The four girls all sat in the space between their makeshift bunks, huddled around a radio set issued by an Atlas Navy officer. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, turning the western sky a bright red. Yet, like streaks of ink across a blank canvas, narrow, black smokestacks still rose from the city center. Just like they had for last two days.

Oddly enough, the scene seemed peaceful to Weiss. After everything that happened, she was content with the heavy, static silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic breathing of her teammates.

Yet, it was a silence none of them dared to break. When the officer handed them their set, he'd said the upcoming broadcast was of dire importance. His stern words still rang in her ears:

"Broadcast straight from Atlas Military HQ at 8. Do not miss it. Without the CCT, this is all you're going to get."

She looked around at the rest of her team. Ruby shifted in place, tapping her fingernails on the wooden floor. Blake and Yang both bore the same, impassive mask, flicking their gaze between the device and the clock on their bookshelf. Its analog display read 19:56.

Sighing, she looked back down to the radio. It looked like it came straight from the trenches of the Great War, with its endless gauges and toggles littering its weathered surface. Perhaps, it might just have. Recalling her endless hours in Oobleck's lecture hall, personal radio sets had gone out of production ever since the CCT went online, allowing for instantaneous, interpersonal communication. Now, it was gone, and Remnant had no choice but to scramble back to its roots.

She clenched her fist. Everyone had heard of the hijacked broadcast in the library. The collapse of the Vacuo CCT tower was no accident. The question was, who did it? Weiss recalled the report she'd read all those days ago. In her mind, there was no other suspect.

The White Fang. Siding with the Grimm like the beasts they always were.

A crackle of static brought her out of her rage. The four girls snapped forwards, holding their breath.

"This is Atlas Army regional HQ speaking," said a monotonous, accented male voice, a thunder that shattered the silence. "Today, the Valic Third Army has driven the hordes of Grimm out of the agricultural sector of the city, and has established a defensive line on the ruins of the southern wall. The rugged terrain of the area to the south has made it punishingly difficult for the enemy to make significant progress, and as construction crews are sent to repair the city's defences, the generals predict our forces will have a much easier time fending off any further assault."

Blake, to her right, breathed an audible sigh of relief. Beyond the door of their dorm, a high-pitched whoop was quickly followed by frantic shushing.

"However, heavy fighting continues in the industrial and commercial districts. Several sectors have already been overrun, despite attempts at defense and bombardment. Thousands have been evacuated on the river's waterfront and taken deeper into the kingdom, yet many areas remain inaccessible with civilians still inside. Our armed forces are doing everything in their power to secure and relocate as many citizens as possible."

No victorious cheer followed that remark. Blake grunted, Ruby whimpered, and Weiss' fists tightened.

Just how many people have died in those warehouses and factories? she wondered. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? She doubted she would ever know the answer, and wished she never would.

What difference does it make? Whether he tells us or not, the Grimm will come either way.

She looked around at her teammates once again. Ruby looked down, a pained grimace growing over her features. Blake's stare remained fixed, eyes narrow and fierce. And Yang… Millions of emotions crossed her face in an instant, a mixture of bottomless guilt and unbridled rage.

Just one more drop in an endless ocean.


As the radio announcer droned on from the exploits of the Vale-based offensives to the brutal fighting on the Atlas front, Jaune looked around the room. Ren leaned on the wall opposite from him, taking in the broadcaster's ramblings much like a soldier receiving orders. Nora kneeled on one of the beds, eyes glued to the radio and fists clenched tight. Pyrrha sat on a chair in the corner, fiddling with her thumbs as she stared at the floor.

The entire day had gone by in a flash. After the events of last evening, Beacon had grown even more quiet than before. Had it not been for the radios handed out by the Atlesians, Jaune was sure he'd be asleep by now out of sheer boredom. The promise of news from the outside world did wonders to keep him awake.

The news they got, however, was less than encouraging.

Pushed back at Atlas, held at Vale, pummelled at Mistral, surrounded at Vacuo… his inner strategist listed. And all before the collapse of the CCT… He grunted, pounding his fist on the wall behind him.

It's only been two weeks since the tournament began… Jaune reminisced. Feels like a lifetime ago. He wondered just how long those carefree days would take to return.

His idle musing was interrupted by a pencil hitting his chest. He raised his head, startled, and stared at Ren from across the room.

"Woah, what was that for? I'm right here!" Jaune sputtered.

"If you were, you would have heard we're getting drafted," Ren retorted, matter-of-factly as always.

Nora hopped off the bed, shambling over to the room's center. Pyrrha remained seated to his right, hands fidgeting in her lap. As Ren's words sunk in, his eyes widened.

"Wait, what?" he stuttered. "Why? What happened?"

Ren simply cocked his head towards the radio under the window. Jaune began to hear the announcer's mechanical voice as the conversation lulled.

"...the Valic Council orders all trainees from Year 1 and above to report to Vale Army HQ no later than tomorrow at 2100 hours. Atlesian transport ships will arrive at Beacon at noon sharp. Heavy casualties at the front have made it impossible to…"

The reporter's words faded away once again as Jaune's mind went numb. His breath hitched, and he felt a ball of ice in his stomach.

No… No, they can't do this! We're just students!

Another corner of his mind scoffed. Of course they can, dumbass. They are the Council. They are in control.

"Those monsters…" Nora growled, looking over her shoulder at the radio set. "Ozpin would have never allowed this!"

"Something tells me he never had a say to begin with," Pyrrha sighed. "Besides, isn't it our job to protect Vale anyways? What good are we as Hunters if we don't?"

Nora looked down, a frown spreading across her face. Jaune felt the shame too, deep in the core of his being. He'd been thinking along the exact same lines as his teal-eyed partner.

Is this what war does to people? Do ideals even matter anymore?

"She's right," Ren said, pushing himself off the wall. "Hunters were created to fight the Grimm. If we shy away from our duty when it matters most, then we do not deserve the title to begin with."

Nora's face hardened at his words, determination erasing the doubt that remained. "Yeah… I like the sound of that. Let's teach those slobbering fools a lesson."

"No complaints here," Jaune added. He too stepped away from the wall, heading over to the window under which the radio sat. He heard the monotone static coming from the set, just as it had in the tense minutes leading up to the broadcast.

Before he turned it off, his eyes fell on the sword sheathed on his hip. He remembered the day his father had given it to him, and all the tales of his ancestors' exploits. In the trenches and the open field, against the Mantlites and the Grimm, it had protected all those who wielded it. He wrapped his fist around its hilt, squeezing the taut leather.

You ready for another war, buddy?

The sword remained quiet as he shut the radio down.


Ozpin sat in the chair of his deserted office, looking out at the expanse of the academy beneath him. Every passing day, the visage grew more and more alien. Half-filled craters and dead grass replaced the once proud greenery, and a jagged, uneven precipice stood in place of the docks.

He let his eyes drift across the devastated landscape, settling on the space between the archways of the courtyard. Here, the craters and ditches had indeed been filled, but not just with dirt. From above, he could see the macabre pattern of mounds and weapons, arranged in neat rows next to the blackened water of the pond.

Those were his students. The same ones who, for months, he'd tutored and guided. He'd armed them with the skills and knowledge to take on the outside world. Or so he had thought.

He gulped down the remainder of his coffee, grimacing at the taste. His supply of Vacuar beans had expired earlier that morning. He wondered how long it would take for the bitter ersatz to follow suit.

Behind him, the soft click of the elevator doors brought him back to the present. He swivelled around, setting his empty mug back on its coaster and meeting the General's cold blue eyes.

"Evening, Oz," Ironwood said, stepping out of the elevator with a purposeful stride.

"I suppose you know why I summoned you here, General," the Headmaster replied, setting his elbows on the desk.

One of the General's eyebrows shot up as he halted in the middle of the office. "I'm afraid I do not. You weren't exactly explicit."

The Headmaster grabbed the radio on the corner of his desk and set it between himself and Ironwood. "Does this clear up your mind?"

"Ah, that," he replied. "Concerning the deployment of your students, I imagine."

"So then, mind explaining your reasoning?"

At this, the General's features hardened. "You were awfully eager to have them join the defense of Beacon. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"That was different. You even asked me to give my approval. What authority do you have to give them orders?"

"The Council's, Oz."

"And since when can they decide matters pertaining to the Academy? This isn't Atlas, General."

Ironwood took a swig from the flask on his hip, pacing around the room's center. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, Ozpin. The Council had enough sense to see for themselves. I hoped you would as well."

"Do not mistake desperation with arrogance, James. This war has been devastating, yes, but it is still young. Isn't it too early to abandon our ideals in the name of victory?"

"If those ideals only hamper our path to it, there is nothing to gain by keeping them."

The two men glared at each other, amber clashing with blue. Behind Ozpin, the clock continued its inexorable ticking, weighing down the silence between them.

Finally, it was the Headmaster who broke it. "Ethics aside, General, you are sending children to fight your war. They are simply not ready."

"Do you doubt their abilities, Ozpin? the General gritted. "They performed admirably at the Battle of Beacon. Better than I'd expect Academy trainees to, especially under such difficult circumstances." He took a deep breath, looking out to the Valic skyline beyond the office's glass. "If anything, it is the Army who is unprepared."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't seen the front line," he rumbled. "Those soldiers aren't trained to fight Grimm. They're trained to fight humans. How high is the bodycount nowadays?"

The number sat on his tongue, burning his mouth every second it remained. He swallowed it back, glaring at the man before him.

"If that's the case, why don't you summon the professional Huntsmen instead of my students?"

Ironwood sighed. "That was the original plan. Before–"

"Before what?" Ozpin snarled.

"Before the Grimm landed on Patch."

Once again, the room descended into quiet. The Headmaster took a deep breath as he shut his eyes. Every tick of the clock seemed hours apart.

"And why wasn't this reported sooner?" Ozpin retorted. "Withholding information won't do you any good, General."

"You don't understand, do you? It's the only way," the General continued. "Are you willing to cause another panic? Our lines are barely holding as it is. We need to calm the populace down, reassure them that the situation is under control."

"But it isn't. The fact that you are willing to send adolescents into the battlefield is quite telling of–"

"And what other choice do we have?" Ironwood shouted. "Think of the alternative. Do you want to be the man who orders those Hunters to abandon their homes? Their friends? Their families?!"

Ozpin remained silent, glowering at the the General.

The lies fed to the public… the drafting of my students… In principle, his logic is irrefutable.

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms.

Irrefutable, yes. But oh, so very wrong...

"Just know this, General." Ozpin stood from his chair, narrowed eyes staring deep into those of his counterpart. "I will hold you personally accountable for every single casualty my students sustain."

The General's icy glare grew even colder. "That is simply a risk I am willing to take."

He turned away from the headmaster, walking down to the elevator at the other end of the office. The setting sun cast an amber gradient down the back of his white uniform, blending his receding figure with the back wall of the room.

He paused, swinging his head halfway back to Ozpin. "Remember when I asked you if your children could win a war?"

"Our current situation has given me an unwelcome reminder, yes," Ozpin sighed. The doors of the lift opened, and the General stepped into the proffered chamber.

"I think it's finally time we answer that question," he declared, his solemn voice reverberating from the elevator. The panels closed with a soft click, leaving the Headmaster to his own thoughts within his deserted office.