5-X: Shatter

Silence filled the headmaster's room.

He had long since concluded the conversation with his distant friend, with moonlight as Ozpin's companion now. He sat up in his chair, leaning back with practiced motion as he tried to clear his thoughts, his hand habitually reaching out for his mug. He stopped himself, however, when he noticed the container wasn't there, curiously missing from his desk entirely. In fact, his desk was clear of nearly everything, from paperwork and loose mail, to even his little decorative ornaments. All that remained on the surface was his Scroll, its screen pitch black, sitting as motionless as he had left it half an hour ago.

... Still no messages.

The old man released a tired sigh, one hand trailing up to his face as he tried to rub his exhaustion away, the weight of the entire day still heavy on his mind. And was it any wonder? No amount of coffee could hide all that had transpired today; everything from the White Fang's sudden announcement, to the council's short-sighted response, to even James' newfound conviction only held ill omens for the four kingdoms... And there was absolutely nothing he could do to change it.

Instead, all he could do now was prepare for the coming storm. He knew that James was committed to his path now, and that, in turn, would set the rest of the world in motion. After all, even the Council's stubbornness will fall when they notice Atlas's actions in the coming week. And just as the Council will notice, so too will the White Fang, which will undoubtedly lead to growing tensions and conflicts at the kingdom borders.

And how will the Corporations respond? The public interest groups? What about the public itself? Ozpin could only come up with a single answer, and it wasn't pleasant. They were moments away from a new chapter in Remnant's history, and the headmaster had no doubts that this particular passage would hold its fair share of dark turns. Still, he wasn't helpless.

Just as he had mentioned in his conversation with James, Ozpin could very well make use of his contacts. Of course, under normal circumstances, he would've preferred not to, as the temperament of the people within the criminal was unreliable at best. Still, it wouldn't be the first time he'd dealt with them, and Ozpin was not ignorant of their business practices or standards. Yet, none of that really mattered, as the headmaster knew that they no longer had the luxury of choice.

A sudden sound snapped Ozpin from his thoughts, his doubts and worries drawn away by the gentle clatter of porcelain meeting his desk. The man looked up from his desk, no longer staring blankly at his inert Scroll, as he tried to identify the source of the noise. His answer came in the form of a curious glance, as Ozpin found himself face to face with the worried expression of an unexpected visitor. A visitor that he, apparently, had not noticed.

"Ah, Glynda, my apologies. I didn't hear you come in. Was there something you needed?" Ozpin's voice shifted to a professional tone, quelling the rest of his worries away as he turned to address his colleague. "Though, given how late it is, I hop-"

"Ozpin." The tone that the blonde woman had carried in her voice was more than enough to quiet the headmaster. He caught the expression in her face, her usual serious tone replaced by worried eyes and a furrowed brow.

That in itself was enough to give the Headmaster pause, as there were few things that truly worried Glynda to this degree. Of course, he had an idea of what she probably wanted to discuss, especially since the White Fang's public announcement was fresh in the public eye. And their policy of accepting students based on merit likely made them a target to outside forces... So say nothing about the tension that was already forming in the student body. Yes, she was probably here to talk about that.

"I overheard your conversation with James."

Or not. Ozpin visibly winced at that statement, an action that his colleague had undoubtedly noticed. There was little reason to bring up a facade now, so the Headmaster took a moment to gather his thoughts, one hand taking his freshly filled mug, before settling his gaze back at to Glynda. "Is that so... In that case, what are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I believe James is making a mistake." Her answer came immediately, echoing Ozpin's own sentiments as she let out a sigh. The woman crossed her arms, irritation visible on her face as she closed her eyes, as she sorted out the rest of her thoughts. "And I'm certain he understands this. The only reason he's acting now is because things have changed for the worse."

The headmaster only nodded in response. Her thoughts on the matter were the same as his, and the-

...The...

"Ozpin? Is something the matter?"

He barely registered Glynda's voice, the headmaster's attention immersed elsewhere. Whatever thoughts Ozpin held in his mind had been quickly washed away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of... something. It was hard to describe, as it was something born from a mixture of intuition and experience, something that he had never been able to fully commit to member, despite recognizing it instantly.

The sensation of dulled nerves twisting to ice, of an intense heat crawling up along his back while his spine chilled to the core, of his chest casting itself into a pit. And those feelings were the basest, the most simplistic expressions of unease that he felt. His very soul seemed to twitch with trepidation, teetering on the brink of an unseen edge, as worry filled his mind.

Ozpin had felt this sensation before. While rare, it was still occurrence that made itself known during times of great change. It was an instinct that he had learned to never ignore. How could he? After all, he last felt it years ago, when a brilliant soul with a vibrant future left for an ill-fated mission.

And now, just as he had then, the Headmaster felt completely helpless. He could do little but stand in silence, his face fraught with grim concern as he stared up into the moonlit sky, the ivory fragments casting their pale light down to the world below.

All she had to do was destroy it.

Those were her first thoughts, formed after careful examination of the room and the creatures that filled it. And the mysterious construct itself. All the Atlesian operative needed was a cursory inspection to see that the device, however annoying its ticking may be, was a key component to their opponent's power. That fact alone was reason enough to destroy the device.

However, her orders extended beyond destruction. She was here, first and foremost, to secure potential assets for Atlas. And while the initial estimates was that the assets were in custody of the White Fang, it didn't change the key part of her objective. All that really changed was that, rather than seizing the technology from the increasingly violent faunus group, Winter Schnee was now capturing a key asset from an extremely violent hostile humanoid.

Even if she had no idea what the asset was, or how it worked.

The target itself was a mess, following no conventional construction techniques that she had recognized. Instead, it looked closer to a round table with a single leg, bearing countless gears and cogs that circled around its base. At the center of the construct was something that resembled a clockface, ticking endlessly up into the ceiling, while a piece of pure-cut dust hovered above it.

Despite its construction, it wasn't the physical aspect of the device that the Huntress had taken note of. If anything, it was the part that involved a mysterious energy, one that seemed inexplicably similar to aura. Even with her lack of understanding, it was clear to Winter that the device's purpose was to somehow use and process dust. And rather than using the dust's innate energy like normal dust machines, the device made use of this aura-like energy.

Aura-like. As unconventional as that term may be, especially in the context of non-aura machines, aura-like was the best way Winter could describe the energy. It had a distinctive hue of azure or turquoise, similar to the colour normally associated with a person's aura, and enveloped the machine the same way. Not only that, the energy itself seemed to interact with dust the way a Semblance would, bonding aura dust in order to create some new effect, which only further bridged the gap between it and aura.

Winter's eyes narrowed as she processed that information. A new thought flickered in her mind.

What if this machine was using aura? While there were some key differences, both in its construction and operation, there were still enough underlying similarities between it and conventional machines. Any differences or irregularities could also, potentially, be justified if the device was the result of a Semblance. And given how much dust energy their opponent was using, she was inclined to believe that it was a Semblance-related issue.

If that was the case, then this machine would prove useful to Atlas's efforts. All she'd have to do is-

Without warning, the device gave out an ominous toll, mirroring the chimes she had heard before. Though far louder than she was used to, it was the same sound that had spilled out whenever the Mummy used its power on the grimm, twisting them into elemental monsters... Elemental monsters that Rhinestone Security droids were undoubtedly fighting.

That fact pulled Winter out from her thoughts. She no longer had time to consider the science behind the machine. Instead, the Atlesian operative turned her focus to outlining her objectives, her priorities changing dramatically as she concluded the assessment of the device.

She would give herself a short window to disable or subvert the device.

After all, even if she had chosen to distance herself from her father's company, Winter Schnee was still a Schnee. That meant that she knew, among other things, the intricacies behind most dust-based systems. Coupled with her huntress training, and the specialized programs inherent in Atlas's special operatives division, Winter was fully capable of manipulating most systems in Remnant... And if she couldn't disable the system in time, then she'd have to destroy it instead.

With those objectives settled, the white-haired woman narrowed her eyes, slowly scanning the rest of the room. She was careful in identifying threats, as an item of this importance had to be under heavy security... Which was why she was surprised to find that the room was relatively clear of opponents, with only a dozen Ursai and handful of other grimm standing watch. Five of Ursai were majors, while the rest were mechanical variants, which certainly increased the difficulty of actually reaching the device. However, that was still far below what she had expected t-...

Those thoughts immediately vanished when she took note of the other grimm in the room. The remaining creatures were... problematic. Old. Some of them, she suspected, were older than she was. The youngest of the grimm seemed to be in an advanced stage, with armoured Creeps as the weakest link. There were a few boarbatusks with serrated tusks and plated underbellies, and after that were beowolves that seemed to be closer to alphas than common pack wolves.

However, what ultimately took her attention was the Alpha Beowolf that stood beside the strange device. The beast's most noticeable trait was that it was easily the size of an Ursa Major, both in height and in power. The monster's arms were studded with bone and spikes, in far greater numbers than what was normally in Beowolves, while its head was completely encased in bone plating.

Despite its physical features, though, what worried Winter the most was the beast's crimson eyes, radiating outwards with an air of intelligence. The red markings on its mask were more elaborate, drawing attention away from its deliberate gaze. And unlike its lesser brethren, whose attention twitched instinctively to the slightest provocation in noise, the Alpha Beowolf's eyes were ones of blood-fueled experience, surveying the room with a practiced gaze.

Her first target had been selected. Winter began gathering her aura.

There was a moment of hesitation as the Atlesian operative focused on her opponent; the monster was in close proximity to the device, which limited the kinds of glyphs she could use for her initial strike. However, it only took the experienced huntress a few minutes to come to a conclusion, and with a practiced wave, she called upon her aura. As expected, a circle formed on the metallic ground, encompassing the Beowolf and the dust machine.

She activated her semblance, and brought her target to a standstill.

And then the air exploded.

Nox collapsed.

No, that wasn't right... He fell. Broke. Descended. The Xelor had so many words to use, and none of them seemed adequate. Instead, he pushed them all aside, snapping his attention away from his work, leaving the shadow bear unfinished and unbounded as he pulled his focus away from the Noxine.

"What. Did. You. Do?" His tone was level and icy, murderous intent raging from his words as he seethed with silent anger. He reached out for the nearest Grambol, pulling it up to face him, his glowing eyes bearing into the... pig?

No. Wait.

There were no Grambols. The Xelor sighed, dropping the oversized shadow boar onto the ground, ignoring its confused snarl as it collided with the metallic floor. Instead, he tried to focus his thoughts back to the task at hand. He needed information, and he needed it now. Reaching out with his power, Nox shifted his attention to his field of influence, in order to use the eyes of the closest Noxine to-

What.

The Xelor's eyes widened, the shutters of his mask snapping open with an audible clash as surprise and anger filled him. From the corner of his vision, he noticed the shadow beasts twitch in response to the noise, snarling at him for whatever reason, but he ignored it. They were irrelevant, after all. What mattered was that his influence was gone. Not destroyed, as he would've felt the Wakfu unravel into stasis, and not subverted, as none of the locals were capable of such a thing...but gone. Entirely.

He tried to reach back into the last Noxine he had used, following the imperceptible trail of Wakfu that he had used before, only to find it severed entirely. It was... disappointing. Infuriating, even. But if his influence had truly disappeared, it was ultimately not unexpected, either.

A hiss escaped from the Xelor's mask. The Wakfu network he had used for his machines had disappeared in an instant. No longer could he project himself to his creations; no longer could he use them as eyes for his devices. His Noxines were utterly useless now.

... Or were they? They had been formed with more than just Wakfu... And he had connected the first few ones without the network itself. Perhaps the connection was not completely severed.

Nox turned his attention to the ceiling, focusing on one of the Noxines nestled in the rafters. How he knew it was there, he couldn't say. Instinctual, habitual, natural... all those terms seemed to fit, and he felt its presence with the same clarity one would feel with their hair. What he called the feeling didn't matter, though; what mattered was that, unlike the distant one that presided over the shadow bear, he could connect to this simple device. Within a single moment, the Xelor felt the machine's fragile body, the inner workings of its cogs and powder-fuel, as he looked at himself through the Noxine's eyes.

And that's when he noticed that he was burning. Not with the imbued powder fuel that he had chosen to ignite within himself, but with the raw energies of Stasis.

His Wakfu had nowhere to flow. How was that possible?

Wakfu. It was a mysterious thing.

For all their age... for all their experience, power, and dominion, the Gods of the World of Twelve would never profess to understanding Wakfu.

Certainly, they understood part of it, as they had observed its twists and turns throughout the millennia... But to understand Wakfu itself? Such a task was impossible. Wakfu was the force of life, of creation itself, while they were merely a pantheon that had chosen to preside over a single world. And though they wielded power that far exceeded the World of Twelve, they were not absolute.

Not in the same way Wakfu was. This was a lesson that, regardless of their other faults or vices, the Gods held close.

And the God of Time, Xelor was no exception. Yet, at the same time, his godly aspect offered Xelor a unique perspective that his fellow deities could never hope to match. After all, he was the one who wove together the Celestial Clock, the divine artifact that resonated with Wakfu itself, in order to transcribe time for the World of Twelve.

Even so, by its very nature, Xelor's Clock was more than just a simple method of quantifying time. It attuned to the primordial powers that had formed the World of Twelve, forever tying itself to the power that permeated through the world. And as a result, the construct recorded the fates of all. Every action, whenever, whatever, and wherever it may occur, were all transcribed by celestial power, etched into the limitless body of the divine tool.

As one who presided over such an artifact, the Great Timekeeper was made aware of these events. More importantly, though, he was made aware of the Wakfu behind them, of how the force of creation wove itself into the lives around it... How it subtly directed fate, pushing events along one direction, or surrendering the future to others entirely.

In some ways, Xelor was the wisest god, for he alone understood the differences between their simple pantheon, and the power of the Goddess Eliotrope... The very manifestation of Wakfu itself.

And that, in essence was why the god had reacted the way he did. Why he was plagued confusion when he felt the first flicker of something beyond Wakfu reach him. Why he flinch when Wakfu used him to reach back.

For the very first time since the Wakfu mirror's introduction, Xelor chose to turn his attention the celestial cosmos, and completely focus on the mysterious window.

"...You okay there, Zelly?" The Fairy Goddess of Healing was the first to speak, the first to truly react since Xelor's public display. Eniripsa gave the Keeper of Time a hesitant glance, floating up to the robed deity, circling around his massive maul before resting on the top of his hooded. "Zelly? Zelly! Heeeyyy... Xelor!"

Were circumstance different, Xelor would've responded to the goddess. Yet... He couldn't. And he wouldn't, for this would be a momentous occasion. One that needed to, and by its very nature could not, be etched into the divine clock.

"I think he's broken."

He barely registered Eniripsa's voice, even as she took flight once more, settling herself directly in front of Xelor's gaze, visibly pouting at the God. Whether she noticed his disinterest was irrelevant to the God of Time, for his attention had been fixed on the Wakfu that swirled and echoed around the mirror.

Xelor watched intently as he felt the mirror flicker, both with Wakfu and the energies beyond, using Nox's Dial and his own celestial power as a conduit to finally meet. He watched as that energy twitched and flared, nearly losing itself in an explosive torrent, only to be saved by Wakfu as it bonded—visibly and deliberately bonded—with the fractured powered.

He watched as the power reached out.

And he watched as Wakfu spoke back.