with no doubt a thousand questions running through her head.

Clementine leaned forward, his hand brushing the red X on the map where the Buffer would be. "As a former guard, do you have any idea what the warehouses hold?"

"Now there is a question that's asked a lot. Simply put, I don't know. None of the guard do. If any did it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

"How is that possible?"

"Everything is held in the same big cargo containers. Like the crate of weapons Sned possessed. We're not allowed to open them. We just safeguard their exports and imports from the warehouses. It's all hush, hush. Anyone who starts asking to many questions or tries to sneak a peek ends up unemployed. Never to find work in Refuge again. Few care enough to even ask the question." Noticing Clementine's disappointment Buckets added, "This is a good thing though. For us at least. No one wants to risk their lives protecting other people's junk. Especially when they don't even know what it is."

Runt crossed his arms, "What does it matter what the warehouses hold?"

Clementine clapped him on the shoulder, "We have a small army of thieves and criminals eager to prove themselves. I say let them off their leash a bit. Have the Mudslingers loot the warehouses. Take whatever we can get our hands on."

Runt's face darkened, "That's dangerous. We don't know whose stuff we'd be stealing. We may end up making an enemy out of someone we need as a friend."

"Until we know for sure, everyone outside the Mud District is an enemy. What's inside those warehouses will give us some clue as to what we're dealing with."

Runt tried to protest further but Kiera stopped him with a flick of her tail. "I'm with Clementine on this one. We could use all the supplies we can get and whatever is in there may give us some clue as to the why behind it all."

"Fine." Grunted Runt, "But Sned's guns stay behind. If we use that on them, then they will do the same to us. That's trouble we don't need. Agreed?" Everyone nodded their head.

Clementine searched their faces, committing them to memory. "Alright then. Kiera, Buckets, split up and spread the word around. This happens tomorrow morning. No more waiting."

"How can we expect them to be ready so fast?" asked Buckets.

"They've been waiting for this answer for days now. Trust me…They're ready." Clementine turned to Runt, "Go to your Mudslingers. Let them know what's happening. They'll listen to you. They should be there tomorrow. If only just to witness."

Runt shook his head as if to disperse the picture he imagined. "They'll do more than that, I'm sure of it."

That night the young man known as Buckets did as he was told and spread the word to everyone he knew. Thankfully, Kiera left him be even though there were a million questions between them. Such things could wait. Buckets knew going into detail now wouldn't help anyone. He was grateful that Kiera understood as well.

Buckets returned to the local inn to find the innkeeper passed out drunk at the bar. After making sure he was still breathing, Buckets washed the dishes and tended to the fire smoldering in the hearth. Being the man's only patron, Buckets often thought of the two of them more as roommates than anything. He stayed poking at the fire for some time hoping for the innkeeper to wake. There was a lot on his mind he hoped to talk about with the man. Over the years, Buckets learned that Coll the innkeep was a terrible conversationalist but a great listener. Especially when hammered.

When it became apparent that his friend was out cold for the night Buckets went up to his small single room on the third floor. There wasn't much in the way of possessions. Just some clothes and daily life items he's collected since his years living in the Mud District. That night six years ago he left his whole life behind, which included all of his belongings. Well, most of them anyhow. The one memento he still had of his past he kept in the chest at the foot of his bed. Buckets unlocked the box and worked to remove the layers of clothing inside to reach the dresser's bottom.

There it was, wrapped in his old blue striped recruit uniform. Buckets stood and unwrapped it, letting the tattered jacket fall to the floor. He held it as if it were made of glass. His hands moved across its smooth surface, inspecting the weapon. Unlike the collapsible nightsticks of the City Guard, which tapered off at the ends, Buckets' baton was uniquely shaped. The club end of the baton was made from a cylindrical metal tube punctured with smooth curved holes. Buckets twirled the baton, testing its familiar weight. The air passing through the holes created a soft humming sound almost like a whistle.

Buckets was raised to believe that only fools named their weapons. Overly romantic huntsmen and huntresses who dreamed of being a hero in the songs. The real heroes were always nameless. That's what his farther beat into his head day after day. Just to spite that old boar Buckets had decided long ago that his weapon would be called, Nameless.

After spreading word to the appropriate parties about the agreed upon plan the faunus named Kiera hurried home. It had been a long couple of days. Between the attempted assassinations and dealing with the growing unrest that resulted from Sned's confession there was little time for much else. She collapsed on the feather stuffed bed, her face buried in the pillow. Despite her exhaustion and desire to sleep, something kept her up. A sense of responsibility. Like an itch that needed to be scratched. Kiera rolled out of bed and shoved the mattress aside. It's a common thing for people in the Mud District to hide their special belongings under floorboards. Break-ins had become a daily routine for Mudslingers under Sned's leadership. With him gone though virtually all crime in the Mud District came to a screeching halt. Even so, habits were hard to break.

Hidden away beneath the floorboards she had an ever-increasing pile of letters all marked for the same address. Kiera grabbed a blank piece of paper and her stubby pencil which was worn down almost to the eraser. She fell back onto her bed and began to write. A stream of consciousness recounting the tales over the past few days. Anything that crossed her mind went down. As she scribbled away she slipped into a relaxed state, one of open thoughts. This happened whenever she sunk her teeth into her letters. In this state her tail had a mind of its own, wagging about in the air above her. Another unconscious habit was that she stuck out her tongue as she wrote. Just a little bit. Enough to wet her lips and occasionally clean out her teeth.

All her worries and fears and questions she so desperately wanted to ask…It all went into the letter. After both sides were dense with words, she sealed the paper inside a spare envelope and marked it with the same address as all the others. Only then did she allow herself to sleep.

Runt kicked through the debris that was his home. The building had been leveled to the ground by Sned's guns. Just looking at the destruction made Runt wonder how he even survived. The wounds that were once like lead in his body were nothing more than puckered skin. Just additions to his collection of burn scars. Runt had considered joining Buckets at the inn for he knew he would get no sleep tonight. Thoughts of tomorrow were like needles poised just beneath the bed of his mind. If he tried resting they'd stick him till he became a porcupine.

Oh, how he wanted to drink the worries away. Like he's done on countless nights before. Buckets was Coll's only occupant, but not his only customer. Runt spent not a small part of the last six years at the inn getting drunk only to pass out in the stable behind it. The temptation to continue to do so was real. The fact that the whole district was looking to him now was the only thing that stayed his hand.

Something metallic caught his eye in the rubble. Runt cleared away the debris, digging up his tool belt. Still attached to it were his hammer, hatchet, and wood chisels. His main carpenter tools. That's what he had become in the past six years. When he wasn't drunk he was carpenter. Sometimes both. He turned his wood sculpting hobby into a daily distraction, becoming the district's most skilled and unreliable handyman. Runt buckled the thick belt back around his waist and sifted through the many pockets to see what bits still remained.

The chilled night breeze was a relief from the day's heat. Runt fell back onto the ruin as if it were a haystack. Wood bended and snapped underneath his weight. He closed his eyes and silenced the world. An easy task for Runt.

Someone settled down with him, snug in the fold of his arm. He could feel the weight of her on his bicep. Her body pressed against his own. The scent of oranges as her hair tickled his face. The beating of her heart synced with his. Soft fingertips brushed over his new wounds.

"Are you fighting again?" her voice was all he could hear.

"Yes."

"Who for?"

"Myself."

She giggled, "You're a terrible liar, Runt Braun. You never fight for yourself. Who then? Kiera? Old Gran? The whole district, perhaps? Or is it just Augustus? He's not the small child I knew anymore."

"He's changed." Said Runt, "We all have."

"But not me. I remain as fixed as the stars to you."

"Risa…I'm afraid."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But everyone is looking up to me now. The whole district. How can they follow me when I don't even know the way? When I hesitate every step?"

"You're right to be afraid, Runt. It means you're not stupid despite your best efforts." She laughed again, "Besides, with all those people following behind even if you do slip and fall, they will be there to catch you."

Runt squeezed her closer and found that she was gone. He opened his eyes and blinked away the tears that had gathered. Sitting up, Runt turned and gazed out over the tops to one building in particular. The one with a hole in its attic roof. His eyes held there before moving past to the Spine's cliff face and even further beyond that where the clouds blotted out the stars.

Clementine flipped through the book in his hands. A gift from a long time ago. A children's book of fairy tales. He'd never seen it's like anywhere else. Not in all the searching he's done over the years. If a similar copy existed out there then it was hidden away. Clementine glazed over the illustrations. Images he knew by heart and could even replicate though not with as much skill. Of all the fanciful tales the book contained there was one minor detail that stood out the most. Something he never took special note of as a child. Here in this book the moon was depicted as full. A whole sphere unlike the shattered one that now loomed in the sky. Of all the wondrous stories to puzzle over, the full moon was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But it begged the question. Was it just make believe? Or perhaps when this book was written it was a time before the shattering? In that case, how old is the book?

Such questions scratched at the inside of his skull. Still he questioned the veracity of a blind old woman. His beliefs were day and night, constantly changing. The child inside warred against the pessimistic mind birthed from the flames. The compromise between the two gave rise to something sardonic.

"If the legends were true then why is the world so dark?" Such were the questions the child would ask.

"Because the legends are true that the world is dark." Was often the reply from the pit in his gut.

Clementine closed the archaic book and placed it beneath the floorboards with the rest of his most precious collection. The house had finally stopped leaking. Without the dripping the house felt hollow. Clementine left his room. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom across the hall. It was dark inside. Too dark to even see the bed, yet he imagined the room all the same. He spent many nights sneaking in here to make sure Risa was still sleeping. Clementine let the fond memories lead him to the attic.

At night the Mud District was a flickering candle compared to the flashing lights of the Flower District in the distance. That place never slept. Clementine sat at the mouth of the blown-out attic, his feet dangling over the edge. Even with the minimal light he could still get a good look at the whole Mud District. From the main parts where people slept to the more abandoned sections of the district swallowed up by the mud itself. Most notable of all were the streets of black charred wood. The fire left its scars like any other wound.

He remembered being carried back from the Buffer to find the district engulfed in a dome of smoke. Those memories were vivid as if they happened yesterday. Blind Shan had left him in the care of the district. In bed with so many other injured. He tried to crawl away to search for Risa. They had to tie him down to prevent him from hurting himself. During that pain blurred week Clementine saw him. Runt Braun, the nightmare of his youth, curled up in a ball on a bed a few rows down. Burns scarred his body in several places. Two strangers, one faunus and one human, tended to the giant's wounds. Their soot stained faces were masks hiding tears.

Clementine stared out past the billowing factories of the Craft District and for a moment he thought someone was watching him, but the feeling passed. All at once the sight became too much to bare. He rubbed at his eyes. The slight bump that formed his facial scar still felt unfamiliar to him. He was unused to it. Even his leg throbbed from a ghostly pain years past. They were all fresh wounds to Clementine. Ones that left scars that weren't so visible. Inside him came a pulse, but not from his heart. No, from the pit in his gut. That thing that has dwelled inside him for so long now. Dark and deep like the tunnel where it was nourished. With the sunrise breaching the horizon it grew hungry.