"Balor is a madman. He must be stopped."
General Nuada looked around the room at the assembled men and women around him. Ozma gripped his staff firmly, his brave smile never leaving.
Nuada began pacing. He was a lean man, with long, silver hair and amber eyes. He, Ozma and the others, the men and women who formed the Grand Alliance, were in a very spacious hall, torches and a brewing fire illuminating every nook and cranny. When he resumed speaking, there was an iron in his voice not unworthy of a king. "We have all heard the stories of his evil. Of his many crimes, in the eyes of both gods and men. How many villages has he plundered and sacked and burned? Too many. Far too many. I myself would go but my last encounter with his forces has left me at a disadvantage." He glanced at his stump of a shoulder, where Balor had torn off the arm with his bare hand.
"But now that monster seeks to march upon Danu itself. A kingdom which has maintained a peaceful existence. My spies tell me Balor plans an unprovoked attack with over fifty thousand soldiers in total, intending to raise the kingdom to the ground. We still have no word on what happened to Prince Cian, who had intended to bring Princess Salem out from her father's clutches. I can only assume he now lies dead in an open field."
There were murmurs among the crowd. No one believed Prince Cian was alive, not if he entered Tor Mor hoping to marry Balor's daughter. Even armed and prepared for battle hadn't been any assurance.
"However," Nuada continued, "this doesn't mean we are helpless. Far from it. I have already begun sending ravens to bring together the other kingdoms and forge an army able to march upon Dun Bhalair and bring Balor to justice."
They cried out as one voice, hands raised high in solitude.
Yes, Ozpin remembered it all. He was dreaming again. It had taken him a few seconds to realize that, and given how utterly fragmented this felt - he couldn't exactly remember the faces of the people around him, thought Nuada's was always very distinct - he was sure this was meant to revolve around him somehow.
But of course, it did. This was the moment when he had been the one chosen to finally stop Balor.
And, in the process, free Salem.
So many times he wondered, armed with the benefit of hindsight, if it had been the right choice. Should he have freed her, knowing the disasters that would come after?
But every time he did, he squashed those questions underfoot. No one should have had to suffer under a man such as Balor. Through every lifetime he had, Ozpin considered Balor the evilest thing he had ever known. Had it not been for him, he fully believed Balor would have one day eaten Salem. His recent exploration of cannibalism had left a deep scar when Ozma learned of it.
I'm awake, Ozpin suddenly realized. Didn't even notice waking up.
He sighed, sitting up in his bed. In he was still in Beacon Academy, in his own private quarters. It was within a minute's walk of the clocktower. His bed was large and spacious, with plenty of room for more than one person.
"I shouldn't have bought this bed," he murmured, for gods-knew what time. He always seemed to buy them. Was it some compulsive need to have a kind of...what? He didn't know if there was a word for this kind of want.
He wanted to share this bed with her. Not the monster she'd become but the woman he'd saved so long ago.
The woman who he'd raised four daughters with.
He blinked, and raised a finger to his face, tenderly wiping away a single tear. He got up from the bed and began pacing. Finally, he turned to the shelf next to his bed. Walking over gingerly, he braced himself once again. He'd done this several times, and even if the pain dulled after a while, it still hurt.
On the shelf was a locket, with a lid made from green crystal. He plucked it off with practiced care and used his thumb to flick it open.
Inside, he saw a family. There were four small, happy girls. His children. The oldest, Brigid, was dressed in her favorite blue dress. Her eyes were as bright and intelligent as they had been in life. He remembered reading her books of great heroes, and her, in turn, reading to him from tomes on history. She'd been so patient, so kind...
Ostara came next, such an energetic child. She loved the flowers and animals. He remembered her begging for a puppy, so much so he finally helped her make one out of cloth and cotton. She'd loved that doll, pretended to feed it and play with it. All to prove she was responsible enough to care for a real dog.
June and Tara had always been inseparable from each other, running around the castle and laughing as they played tag or pretended to be dragons. Sometimes he had trouble recalling exactly what games they actually did play. But they had always been such fun-loving young girls, working together to play pranks on either their siblings or parents.
And there, in the back, were those parents. His very first reincarnation, standing next to her. His beloved wife. Even infected by the darkness of Grimm, she'd still held onto that love for him.
Until the night he finally decided enough was enough. That the wars of conquest and slaughter were not the way. That mankind should not be replaced. It was the first, and last, time his daughters saw their parents fight.
He had painstakingly recreated this miniature from memory. It was the only thing he had to remember them by.
His four beautiful, magical daughters.
Out of everything he'd lost, they stung most deeply.
But Salem?
The pain he felt because of her was...strange. He knew she had to be stopped. Her plan was to eliminate all mankind. He couldn't let her. It was that simple. But he still remembered her before she'd become a monster. When she was imprisoned in that tower, and the nights they had spent together, wrapped in each other's arms. Her laughter and that majestic smile. So unlike what her father had tried to mold her into.
Until...he shook his head before closing the locket. "That's in the past." Sadly, he'd learned long ago the past tends to linger.
He would never forget the first time he saw her, either.
He had infiltrated Dolorous Guard in disguise, the only one brave enough to do so. He had seen first hand the aftermath of Balor's lust for violence. The villages burned, the children murdered, the flayed skins adorning his private chambers. He could have slit his throat while he slept and be done with it, but no. There would have been no honor or justice in such an act.
His plan had been simple. To free Salem, foment distrust and ignite a rebellion against the tyrant. It would have been easy enough. Balor's foolishness was already uniting people against him. His murder and cannibalism of Prince Cian, when it was made known not only Danu but many of the other kingdom, had been the last straw. After that, nearly every neighboring kingdom had joined forces to crush him once and for all. All Ozma had to do was start the rebellion with Balor's own stronghold.
He had never meant to fall in love with Salem. But his devotion to justice drove him to free her. He had visited her, in the guise of a lowly servant. Balor had given strict instructions that only he may speak with his daughter, but it was an unenforceable rule.
Salem had been sitting by her window, gazing out her window. Ozma had heard rumors of her beauty. He had expected it. What he had not expected were her eyes. They were so sad and lonely, yet devoid of any cruelty. For anyone raised by a monster like Balor, he would have believed them the spitting image. But when he had accidentally spilled the wine, she had offered to wipe it up herself, then did so with her own dress.
"My Lady," he had said, "there is no need-"
"It's fine," she had replied, smiling at him. "We'll keep it a secret. Father's punishments for any kind of incompetence are always far too cruel." Then she had turned back to the window, staring sadly.
For a moment, he had turned to leave, but something had made him stay. He felt drawn to her, not as a soulmate, but as someone in need of a friend.
"My Lady," he said, bowing low, "may I ask what you are doing?"
She had been startled. Then her face softened. "Just looking," she said softly.
"May I?" Ozma asked gently.
"May you...?" Salem raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Join you?"
Salem seemed unsure for a moment, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"
"It's just...you seem so lonely here."
"You are aware of what my father does to those who disobey him?"
Ozma had nodded. "I'll take my chances."
Then she had laughed. And Ozma swore he had never heard something so beautiful in all his life. He still did, even to this day.
When she turned back to the window, however, her face became somber again. Curious, Ozma looked out as well, following her gaze and seeing her mother's head. The head of Queen Cethlenn. The hair had been torn off in clumps by now, at the request of Balor's concubines. Some, evidently, hoped that having them as decorations would win them favors with the blood-thirsty warlord. As Ozpin recalled, Balor had just been amused.
"I'm so sorry," Ozma had said, "for what happened to your mother."
Salem hadn't even looked at him when he said that, only continued to stare, with that same somber expression.
"How long has she been there?"
"Weeks." That was all she had said in answer.
When Ozma tenderly placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, she tensed for a few moments. Ozma was about to withdraw it when her own reached up and held it. Ozma couldn't help smiling when she did.
They stayed like that for a few moments, in silence. Then finally, Salem released him and met his gaze. Even after all these years, he still couldn't forget how tender her eyes had been.
"I think you should leave," she admitted, "before my father finds you."
"Of course," Ozma said quickly, drawing back his arm. He turned to leave and was about to open the door when she had stopped him again.
"Wait," she had asked softly, "your name. I would like to know it."
At that moment, Ozma knew if he told her his entire mission would be in jeopardy. He may have only just met her, but could he honestly trust her not to tell her father? She had been so kind, though, at least, nothing like he would have expected from Balor's child.
Still...
"For now," he said, smiling warmly, "you may call me Oz."
Now, she calls me her enemy, Ozpin noted as he returned to the present. He had somehow come into possession of his favorite mug, which was filled with black coffee, still hot. It wasn't unexpected, almost like a clockwork routine. He had a dream, made from the fragmented memories of his first life, he felt troubled, and he made himself some coffee. He took a sip, savoring the scalding it left on his tongue. He was used to it, helped bring him to his sense.
To occupy himself, he decided to review the students who would be coming to Beacon this year. Taking out his scroll, he placed it on his table and began trailing his finger across it, observing each young face that appeared intently.
Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl. Ah yes, a champion of the arena several times over. She'd make a fine Huntress, however, Ozpin hoped she would agree to his designs.
I am planning on turning her into the new Fall Maiden, he reminded himself grimly. It could wipe away who she is...
He sighed, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind for later pondering. He had already made several sacrifices in this unending war. Pyrrha, hopefully, would not be another. She'd be something more.
Then he came to the boy who had forged his papers. A young, idealistic fellow named Jaune Arc. He smiled as he remembered the Arcs who had fought alongside him in the Great War. Brave, strong men, all of them, willing to fight for justice.
All gone now. More people he had murdered, all because he'd been a fool for love. Love that had stopped him from ending the monster Salem had become.
Then again, how was he supposed to? Someday soon, he hoped he would figure it out.
And finally, kill this monster he had become.