Jaune Arc: Dark Avenger

by DragonoftheEastblue

The boarders overrun, the castle's death knell, atop the tower where the Maiden fell. The Ring is fractured, the warriors scattered, the Knight who loved her; his soul now shattered. Self-loathing and penance, his pain is endless, now in his hand wields the sword of vengeance. The hunt has begun, by the Moon and Sun, he will resist and bite, until it is done-Arkos, Boop, RoseGarden

2. Chapter II: The Weight of the World

Chapter II: The Weight of the World

The sun was just beginning to rise as a young teenager emerged from the farmhouse that was his home. He was short, roughly 5'2" or so, fifteen years old, with short, slightly unkempt black hair, hazel eyes, tanned skin, and freckles on both cheeks. He wore a white shirt that had seen better days, with a number of stitches and patches across it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and rested behind a pair of orange suspenders. They held up a pair of tough trousers, which also had seen hard use, with the knees both patched, and covered a pair of worn leather cowboy boots. At his right hip was a revolver in an old leather holster, which complimented the worn grips. He brought his left hand to shield his face, clad in an orange working glove, as the rising sun struck his eyes.

Despite having to wake at five in the morning nearly every day of the year, he enjoyed the simplicity of his life. Working the land was something he had done since he was a boy, ranging from planting and harvesting crops, t raising livestock, to building barns, corrals, and homes. It was not glorious work, but it was simple and honest living. The amount of satisfaction he gained from a good day's work was something he had never been able to correctly put into words. The steady progress, the visible development, and the fruit of one's labour, all culminated into a gratification that always ended in a good night's sleep. To put it in even simpler terms, it did something for the soul. While his life had not started out so wonderfully, as he had experienced loss at far too young an age, he was grateful for what he had. Helping his Aunt Emma, his only living family, felt truly honourable, and tending to their farm was equally so. It was why he never had any complaints with rising at the crack of dawn, something he knew others would feel entirely differently upon. But if the sunrise, the clean air, the blue skies, the open fields, and the long country roads did not do anything for them, then it was their loss. City folk.

Placing a khaki-coloured Stetson hat on his head, he picked up a small bucket at his feet, and walked across the yard towards a sturdy looking doghouse with a fenced courtyard. In doing so, something bolted out from the door, halting just before the gate, and sat at attention. It was a sable and white Rough Collie, and it panted happily as it looked at the boy eagerly.

"Mornin', Waylon" he greeted with a smile, which the dog returned with happy tail-wags, as he knew the daily routine well.

Pulling out a ring of keys, he unlocked the gate and entered the pen, and gingerly dumped the contents of the bucket into Waylon's bowl, obviously to be his breakfast. The dog got to work, allowing the boy to pat him affectionately before leaving without closing the gate, as he knew that Waylon could do it himself, and was free to walk about the farm until sundown.

Instead, he headed for a large, reddish-brown and white monitor barn, which was easy to identify with its raised centre aisle, and was not far away from the doghouse. He then selected an old bit key from the ring, and slid it into the padlock. It opened with a heavy click, and he removed it from the hasp in order to lift the long wooden latch, allowing one of the two doors to open. Entering the barn, the animals in their stalls, who had already risen, took only the slightest notice of the boy. They knew exactly who it was, and were patiently waiting to be fed. There were six dairy shorthorn cattle in separate stalls, purposely done so that they could be individually milked before being let out into the field to graze. That would be done shortly, but the boy needed to take care of a few quick things.

He walked to the other half of the barn away from the stalls, which was divided into two distinct areas. One portion was as expected; a tool section filled with all the tools one would imagine would be on a farm. The second portion was a little different. There sat a well organized gun workbench, old and clearly handmade, but done with skill and well maintained over the years. Above the bench was an impressive assortment of old civilian firearms. Lever-action, bolt-action, and semi-auto rifles, double-barreled and semi-auto shotguns, revolvers, all as well maintained as the bench. The bench itself contained reloading equipment, with both loading components and completed ammunition all categorized and labelled with care. There were also an assortment of whitewashed animal skull mounts, ranging from deer, to moose, to elk, to bears, and to mountain lions, with pelts and tail fans of game birds such as turkeys, grouse, and pheasant.

When reaching the small armoury, the boy extended above the bench to take one rifle in particular: a 20" barrel Winchester Model 1873 chambered in .32-20. He cycled the weapon several times to make sure that neither the lever nor the toggle-link were sticking, before reaching over to a drawer to acquire the correct ammunition. The previous winter had been a mild one, thus the number of varmints had increase tremendously, leaving him to the time consuming task of picking them off. The Single Action Army he carried did the job just fine of course, but it was smart to have a carbine to hit those critters that were out of pistol range. As annoying as the increasing number of pests were, this also meant there was a greater number of game animals. Along with his hobbies of shooting and gunsmithing, he greatly enjoyed hunting and fishing, thus he had been fruitfully indulging himself during his rare times off.

As he loaded the carbine, a loud snort caused him to smile before laughing.

"I know. I know you're restless, Nocino" he called, throwing the level and loading one final cartridge, before setting the hammer on half-cock. "I'm sure if I look hard enough, I'll find an old stump that needs pulling. How's that sound?"

He looked over his shoulder as he said this, and towards the last stall beside the cattle. There stood an impressive ten year old Clydesdale draught horse, sticking its massive head over the door of the stall. The stallion stood an impressive eighteen hands tall, dwarfing the farmboy with ease. He had a dark chestnut coat with bright white blaze on his face, and matching white socks and feathering. His mane and tail were a blackish brown, and while they were a tad long, were still properly trimmed to avoid getting in the way of field work. Nocino nickered deeply in approval, causing his master to chuckle.

"I need to check the fences today, so I'll call ya if I see anything" he assured, swinging the carbine onto his shoulder by its leather sling, which also doubled as a bandolier.

As he returned the box of ammunition to its place, the boy frowned slightly when he did not hear Nocino respond. Turning to look at the horse, he noticed that he was now standing completely sill, his head held high and ears facing forward. The boy could clearly see the horse's neck muscles were tense, and he knew something had caused the stallion to be on alert.

"What's wrong, boy?" he asked, taking only three steps forward before halting.

He had just become aware that the barn had become deathly quiet. The cattle had become as still as Nocino, and it caused Oscar to listen intently as he scanned the barn, fearing that a varmint had snuck in. His caution was now becoming anxiety, as he then realized that he could not hear anything stirring outside the barn. Just behind the cattle stalls were a pigsty, and the hogs that were normally very vocal before being fed, were neither vocal, nor active. Just beside the barn was a chicken coop, and neither the hens nor the cockerel could be heard through the wooden walls. Even the geese were not gossiping as they usually did. Only a few times in his life had he heard the farm become this quiet, and it usually followed with the animals becoming incredibly stressed. His first thought was wolves, though it was rather irregular for them to hunt at this time of day, not to mention that Waylon was not barking like mad. Nonetheless, he was not going to take any chances, as other farmers had recently been forced to deal with attacks on sheep and other livestock, and in greater numbers than usual. He was about to reach for a rifle with more heft, the Winchester Model 1876 in .45-75 catching his eye, when he quickly looked back to Nocino, whose ears had begun to flick and swivel. This was curious to the boy, as while he knew the horse was becoming more anxious, all his livestock should be in full blown panic if wolves were circling the barn.

"Aunt Em?" he called, though he knew that the animals trusted her as much as he. "Is that you?"

"Oscar" a voice replied, though it did not give him comfort. It was not a voice he recognized, and he turned to the barn door, expecting a stranger to be standing there.

"Who's there?"

"Good morning. Forgive my intrusion" the voice said, now clearer and obviously that of a man. It was still unrecognizable, which caused the boy to be concerned, as the speaker knew his name.

"Who are you and how d'you know my name?" Oscar demanded, unable to spot the man from where he stood. "Show yourself."

"I can answer two of those questions, though the last request can only be done in technicality."

"What? I don't mean to be rude, but unless you show yourself and tell me who you are, I'm going to consider this as trespassing" the boy warned, slowly reaching for his revolver.

"Yes, trespassing would be the word for it. Alright, here I am" the speaker conceded, but did not materialize in the frame of the barn door.

"It's too early in the day for games" Oscar warned again, his gloved hand gripping his pistol as his thumb slowly pulled back the hammer. "Show yourself."

"But I have."

"I can't see you" his eyes darting from the doorway to the rafters.

"If you would just turn to your right..."

Frowning in confusion, Oscar's head snapped to the right, and he recoiled in shock, grabbing the workbench to stop himself from falling over. In the old mirror that hung above the wash bin sitting in the corner of the barn, was not just a reflection of himself, but that of a man he had never seen before. He was possibly in his early forties, with tousled silver hair, black eyebrows, and thin brown eyes that sat partially hidden behind a pair of shaded glass spectacles. He had a light complexion and sharp facial features, giving him an air of wisdom, and that he was constantly in thought. He also wore a small, dark grey, owl-shaped pin on the cowl around his neck, which very much suited him. Only half of his body was visible, but his unzipped black suit over a dark green, buttoned vest, and green shirt, could be seen.

Oscar stared in utter shock for several moments, before quickly looking behind him to see if the man was there. As he feared, he was not, and he turned back to the mirror. He vainly rubbed his eyes, trying everything possible to rule out that he wasn't losing his mind. To his dismay, the man was still there.

"If I may offer some words of comfort" he said with a small amused smile, "no, you are not seeing things, nor are you losing your mind. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Samuel Ozpin, Grand Huntmaster of Beacon Academy."

It took a moment for Oscar to register what he had been told, but when he did, he blinked several times before pulling himself to his feet.

"I...I've heard of you..." he replied in a shaky voice. "You were in the news...You were hurt because of the Battle of Albion."

"It was hardly a battle. Battles are fought between warriors. That was an attack on innocent civilians; one I wish I could have prevented" Ozpin corrected, his smile fading. "Alas, what you heard was incorrect, though no doubt it was given by my Deputy-Huntmistress, Glynda Goodwitch, as a cover. Regretfully, I was killed in the conflict, technically speaking."

Oscar swallowed uncomfortably, as this did nothing to soothe his fears that he was indeed losing his mind.

"As dumb as it sounds to ask, how're you here if you're dead, sir?"

"Do living people make it a habit to appear in mirrors at random?"

"I don't know much about Semblances or what Huntsmen can do, so maybe?"

To his own surprise, Ozpin laughed.

"That is actually not a terrible summation" he replied, eyeing the boy with pleased curiosity. "I have seen a fair number of incredible Semblances, ranging from transforming into rose pedals, turning into ravens, turning one's skin to metal, healing brutally mortal wounds, and controlling the elements. Unfortunately, my Semblance does not allow me to travel through mirrors, or to live after death. I do, however, possess a number of skills that transcend any Semblance in Remnant."

"Then how are you here in the mirror in my barn?" the Mistralese farmboy asked rightly.

"That is where we now find ourselves. Mister Pine, everything I am about to tell you is the complete and utter truth, and I must ask you to listen closely. Do you understand?" Unable to do otherwise, Oscar nodded. "The reason as to why I am here, is that just before my death, I cast a spell to force my soul out from my body. The skills I mentioned are that of magic, as for the past eighteen years, I have been a student of the arcane; a craft that has been mostly forgotten. It was an act of desperation, and I floated across the land without any control for several weeks. Only now have I awakened, and decided to make myself known to you. The reason for this, Mister Pine, is that I am not trapped in your barn, but regrettably, in your body."

Again, Oscar took several moments to understand what the Huntmaster was telling him, though he reacted much faster than he had before.

"You're in my body!?" he cried incredulously.

"Unfortunately, yes" Ozpin sighed with a genuine expression of pity on his face. "I was not trying to be facetious in saying that revealing myself could only be done in technicality. To answer the question of 'why', for no doubt that is your next question, it is a side-effect of the spell. I never dreamed that I would ever use such an incantation, thus I never studied it intently. I fear I may have done so incorrectly in my haste, which explains my lack of control after leaving my body. Please believe me when I say that I am so sorry for this, but I can assure you that this is not permanent."

Oscar swallowed. "So...this is real?"

"Very much so."

The boy took several deep breaths to steady himself, and he slowly approached the mirror, nevertheless cautious of the self-proclaimed wizard.

"So..." he began, "you casted a magic spell, and you died, and now you're trapped in my body?" Ozpin nodded. "But you can leave?"

"I do not know how with my power alone" he admitted, "though I do know of a man that can: Grand Huntmaster-General James Ironwood."

"The General of the White Army? How can he help us? He's a wizard too?"

"Not quite, however, we worked on a secret project together for the past few years. I am confident that device will separate us."

This news should have given Oscar the relief he desperately needed, but the reality of the situation only caused him stress.

"That means I have to go to Mantle" he moaned, shaking his head. "I can't afford the travel fare to get to Atlas. Maybe if I take extra jobs on other farms or in town, I could slowly make enough to go one way, but that will take a long time."

"Time is of the essence, Mister Pine. You must leave immediately" Ozpin stressed.

"I can't! And you're the one who suddenly appeared here, so if anything, you're the one who should be patient, sir!"

"I am more than aware of that. However, I am not pushing for you to leave your home out of selfishness. It is for your safety."

This made Oscar tense, the Huntmaster's tone leaving nothing to the imagination.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly, not knowing how things could get any worse.

"Because of my foolishness, I have now dragged you into something that you could have never even begun to imagine" Ozpin explained with a heavy heart. "I say again, what I am about to tell you is the truth, and you must remain calm."

"What can be crazier than what you've just told me?"

Ozpin's brown eyes were filled with melancholy, for he knew now that the hardest part was about to begin.

"So much more" he replied slowly. "The people that attacked Albion and Beacon had a goal that the media knows nothing of. That is by design, as neither my group nor the enemy wish for the world to know until the time is right. I was hiding at my academy a very important secret, a secret that I now fear is in the hands of the enemy."

"What secret? And what enemy? The White Fang?"

"No. They are just a piece of the puzzle. Tell me, Mister Pine, what is your favourite fairy tale?"

Oscar blinked in confusion. "Why? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Have you ever heard of the Story of the Seasons?"

"I-I think, maybe, why?"

"That happens to be my personal favourite, as I am rather passionate of folk lore. When I attended Beacon Academy nineteen years ago, I found great pleasure in studying the ancient stories of our people, for they contain not only windows to the times they were written, but valuable lessons we can still learn from today. While combing the academy library, I stumbled across references that the Story of the Seasons was not just some fairy tale, but based off reality. My curiosity got the better of me, and I began to spend every free hour I had to learn more. At last, I came across an old tome in the restricted part of the library, which contained the information I sought. In that tome, it confirmed that the Four Maidens mentioned in that fairy tale had been real, and from then on, I made it my life's work to find them."

"Th-That's it?" Oscar frowned. "All of this is about a fairy tale that might be real?"

"This is not some mere fairy tale, Mister Pine" Ozpin countered calmly. "And this is only the beginning."

"I thought you said that we didn't have time to waste, so, are you going to tell me or not?"

"Yes, forgive my rambling." To Oscar's shock, Ozpin emerged from the mirror, causing the barn to become filled with darkness. All he could see was himself and the Huntmaster, who now wore black trouser shoes, long dark-green pants, and carried an elaborate cane. The tall man's body was slightly translucent, but he was still visible. "Let us get to brass tacks, as my friend James is fond of saying. The Four Maidens, were not a metaphorical explanation of where the seasons originated from, but rather four priestess witches meant to be the Hammers of the Gods to protect mortal Men and Faunus from Darkness." As Ozpin spoke, he waved his left hand, causing four feminine figures, coloured red, white, green, and silver respectively, to emerge beside him. A second wave caused a golden ring to form around them, including Oscar, who was bewildered by what was happening. "A secret order was formed called the Order of the Maidens' Ring, tasked with training and protecting the Maidens, as well the line of succession, known as the Changing of Seasons. All of this was told to me by the author of that tome; a young Paladin by the name of Heidrian the Heroic. I then made it my life's work outside of teaching to revive that Order, and locate the modern incarnations of the Maidens. Do you now understand the severity of the situation, Mister Pine?"

Oscar remained silent for a moment, now very aware of his tongue. He had to admit that the Huntmaster was right, in that this was all far more than he could have ever dreamed, and if it were not for what he had been shown, he would have entirely dismissed it. However, that did not mean he was willing to buy the farm just yet. This was still farfetched, and he had a myriad of questions to ask him.

"So, that was enough for you to do all of this?" he asked. "Just because some old Paladin wrote it down in a book, you believed it?"

"He told me himself, and thus far he has not led me astray."

"But anyone can write a book. How could that possibly be enough?"

"Sir Heidrian?"

Oscar frowned at the silver-haired Huntsman's tone, and noticed that he was no longer looking at him, but rather behind him. He turned around, and recoiled in shock to see another man standing there. He was rather young, probably in his early twenties, with long brown hair and blue eyes set in a fair, clean shaven oval face. He wore an impressive suit of armour, though it did have an offset hole in bottom right, along with a tattered monastic scapular, a longsword at his hip, and a torn cape around his shoulders. His imposing appearance was amplified by his height of just over six feet, though it was the sombre expression in his face, his eyes especially, that drew him in.

"Thy caution is wise, young one" he said in a soft but commanding voice. "Those where my greatest fears when I wrote that tome all those centuries ago. I was only in my twenty-second year when I was initiated into the Order of the Maidens' Ring. I was sought out by Lord Lambert, who trained and knighted me, and was brought into the fold, for I bore the skill and dedication the Order needed in its members. Alas, after only a single year, we were attacked. We knew that the enemy wanted us destroyed, and all of the Maidens and the secrets of the Order. We succeeded in getting the Maidens and their families to safety, for the Four were too young and untrained to take part in the battle. We few stood against the agents of evil...and one by one we fell. The head of our Order faced the Captain of the enemy forces, and he was killed, leaving my Lord to take command. He too was slain; felled like a tree. However, before his death, he gave me one final order: not to fight and die by his side, but to destroy the records of the Order. The enemy must not have the secrets of the Maidens, so if we are to be reduced to ash, then so shall the evil aspirations of the Underworld. It broke my heart to leave them, my Lord and my friends, but I followed through, and made my way to the vaults bellow our citadel. Just before I reached the doors of the vault, a black arrow pierced my armour, burrowing itself into my gut through my back. It hurt me so, but I managed to go on, and sealed the doors behind me with the best magic I knew. It mattered not, as it turned out, for the citadel itself had begun to collapse, burying me and the Order beneath the earth. Trapped without food, water, and carrying a mortal wound, I knew my life was forfeit. But I had my mission, and I would set about completing it.

And yet, I did not have the heart. I could not bear to destroy what we had so painstakingly crafted and gathered for so long. We had run from the forces of Darkness once before, and I could not allow all that work to be lost. I was young and full of pride, so I set about doing the only thing I could: to create an omnibus of the most vital information that I could find within the archives, as well as my own knowledge. I knew that I would not have the amount of time needed to scribe even a fraction of the knowledge gathered by my predecessors, but I knew that I must try. I prayed to the Light and the Gods to give me enough strength to pen enough information, in that whoever would take up the holy charge of the Order, could carry on where we had failed. I do not know for how long I remained awake, but I wrote for hour after hour without rest. I cannot say that I compiled all that was needed, but my body reached its limit and could no longer go on. A poisoned arrow is a taxing burden. With what strength I had left, I set the vault ablaze, and sealed myself in a corner with magic, clutching onto my guide, praying that whoever discovered it would be strong enough to carry on.

In those final moments, I wept, though not for my coming death. I wept for my comrades and the Order, losing all that we had protected and worked towards for centuries. I wept for my Lord whom I loved like a father, where his family would not know of his heroic acts. I wept for my beautiful wife, Sarah, whose heart would break once learning of my death, and the fact that I would never see the face of our child who had not yet been born. I wished that I could have done more; for them, for the Order, for the Maidens, for the Kingdom of Vale, for the world. I just hoped that it was worth it. It was then to my confusion and shock that I found myself still of this world despite my death. I have no true understanding of the reason as to why, but my soul was then bound to the tome I had written. Perhaps the Gods wished that I were to be its protector, to safeguard the knowledge of the Maidens and the Maidens' Ring, or it was my own wish to do so, that I thus became chained to it.

All I knew was that I could see the world around me, though I could not leave my post. As the days turned to years, the citadel was excavated and built upon, and at some point in time, my tome was discovered. Its contents was not deemed as worthy as I knew it to be, so it was kept in the archives of what is now Beacon Academy. I thus remained patient, hoping that a worthy successor would show himself. My patience was rewarded, when my dear Sam broke the rules of the academy to read my tome of the Order. I revealed myself to him, as he had done to thee, and I shared with him what I just recounted. The rest, as they say, was history."

"Quite literally" smirked Ozpin. "I never thought that I would have the opportunity to do what you did to me, my friend. How painfully poetic that I find myself as you once did, all those years ago. I must apologize once again to you, Mister Pine, as I know very well how strange all of this is."

"The only difference being that I gave thee the choice to host me" Heidrian remarked with a dry laugh.

"Yes, unfortunately."

Oscar was now beside himself, unable to find the words to express what he was feeling. Thankfully, though unbeknownst to him, his new companions were able to feel what he felt, thus words were not necessary.

"I know you are scared, my boy" the Huntmaster said with a pained expression on his face, "though I must say you are faring better than I hoped. Nonetheless, do you understand why you are in great peril now, and why we must leave as soon as possible?"

"N-No, I don't" Oscar forced himself to say, turning to look at Ozpin. "Well...I-I do but...why do I have to go now? How am I in danger?"

"Did thee not pay attention to how we met our ends?" asked Heidrian with a hint of disapproval in his voice, causing the boy to face him once more. "The original Order was attacked by the enemy, slaughtered us, lusting for the power of the Maidens. The enemy did so once again at Beacon, slaying the previous Fall Maiden, Lady Amber Calico, as well as her true successor, Lady Pyrrha Nikos!"

"P-Pyrrha Nikos?" Oscar echoed in shock. "That's how she was killed?"

"Yes" admitted Ozpin, his face awash with self-loathing, "and both their blood is on my hands. I cannot bear the shame of having yours as well, for her murderer, or her cohorts, will hunt you down."

"If they capture thee, they will have captured us, and all hope for the world will be lost" the Paladin warned.

"Why?"

"The knowledge I possess, is not merely the history of the Order, Master Pine. I also know of how to locate the chosen young femmes blessed with the powers of the Four Maidens without their knowing."

"That is where my skill in magic comes into play, Mister Pine. After accepting the charge Sir Heidrian asked of me, I began to study the arcane, not solely to strengthen my abilities to fight the Darkness, but to craft magical tools to locate the Maidens, as we would have to find them, wherever they were in Remnant."

"They have either been kept hidden or are entirely unaware of their powers" Heidrian continued. "If She extracts that magic from us, then there will be no where for them to hide."

"She? Who's she?" Oscar asked, fear beginning to grip him evermore tightly.

"Salem" the Paladin growled. "The Undead Sorceress of the Land of Darkness. The Maidens are the only defence we have to her conquest, and she knows it, thus she fears them greatly. However, something has changed. She has found a way to have the Maidens serve her by having her servants possess the powers of the Four. This has never happened before, and I fear that during the time between the first Order and the second, she has conjured some new black magic to circumvent the Changing of Seasons. My already dead blood runs cold at the thought."

"This is why you must leave now, Mister Pine" Ozpin followed. "Amber and Miss Nikos' murderer will track you down; and if not her, then no doubt others that are under Salem's command."

"I-I..."

"You do not need to rush to Atlas. I have allies at Haven, and it is far easier to reach Helike from your farm than to Mantle. You will be safe there, you have my word."

Oscar stared at the ground, or what he assumed was the ground, feeling as if he was being torn apart, his heart pounding in his ears. This was all too much for him to take on all at once, and the implications were beyond jarring. Learning that an evil sorceress was trying to destroy the world and was responsible for the attack on Albion, as well as there being a secret ancient order with good witches trained to fight evil, was mind-bending enough. To then learn he had a part to play by becoming the host of both a wizard and an ancient Paladin, and that he was a target of Salem, was terrifying. Oscar was at a loss, but he knew that he could not argue with the two lore masters. He could not claim they were lying, as they had provided enough proof for him to buy their story, though the idea to run from the farm was a paralyzing prospect. Then it struck him.

"Aunt Em!" he cried in realization. "I can't just leave her!"

"You must" Ozpin stressed. "For her sake, if not yours."

"What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Nothing" Heidrian warned. "Do not involve her if thou love her so."

"I can't just take off without saying anything!"

"I'm sorry, Mister Pine, but–"

"Hell no!" the farmboy snapped, panic now setting in. "She is the only family I have left! I can't leave her alone to look after the farm by herself. I won't!"

"Master Pine–"

"I said–"

"Oscar!~" came a womanly voice, snapping the three out of their conversation. The farmboy blinked several times, as the black void he had been in, had returned to the barn he knew all too well. The livestock were acting as they were meant to, the two Valians had vanished, and Waylon was by his side, licking at his left hand for attention.

"Y-Yes, Aunt Em?" he called back, barely able to find his voice in time.

"Are you still in the barn?"

"Yes! Just taking care of a few things!"

"Well, don't take too long! I'll have breakfast ready soon, so don't dawdle! There's a lot to do today!"

"I didn't forget!" he lied, though no one who was aware of what had just transpired would blame him. Feeling the need to confirm if he had just imagined what had occurred, he looked back to the mirror, and saw only his sweaty reflection. Cautiously he walked up to it, slowly scanning the dirty surface of the mirror. "Mister Ozpin?" he asked nervously, tapping the glass. "Mister Heidrian?"

The two unexpected guests made no reply, leaving the uneasy Mistralese to wipe the sweat from his brow, praying that all of that had indeed been a hallucination.

'Maybe I did finally catch a cold from sleeping in the field, and that was just a fever dream' he thought, hoping that his aunt's old wives' tale had finally come true, and perhaps after a good breakfast and cup of coffee, it would be forgotten. Reaching for his hat from the floor, he dusted it off against his overalls, and laid his carbine on top of his workbench, now deciding to feed the livestock within the barn first, and then the fowl. He needed a few minutes to compose himself, so that his aunt did not think something was awry.

As if something as crazy as magic and secret wars would involve a little country boy like him.

†λ†

The day carried on as it should have; steady and calm. Oscar had by this point fed the animals and eaten his breakfast, which took a little more effort than it usually did. Though after having his coffee and getting into the regular motion of things, he began to slowly forget about what occurred in the barn. Of course, there was no way he could forget what he had seen and heard, but he was trying to put it out of his mind for the time being. Admittedly, he had tried to call out to both Ozpin and Heidrian in his mind more than once, though when neither replied, he allowed himself to believe it was indeed a hallucination.

The truth of the matter was that Oscar knew that what occurred that morning was not a dream or a trick. However, whether a wizard and an ancient Paladin truly inhabited his body, or he had caught a cold and had a fever dream, he would not say a word to his aunt. She worried about everything, especially if it had anything to do with him, so he would not get her worked up over nothing. There were more important things to worry about at the moment. There was also her peace of mind to consider, as the simple life on the farm was a normal and quiet one. And with the world now on edge given what happened in Albion, keeping one's head above water was a necessity.

With that in mind, Oscar went about his chores for the day. He was now on the southern edge of his property, working on repairing the fences. A tree had fallen during a recent storm, crashing right on a segment of the four-board fence that surrounded the part of his farm where he let his cattle graze. Being the "man" of the house, it was his job to take care of it; which he did alone, given he had no other ranch hands on board. Even if he and his aunt could afford extra help, part of him did not want it. Now that Oscar was fifteen, he was finally putting on some muscle, thus allowing him to take over the work his aunt had to do for him. He genuinely hated feeling as if he was a burden on someone, so he made sure to pull his weight, and then some. Furthermore, manual labour was rather cathartic for him, really leaving him without reason to complain.

After cutting the tree in two with an old, but well-maintained axe, he pulled both sections over the fence line, giving him the freedom to begin his repairs. They were heavy pieces of timber, as the tree had not fallen due to rot, forcing him to only pull them a couple yards at most. Obviously, he would not try to pull the tree back to the barn on his own, as he would use Nocino to do the dragging, leaving them both happy. Then he would decide whether he would let the wood dry for firewood, or use it for another purpose. At last Oscar began to work on the fence, cleaning the holes with a post-hole digger, making sure they were both deep enough, before sealing the gaps. Once that was done, he pulled the nails of the damaged boards, tossing them to the pile designated for the fireplace.

Given that the new boards were quite long, and he was working alone, it would take some finagling to get the job done correctly. Thankfully, Oscar had done this many times before, and by partially driving a nail into one post, he could rest the board on it so that he could pound the nails that would attach it to the posts permanently.

"Very clever" said Ozpin, genuinely impressed by the boy's simple ingenuity. Oscar was not expecting this of course, and nearly hit his thumb, as he'd been in mid swing. He dropped the hammer in shock, but he managed to keep his hands on the board to stop it from falling off the nail. "Oh, my apologies, Mister Pine. Forgive my poor timing."

The farmboy said nothing at first, trying to steady both his breath and himself.

"I take it that you thought our previous conversation was a figment of your imagination" the Huntmaster remarked, hitting the proverbial nail on the head.

"Yeah..." sighed Oscar, staring at the fence post in front of him, "kinda."

"Unfortunately, everything that occurred and was discussed was the truth—as fantastical as it sounded."

"Then why did you disappear for a while?"

"You are a civilian. And like most, you have underdeveloped Aura reserves. To step out of the mirror as I did, which was an illusion only you could see, required your Aura to conjure. Furthermore, to have Sir Heidrian take form, took all that you had—or would have, if your aunt had not cut our time short. That, I dare say, was good timing."

"Are you being sarcastic? What would've happened if we continued?"

"Much of the same result, along with you becoming rather tired. This was why neither I nor Sir Heidrian answered your calls, as we needed to go dormant to allow you to rest" Ozpin explained. "Due to your limited Aura, we needed to wait a long while before making ourselves initially known to you. For either of us to interact in the world, we must channel through your Aura. With you having so little, we in turn had very little time to try and convince you. And since it was clear that our words were not enough, then by standing forth and showing you the history of the Order, would do you better. Any longer and things would have gone poorly."

"What do you mean?" asked Oscar, feeling uneasy by how the Huntmaster said that final sentence.

"If we had continued to conjure those visions, draining all your Aura to do so, then your very life-force would have been siphoned. The result would obviously be your death; a truly awful result indeed, if allowed to go on."

"And how's that bad for you, Mister Ghost?" Oscar demanded, very much unsettled by learning he could have been killed.

"For if thou die," said Heidrian suddenly, understanding what the farmboy was implying, "then dear Sam and I will die along with thee. We have already spent our evasion of death's embrace. This is the final march, and if we allow ourselves to be fordone, then all we have slaved to uphold the Order will be lost; and with it, the realm of Remnant. Keeping thee alive is our highest priority, my lad. Also, draining a bit of your life force would not mean instant death. It is the last line of defence, as it were, for if a warrior has burned through their Aura, they can use their life-force. Alas, this is a perilous act, for if thy life-force is drained completely, then, as Sam warned, thou die. It was how I met my end, for it was the uninterrupted use of my life-force to quell my wounds and cast my final spells that extinguished my flame."

"O-Oh...thanks...sorry..."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Ozpin replied honestly. "You have every right in the world to be untrusting of us and what we have said. I did the very same when I first met Sir Heidrian. As I explained before, it is what drove me to delve into the arcane; not only to increase my strength to fight evil, but to strengthen my connection with Heidrian and wield his power. In time, you will be able to do the same, though with two powerful souls within you, great care will be required to avoid doing irreparable damage."

Oscar swallowed at that, not exactly certain if he was better off knowing the danger he was in. Then again, his new roommates had not bothered to shield him from peril thus far, so at least they were consistent.

"Speaking of damage, should thou not continue with thy repairs? Having thy livestock flee with wolves about would be an unfortunate loss" remarked the Paladin.

Oscar laughed without smiling. "I would, if you two hadn't shown up to remind me that the world is ending. Thanks for that."

"Of thy fence or the war?"

"Never mind" he muttered, reaching down to reclaim his hammer, and with one quick strike, drove the nail through the board and into the post. He pulled another nail from his carpenter's apron and hammered it into the board. He repeated the process on either post adjacent to the replaced one.

"This is a lovely piece of land" complementing Ozpin, making sure to speak after Oscar sunk the nail fully.

"Thank you, sir."

"Your aunt's, I take it?"

"Yup. It was my grandparents' before she took over when they passed away."

"And you've lived here all your life?"

"Since I was seven...after my parents died.

Ozpin remained silent for a moment. "My condolences, Mister Pine. Forgive my tactlessness."

"It's fine, sir" Oscar said faintly. "You couldn't have known, and it was a long time ago." He walked over to his pile of pine boards, and heaved the top plank, carefully walking back to the posts. "Our farm was attacked by Grimm, like so many others. Everything was destroyed, so my Aunt Em took me in and looked after me ever since. I owe her everything."

"You're a good boy, Mister Pine."

"Not really" he remarked as he lined up the board and marking it with a pencil. "Basic gratitude and wanting to repay your debts is expected. If you don't, then you're pretty pathetic, so it's hardly worthy of praise."

"And yet, it is becoming steadily more difficult to find people that share your principles these days," the Huntmaster countered, "therefore, I shall praise you for them. I tend to believe that it is the small things that keep the Darkness at bay."

"Did those small things help at Albion?"

Oscar heard him sigh. "No, they did not. There is a fox making its way to your chicken coop."

"What?" the Mistralese teenager said abruptly, spinning round to look for the varmint. His keen eyes quickly spotted the animal slinking carefully to the back of the barn, its head focused on the chickens.

Dropping his hammer into the hammer loop of his apron, he briskly walked to the stack of boards where his carbine was rested against. He shouldered the weapon and lined the beach front sight with the rear tang sight. The fox was easy to see thanks to the sunlight reflecting off its red fur, and after a moment to train, Oscar squeezed off a round. The animal instantly dropped, but the boy kept his eye on it as he threw the lever, just encase a safety shot would be required. However, it was clear that the .32-20 had done its job, allowing him to lower his carbine.

"Good shot" Ozpin remarked.

"Thanks" Oscar replied, decocking the hammer into the half-cock position. "Though that was a pretty easy shot, to be fair."

He returned his carbine to the board pile, and briskly made his way over to the fox. Oscar would not need to go far, however, as Waylon had bolted towards to carcass in a too-little-too-late attempt to protect the chickens. He quickly performed a bottom-lip whistle, which brought the dog running full tilt to him, the fox firmly held in his mouth. Oscar took the animal from Waylon, making sure to reward him with a thankful pat and rub, before walking towards the barn with Waylon at his heels.

"I take it thou will be skinning the fox?" Heidrian stated more than asked.

"Yup. I've been saving these foxes to make a new winter coat for my aunt as a Júl gift."

"Very thoughtful of you."

"I can't afford much in terms of fancy gifts, so at least I can use my skills to make something pretty and useful. This isn't the best time of year for the fur, but it'll do."

"Thoughtful and resourceful. Thou art a good lad, Master Pine."

"Do what you can with what you've got, my father used to say."

Reaching the opposite side of the barn, Oscar turned the corner to reveal a skinning station. It was set upon a two-inch thick foundation of concrete, which sat a metre away from the base of the barn. The roof was held up by four square posts, the two furthest away being shorter than the other too so that the roof was at a 9/12 pitch, ensuring that the accumulation of snow would not collapse the structure. From the beams were a number of gambrels on pulleys, making it easy to raise large game high enough to properly dress them. Selecting the smallest of them, Oscar pulled it down to fit the fox to it, and quickly began to work on the animal. Pulling a buck knife from his belt, he sliced the flesh around the front paws, just behind the carpal pads, and twisted them off. He then sliced up the back legs, taking care to follow the colour change of the fox's fur, before cutting the fur free from the heels. With a few more precise cuts, the tailbone was pulled out of the fur that surrounded it, and Oscar peeled the pelt off the carcass. He needed to cut with one hand while pulling with the other when he reached the head, but he made quick work of it, and at last stood holding his prize.

"Thou art very skilled at that" Heidrian remarked with admiration in his voice.

"I ought to be after nine years" he replied as he walked away from the skinning station.

He made his way to the hand water pump that sat in the middle of the front yard, and brought up some water to wash his knife, before moving on to the pelt. Once satisfied, he returned to the station and laid out the pelt out on a fleshing beam that was angled downward. Oscar was then about to remove the fox from the gambrel, when he noticed Waylon sitting and looking up at him with a look his master knew all too well. Sighing with a smirk, Oscar cut free one of the hind legs and tossed it to him, which he caught with ease. Finally, the farmboy returned to the fence he was in the middle of repairing, and buried it just beyond it.

"May I ask you a question, Mister Pine?" asked Ozpin.

"Not like I can stop you, sir" Oscar replied, sinking a nail into the board.

"...How did you react when you heard of Pyrrha Nikos' death?" he said slowly.

This caught Oscar off guard, as did the tone of the Huntmaster's voice, as it was clearly laced with regret.

"I don'know—shock mostly" he answered honestly. "I never followed the combat circuits, but from what I knew, she seemed invincible. Lots of people were heartbroken when we got the news. She touched a lot of folks because of her charity work, especially with the kids at that children's hospital in Helike. I guess there's some comfort in knowing she died fighting to protect people. That's exactly what any of us would expect of her."

Ozpin did not reply, and everything fell into an uncomfortable silence, leaving Oscar to return to repairing the fence. After properly setting a third board into the centre post, the Huntmaster began to speak once more.

"She was never meant to die that day."

"No one's meant to die except when they're old, sick, or sentenced to death" Oscar pointed out cautiously. "But she did what she swore to do as a Huntress, right? If what you said about these Maidens and the evil witch Salem is true, then she must have died fighting them."

"And that is why it is wrong' Ozpin hissed, emotion rising in his voice. 'I gave her and Jaune Arc an order to retreat and locate my brother in the Order. It was all for not, as I was killed hardly a minute later. The only explanation as to how she was killed, would be if she disobeyed and tried to fight Cinder Fall alone. But why would she do that? The objective was to protect Amber's half of the Fall Maidens' powers and stop the CCT from falling, and both were lost when Cinder killed me. Why would she do something so foolish?"

"Thou art allowing thy emotions to cloud thy judgement, Sam" said Heidrian, steadily. "We knew from the beginning that Lady Pyrrha possessed the convictions necessary to be not only a member of our Order, but the Fall Maiden. We sought for those very convictions, and it was no doubt those convictions that drove her to face that she-devil, Fall; to avenge poor Lady Amber and halt the powers of the Fall Maiden from falling into the hands of Salem. She was a warrior of faith, and she died as one."

"She was only seventeen..."

"And I became a Page when I was but seven years. In this modern age, thou begin to train thy bairns to be Huntsmen at thirteen years. The world is a cruel place, and it requires us to fight to make it a better one."

"And we are supposed to fight to protect children, not force them to die for us!" snapped Ozpin. "I have broken the vows I took to protect the innocent, by not only allowing Amber and Miss Nikos to die, but now this fifteen year old farmboy—a civilian—is now in danger. Further, as head of the Order of the Maidens' Ring, I have failed the Order, the Maidens, and the Gods themselves; and you for that matter. Now allow me to ask you, Mister Pine, how would you judge my quality? Am I the Grand Huntmaster, who is so wise beyond my years, as I have been called for so long, or am I just a puppet master, no different than Salem?"

"Sam!" the Paladin gasped, having never seen him behave like this before; not even when Beacon had been attacked. Was it now that everything had been stripped away, he was finally becoming unhinged?

Oscar, who during this exchange had not spoken a word or continued his repairs, was now even more uncomfortable being thrust into this new situation. He knew he needed to answer, but how was he to make such a judgement when he knew so little? Taking a breath, he gave it his best.

"Like you said, Mister Ozpin, I'm just a farmboy from Mistral" he said while clearing his throat, returning to his chores to keep his hands busy. "I know how to work a tractor and a plow, I can shoe a horse, I can skin a buck, I can noodle catfish, I can run trap lines in chest-high snow, I can shoot a boar running at full tilt through a holler, and I can track just about any critter. I'm not much else though. I know next to nothing about Huntsmen, other than they're blessed by the Light to fight monsters and protect people. And I also know next to nothing about you, Mister Ozpin, or Miss Pyrrha, other than what the papers say. But I like to think that I'm a decent judge of character. Obviously, I've only just met you, but there's no way that someone who's obviously so beat up about failing to protect people is the same as a demon sorceress. We all make mistakes, and we'll need to answer for them by the end, but if there wasn't a path to redemption, then we should just throw ourselves off cliffs the moment we mess up. The road to Darkness is paved with good intentions, I get that, but intent matters, and you need to have your heart in the right place to do good in the world. Yours clearly is, Mister Ozpin, so I'm gonna say you aren't a monster. Monsters don't regret their actions, after all."

It was now the Huntmaster's turn to be speechless, never expecting the boy to possess such wisdom. Just before the silence overstayed its welcome, warm chuckling emerged from some part of Oscar's mind.

"By the Light, are we not so blessed to find such wise young folk?" said Heidrian in amusement. 'I believe thou have your answer, my dear Sam."

"Do you not hate me?" asked Ozpin, not yet willing to concede. "I am responsible for the death of your Kingdom's champion, and have invaded your body, thrusting you into a world you do not know. You must resent me, surely—as a Mistralese?"

"A little," Oscar admitted, driving another nail home, "but because of you dragging me into this, not about Miss Nikos. Plus, would it help to be angry and run like a chicken with my head cut off? I know, a bit rich coming from me after what happened this morning, but my point remains. I know you aren't telling me everything by the way, but I'm sure you'll tell me sooner or later. Sooner, please."

Ozpin remained silent as Heidrian laughed, very much enthralled by Oscar's reasoning.

"You best admit defeat, my friend. The young Master has thee cornered. And ease thy strained heart, for the blame of involving Lady Pyrrha is on my shoulders, for I was the one who first suggested she be chosen. Even now, I believe the Light desired her to be its champion. I still believe in fate, and I think fate is what brought us to this little farm."

"Perhaps..." the Huntmaster confessed in a tired manner, "however, I think that should wait. We should leave Mister Pine to his chores, as well as to think over what we have gotten him involved in. We shall reconvene tonight. Good day, Oscar.'

With that, the two spirits fell into silence, leaving Oscar to his thoughts...as much as he could, given the circumstances.

'Well, you've bitten off more than you can chew, haven't ya?' he thought, lifting his hat to run his fingers through his hair. I've never wanted more chores to do to avoid dinner and sleep than I do now.'

†λ†

The day had carried on without anything of note. Neither Ozpin nor Heidrian had spoken a word, allowing Oscar to carry on his chores without interruption. In the thirteen hours from when they last spoke, the farmboy managed to complete his repairs of the fence, chopped, and stacked the fallen timber, finished the fox pelt, tended the crops, harvest the potatoes, organize the bulbs for fall planting, and much more. He was exhausted by dinner, and fully enjoyed his aunt's cooking as he always did, before taking a well-earned bath. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but despite his tiredness, he would not find any sleep.

He sat silently on the edge of his bed, staring at the full-length mirror beside his small desk. All he saw was his reflection, though he knew sooner or later he would see the face of Ozpin. He glanced at the small windup clock that ticked away on his bed stand, a hen with two chicks feeding on some grain, whose head pecked in tandem with the clicking of the cogs. It was nearly eleven, and he knew his aunt had by this point fallen asleep reading her book, as she nearly always did. Taking a breath, he called out to Ozpin. He knew he and Heidrian had been waiting for him to reach out, and there was no point in avoiding it any longer.

"Mister Ozpin?"

"Good evening, Mister Pine" the Huntmaster answered smoothly. "You had a rather productive day."

"You can say that."

"Such is the life in the country. Oh, and you can speak to either Sir Heidrian or myself without having to speak aloud. Just think what you wish to say, and we shall hear you just as clearly."

Oscar's mouth hung open for a moment, wanting to express his annoyance, but shut it to halt himself from raising his voice.

'I could have used that information earlier, sir' he hissed in his mind. 'Seriously, I'm lucky that Aunt Em didn't catch us and think I was going nuts.'

"No, not yet, thankfully. Furthermore, only you can see us in reflections."

'Right. If we're going to have this conversation, can you at least make yourself visible, sir?'

"As you wish."

Slowly Ozpin faded into existence within Oscar's mirror, standing with his hands atop his cane, and a slight smile on his face.

"Better?"

'Much' Oscar replied with a nod, placing his hands on his knees. 'So...what now?'

"That remains up to you" Ozpin answered. "You know what must be done. However, neither I nor Sir Heidrian have the power to force you into it. We are at your mercy."

Oscar sighed. 'I don't know if that gives me comfort or makes me even more stressed. I mean, I've always believed that we have more control over our destinies than we like to admit, but this wasn't at all what I had in mind.'

"You are wise for your age, Mister Pine, though I regret to remind you that destiny has come calling. Again, I am so sorry for this."

'Please stop apologizing, sir' the farmboy moaned, rubbing his temples with his right hand. 'I know this isn't your fault; you've explained yourself enough.' He remained in that posture for a few moments, trying to formulate his following questions carefully. Exhaling through his nose, he looked up at Ozpin. 'Please explain to me what...I have to do.'

"As we have explained to you previously, Salem will track us, and by default, you, sooner rather than later" Ozpin reminded. "I dare not hope that she will believe that I have been successfully killed, once she confirms that the claim of me being merely injured is a cover. She must know my Aura as well as the back of her hand, and she will find me. The knowledge I and Sir Heidrian possess, will give her what she needs to locate the Maidens. It will still take her a while to find them, but she will be MUCH faster than she has been thus far over the centuries. As you are now, there is no way for my friend and I can protect you. Your best hope is to seek sanctuary with my Order."

'All the way in Helike...' Oscar remarked, shutting his eyes stressfully. 'I think I can maybe scrap together enough to buy a one-way train ticket, plus other travel expenses. But there is no way I can...'

"Master Pine, we implore that thou must" Heidrian said, appearing beside Ozpin. "For the sake of thy aunt if not for thyself."

'She's the one I'm worried about!' he shot back. 'The harvest's about to start. She needs me to help her to get the farm in order for the winter. It's only us here, and she can't do it without me. Maybe I can find some help to try to get it all done faster, but everyone is busy with their own farms, and we can't afford to hire extra help. I need time—a couple months.'

"We are out of time, Mister Pine" the Huntmaster noted, "Salem now possess many resources and loyal followers. Not just Men and Faunus, but Grimm, for she is their Queen. I fear they are already on their way."

'Then there's no way I can leave! Aunt Em will be killed!'

"And so will you if you stay. You can still lea–"

"Then I'll die protecting her and my land!" Oscar shouted as he rose to his feet, but immediately froze, fearing he had just woken his aunt. He strained his ears to catch if she was stirring, and he waited a good while until he was satisfied. Taking a breath to steady himself, he spoke again. 'If the enemy is coming here, then I'll fight to protect my farm. I know the land here better than anyone, so I'll use it to my advantage and make them regret coming here.'

"Even if she only sends mortal Men or Faunus, thou will not repel them" the Paladin informed. "Please, Master Pine, I admire thy fortitude and desire to defend thy land, I truly do, but thou cannot defeat that vile witch's forces. What my friend was trying to tell thee, is that if thou leave now, thou can lead them away from thy homestead and your aunt. The longer thou stay here, the more likely they will successfully gather information on thee and find your farm. Thou must go."

Oscar swallowed, understanding what they were telling them, but he still resisted. He rubbed his mouth with his left hand as he began to pace, before finally turning to face the mirror once more.

'I can't just leave her alone. I love her. She and this farm are all I have left. Even if I could leave, what am I supposed to tell her?' he begged more than asked.

"Nothing" Ozpin said, the desperation in the boy's voice cutting him deeply. "The less she knows the better."

'I can't just take off without saying anything!'

"Of course not. You will write a letter before you go."

"A le–" the farmboy began, before quickly covering his mouth. 'A damn letter? That's what I do, sir? I leave a letter and then run away? Like a damn coward?'

"As cowardly as it seems on its face" Heidrian cut in, "it is an act of mercy. She will worry from thy departure, but how much more so will she if you tell her the truth? Why pain her so?"

'I–'

"Oscar Pine" Ozpin said, his face mirroring the pleading tone in his voice. "I cannot sit here and pretend that I can fully empathize with you over the distress I am causing you. I have nothing but the Order, as my parents have long since passed away, and I have neither a wife, nor children of my own. But please understand that I do fully acknowledge and comprehend why you are so angry. I am so sorry for all of this, I truly am. I can never forgive myself for once again dragging an innocent child into my war. However, this war will become a world war, and she must be made ready to defend herself from Salem and her legions of Darkness. I want to protect as many people as possible—you and your aunt included—and the only way I can do so is by using my arcane knowledge to guide the Order of the Maidens' Ring. If you can get us to Helike, and then to Atlas, I swear to you that you will be free to return home—fully compensated for your time and effort. You have my word."

Oscar stared at the Grand Huntmaster, feeling how incredibly dry his mouth had become. He tried to moisten it with his tongue, but he found that to be equally as dry, and he had nothing in his room to drink. He returned to his pacing, though it was clear to all that he was merely trying to avoid asking the question that would seal his fate. At last, though without turning to look at either of them, he spoke.

'The world will end if I don't go, won't it?' he asked quietly.

Ozpin sighed. "Yes, if we are captured; an eternity of Darkness where no light will ever shine on Remnant again."

'That's her goal then? Salem's?'

"Only the Gods know" Heidrian answered, "though who can say that she will be satisfied to only conquer this plane after already taking the Land of Darkness? With the Maidens swearing fealty to her, why not try to invade the Land of Light as well? One can only pray that on that day, the Gods will unleash Fimbuleldur (Great Fire), and this world can begin anew. Though, if thou were to ask me, I am rather fond of this one, and I wish to keep it a while longer, even if I am long overdue to entre the Land of Light."

Oscar hung his head, fully expecting such an answer, though it was even worse than he feared. He scratched the back of his head, before finally turning to look at the two brothers of the Ring. Ozpin felt pain pierce his heart as he saw the dread in the boy's hazel eyes, the turmoil impossible to hide, even if they were not currently sharing a body.

'So...you're a teacher, sir...' he said, his voice shaking despite speaking in his mind, 'what do I write exactly?'

The Huntmaster and Paladin nodded in approval, and they bowed to him in gratitude.

"We cannot thank you enough for this, Mister Pine" Ozpin said with deep humility.

"May the Light and the Gods bless thee, thy House, thy ancestors, thy children, thy children's children, and thy line till the end of days" Heidrian added, meaning every word of it.

'Don't thank me till we get to Helike' Oscar sighed, walking over to his old pine wood desk to procure a pencil and some paper.

Pulling out the centre drawer, his eyes fell onto a silver picture frame that sat to the right, just before an old oil lamp. In it contained a photo of three adults standing against a barn door. In the centre was a young man in his late twenties with tan skin and black hair, grinning from ear to ear. To his right was a young woman with short brown hair, sharing his smile, and holding the crook of his arm. To his left, was another woman with tanned skin, long black hair tied into a knot bun, and blue eyes, holding the hand of a little boy. That boy was in the man's arms, his arm around his father's neck, with his eyes and mouth open in joy; and he looked very much like Oscar. Sighing, the farmboy pulled out some paper and a pencil, and closed the drawer as he took a seat. Lighting a match, he lit the flat wick of the lamp, and stared at the blank sheet before him.

'So...' he began, picking up the pencil and pressing the tip against the paper, 'what do I say other than "Dear Aunt Em"?'

†λ†

The letter had been the most difficult task Oscar had ever done since being a pallbearer at his parent's funeral. Even with the help of Ozpin and Heidrian, putting words to paper had been exhausting, but at last, it was done. With great effort, he sealed the letter and blew out the lamp, before removing his clothes and dragging himself into bed. And yet, despite his tiredness, sleep did not come easily. When it did come, his dreams were filled with terrible imagery, something that his new compatriots had no power in quelling. What they did have the ability to do, however, was wake the boy long before sunrise, in order to give him the time he needed to flee.

His body felt as if it were made of lead, but Oscar managed to stand, and he began to fill a rucksack with what he would need. Throwing it over his shoulder, he took the letter, which to him weighed more than his pack, and with great care, tiptoed down to the kitchen. By some miracle, the floorboards did not creak as he crept, even when descending the stairs, allowing him to place both his rucksack and the letter on the table. Taking some cheese, dried meat, fruit, and a bottle of whisky, which was a recommendation by Ozpin, and filling a leather, two-quart canteen with water, he glanced one last time at the kitchen he had spent so much time eating and laughing in, before leaving it behind. He slowly opened the front door of his home, and making sure to take the keys that hung on a hook beside where his hat and coat were, he walked towards the barn. Oscar knew he needed to avoid Waylon, for the dog was keen, and would wake if he even made the slightest noise. Again, by some miracle, he managed to reach the barn without alerting the animal, even after opening the lock and barn door. Taking equal care with the livestock, he walked to his workbench, and began to take ammunition for his pistol.

"That won't be enough to stop the sorts of people that will be hunting us" Ozpin advised at last, appearing in one of the polished metal receivers.

'I had a feeling, but I'd still rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it' Oscar remarked, shoving several boxes into his pack. 'So, trying to save space by having a pistol and a rifle in the same calibre is out the window. I guess I should bring one of my big-bore revolvers.'

"With all due respect, only Huntsmen sidearms are powerful enough to be considered viable, and those are few in number in the civilian market."

Oscar's eyes scanned the series of arms before him till they rested on his pistols. They were all revolvers, some beaten and aged from use, though there were some that could easily be considered collector's pieces. One was particularly eye-catching. It was a Colt-Bisley model with a 7½ inch barrel, beautifully chromed and engraved, with matching mother-of-pearl grips, custom made to fit the oddly curved grip-frame. The hammer was equally strange, as it was wider and lower than other revolvers. The reason for this was that it was designed as a target pistol, and despite Oscar's attachment to it, it would not serve him any better than his regular revolver—it was chambered in .32-20 as well.

The one that stood a much better chance was the revolver to the right. It was a massive pistol, almost sixteen inches long, dwarfing the others by a considerable margin, to the point that it was almost comical. It had a blued 9½ inch octagonal barrel, blued frame and hammer, gunmetal trigger guard, and dark oak grips. The ramrod was modified to sit offset of the barrel like a Single-Action Army, and was considerably longer, obviously to reach rearward enough to kick out the spent cartridges. That seemed to be a chore in and of itself, as the cylinder assembly was over two and a half inches long, which explained the giant size of the revolver.

Oscar was confident in this pistol, and reached for it. Turning it over, the revolver's true size was revealed. If the situation was less dire, no doubt it would have drawn laughter, as it looked absurd in the farmboy's hand. No one would laugh once he used it, however, as Oscar was very experienced with this revolver in particular.

"Now, that is a horse of a different colour" Ozpin remarked in cautious curiosity. Oscar's ears perked at this, as it almost sounded as if the Huntmaster was familiar with such revolvers. "Forgive me, my boy, but that seems like a rather cumbersome revolver."

'Only if you don't practice with it' Oscar replied, obviously used to such questions. 'You said that I needed something with more firepower, so this is the best I've got—and it's really the best. My dad loved hand-loading, especially big-bore revolvers, and he even experimented with modifying revolvers themselves. I've kept it up, and this right here is the limit—for now.'

"And what is it chambered in?"

'.45-70.'

"Fou-That's a rifle cartridge, is it not?"

'Yup. That rifle over there is chambered for it, and since back in the day it was common to have rifles and pistols in the same cartridge to work as a pair, I wanted the same. I mean, sure, my smaller carbine and revolver are like that too, but you need something with more power as a brush-gun. You know, if a boar or bear chargers you in thick cover and you need to punch through twigs without losing too much power to drop a critter, .45-70 is ol'reliable.'

"Naturally" Heidrian remarked. "I know of more than one poor soul that met his end during a hunt—both by boar and bear—and not even the keepers could react in time."

'Me too—which is why I carry it.'

"But can you wield it?" prodded Ozpin. "My friend, James Ironwood, is also an aficionado of big-bore revolvers, carrying two of his own alongside his sword, so I am aware of the hobby. However, what he carries was all by his design to kill Grimm and cannot be safely shot by civilians."

'I know, but don't worry, I know what I'm doing—about this at least.'

"A very stout young man is our Master Pine" the Paladin grinned.

"Just don't think that you can take on Grimm, or even warriors that can wield Aura" insisted Ozpin. "You should be armed and have every right to, Mister Pine, but I stress not to start anything you cannot finish, at least not until we find security with the Order."

'I know that, and you got me into this, by the way.'

"Yes, and you are well aware of my regret of that fact. My concern lies in your wellbeing, and that a big revolver will not be enough."

'I guessed that too. I'll bring a rifle just in case. That should do the job, won't it?'

"If it is chambered in a calibre large enough to break one's Aura armour, yes."

Oscar glanced up at the rifles above him, and his eyes rested on one in particular. At the top of the bunch, sat a Winchester Model 1895 lever-action rifle. It was a very old, but carefully maintained piece, with a whopping 36" long octagonal barrel, exceeding the typical 32" musket length, and a colour casehardened receiver with an elk engraved in gold on it. It had a Pattern #21 climbing receiver rear sight with a bead front sight, which complemented the fancy checkered walnut stock, which extended more than halfway up the barrel, the capped pistol grip, and the crescent brass butt plate. It also had a leather sling with a bandolier; ten large cartridges sitting on display. The semi-buckhorn sporting rear sights were still on the rifle, as neither Oscar, nor the rifle's previous owner, had ever bothered to remove them. Despite having roughly only 40% of the original blueing, the rifle was otherwise in immaculate condition without a point of rust or pitting. Making his decision, Oscar climbed onto the bench and lifted it off the wall rack, before dropping back to the floor.

'Will this do?' he asked, tilting the rifle so that the barrel was visible.

".405?" Ozpin said. "That is not a common cartridge, if memory serves."

'I know, but it's the largest calibre weapon I own—excluding the .50 shotgun slugs. I've been reloading for it for years, so as long as I can get to an armory, I can keep making ammo for it. So, is it good enough?'

".405 is nothing to sneer at. Yes, that will do. While Aura can defend oneself from physical damage rather well, the invention of firearms changed the nature of warfare. Aura can be whittled down in seconds, and a Huntsman must keep his wits about him to not be overwhelmed. It's a beautiful rifle, Mister Pine."

'Good, and thank you, sir. It was my father's' Oscar replied, laying the rifle on the bench as he reached for another drawer of ammunition. 'It was his big game rifle, calling it his "Big Medicine Gun", with all the elk in here taken with it. I've done by best to maintain it, along with the rest of his collection.'

"Thou have done well" remarked Heidrian. "We did not have such weapons in my day, and while I shall always favour the sword, I cannot deny the craftsmanship and beauty of modern arms such as these. Thy dedication to their upkeep is most noble, Master Pine. Thy father would be proud."

That caused Oscar to halt, his hand tightening on the box of ammunition in his hand.

'I'd like to think so, sir' he said quietly, before placing it in his rucksack. 'Is this enough?'

"As my Master-at-Arms, and General Ironwood, would put it, 'You can never have too much ammunition'. However, you will be the one to carry it all the way to the capital and beyond. If you are fearful of running out, there is someone I know that specializes in reloading that would be more than happy to aid you."

'Fair enough. I guess I'll take all the stripper clips I have, though I can make more if need be."

This caught the Huntmaster off guard. "...Stripper clips?" he repeated slowly.

'Yup. Normally you'd have to load this rifle one round at a time, but my dad modified it to take clips. The climbing sight is a little in the way, so he had to grind the clip loader almost flush, but with some practice, I can now reload pretty quickly' Oscar explained.

Ozpin remained silent for another moment or two before speaking again.

"How...old is this rifle? Stripper clips fell out of fashion over two hundred years ago."

'Do what you can with what you've got' he said, loading the rifle. 'I'm a good shot, so Gods forbid I have to use it, but I'll be fine. And like you said, it's a beautiful rifle.'

"Indeed it is, though I still recommend bringing more than one rifle and one pistol" warned Heidrian. "Sam has avoided the subject, but since we shall be fighting with more than mortal men–"

"He is not going to be fighting anyone if it can be avoided" countered Ozpin, "and I have hardly avoided the subject. In the occurrence of Grimm or more, the Huntsmen that I suspect are gathering will deal with them. The boy is a civilian, Heidrian."

'I've killed Grimm before" informed Oscar. The two warriors looked at the boy in expected disbelief, and caused him to scratch his cheek nervously. 'I've killed a few White Watchers.'

"Those are the second weakest form of Grimm, Mister Pine" Ozpin informed, "At the very bottom of F-Class after Pestifers." Indeed, White Watchers were Grimm birds that looked like vultures, and it was not an issue for civilians to kill them with normal firearms. "Of course, civilians are capable of killing Grimm thanks to modern weapons technology, but trying to hunt them with game rifles is asking for one's death."

'Yeah, which is why we use coffee grinders, potato diggers, or the .50 if we need to quickly deal with a Grimm that gets too close—if there're no Huntsmen around.'

Sensing that the dawn was fast approaching, Oscar began to holster all his weapons and store them accordingly. He then reached to the side of his reloading bench, and produced a large knife in an engraved leather sheath, with a pair of grizzly bears standing up in mid-combat. The handle was made of slabs of elk antler with finger grooves, allowing the tang to visibly pass through, and the butt, guard, pins, and snap fasteners were made of gunmetal.

"There's no need to take this many weapons with you, Oscar" said Ozpin.

"One always needs a good knife" Heidrian noted.

'Exactly' Oscar agreed, unfastening his gun-belt, and passing it through the loop of the sheath to rest on his left hip. 'This is my favourite knife too. I helped make it, so I'd rather have it with me.'

"Given thy fine assortment of arms, would thou happen to have a sword as well?"

'I've got a couple of machetes.'

"That is not the same and rather uncouth."

'Well, I don't know how to use a sword. The best I got is a toothpick.'

"A toothpick?" asked Ozpin.

Returning to where he had retrieved the first knife, the young rancher revealed a second, and pulled it out of its leather sheath. This knife was even longer than the first, with a straight, fourteen inch long, double-edged blade that tapered into a sharp point. It had a brass crossguard with matching pommel cap on a dark, wooden handle, giving the knife a simple yet elegant look.

"Ah" said Heidrian in a pleased and intrigued tone. "Now, that is a fine heavy dagger, lad."

'I guess it's a dagger, yeah' agreed Oscar, turning it in his hand. 'We just call them toothpicks in these parts.'

"And what do you use it for?" asked Ozpin. "Given its blade profile, it would not serve you well in clearing brush or butchering game."

'To stick pigs. If the dogs pin down a boar or we find a boar that's bleeding out but isn't dead, you pull out your toothpick and stab them in the heart. Goes in like butter.'

"Ah, of course. In my day, we would use shortswords called hangers, though thy shorter dagger would do the job nicely." Heidrian, who was still reflected in the shiny receiver of a rifle, changed his expression to a cold one, with a tone of voice to match. "An appropriate weapon to bring, given the number of swine we will be dealing with."

'I hope I don't have to, but since it looks like the worst of trouble will be looking for me from now on, I probably won't have a choice' he sighed, sheathing the dagger and dropped it into his bag. 'They were made for throwing, or so I was told, but throwing a knife outside of a fairground or a bar just sounds like a perfect way to damage or lose a knife.'

Oscar threw on his old duster coat before strapping his rifle, now in a leather slip, to his rucksack and making sure it rested on his shoulders properly. Satisfied, he reached for his Stetson, and was about to sneak out of the barn, when a snort caused him to jump. Nocino had stuck his head out of his stall, looking at him curiously, knowing that it was too early for the day to begin work. Knowing he had been caught, the farmboy sighed and began to walk towards the draught horse.

"Did I wake you, boy?" he asked softly, rubbing the animal's jaw. Nocino sighed, clearly still drowsy, but nonetheless understood what his master was saying, which caused Oscar to chuckle. His smile quickly faded, knowing that he was leaving the stallion behind, and there was even a possibility he would never see him again. Swallowing, he began to speak. "I-I'm going away for a while" he said shakily, "and I don't know when I'll be back. I can't take you with me so...I need to ask you a favour...make sure you look after Aunt Em while I'm gone. I know you'll work hard, but without me here, you're going to have to pull my weight too. Can you do that for me, boy?"

Nocino turned his head slightly to look at his master, sensing his emotions. Oscar looked into his large eyes, seeing that he was reading him carefully. After a few moments, the horse turned to gently press his forehead against the boy's, and sighed deeply, which Oscar knew it meant he understood. He shut his eyes as he could feel tears coming on, and he did his best to hold them back, along to steady his breathing. He rubbed the horse's neck, more to calm himself than Nocino, and knew that his will was beginning to fail.

He did not want to leave. He didn't want to leave Nocino or Waylen or his aunt behind. He had never left home before, safe only to go into town on errands, and to make matters worse, he did not know if he would come home again.

"Mister Pine..." Ozpin said gently, knowing how hard this was for the boy, "it is time to go."

"I know..." the rancher said aloud, his voice trembling. With great effort, he pulled away from Nocino, and quickly wiped away his tears. "See you when I get back, Nocino. Try not to throw a shoe. And if you do, make it easy on auntie. Okay?"

The horse made no vocal reply, but reached out to nuzzle him one final time. The tears returned, forcing Oscar to hug Nocino's neck, and with that, he broke away for the last time. With heavy feet, he trudged to the barn door, resting his hand on it, and looking over his shoulder, wishing to take one last look. His eyes fell back onto the draught horse, and to hide his sadness, he lifted his hat in farewell.

"So long, you ol' cayuse " he said, trying his best to smile. With that, he placed the hat on his head, and closed the barn door behind him. Blinking away the tears, he made sure the door was properly closed, the latch fully down, and the padlock firmly shut. Careful again to not stir Waylon, he returned to the house to place the key back on its hook, and finally began to walk towards the road.

When he reached it, he could not help but turn to look at his farm.

"Mister Pine..." Ozpin said again.

"I know, just–" he began, struggling to keep it together. "I need a minute."

"Every minute you spend here means one less minute that could be used to getting you to Helike and to Haven" the Huntmaster continued, his tone still gentle. "I know I sound cruel–"

"No, you don't" Oscar cut in, sighing in defeat. "You're right, sir. I've...just never left home before, and I never really planned to. My plan—my hope—was that I would meet a girl, get married, have kids, and either take over my aunt's farm, or buy some land to start my own. I never dreamed of anything else, and here I am going on this crazy journey."

"It is a terrifying experience" said Heidrian. "Art thou afraid, Master Pine?"

"I'm damn terrified" he muttered. "I feel like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders." He heard the Paladin chuckle, and it annoyed him greatly, feeling foolish for admitting his true feelings.

"Good. Thou may still make it through this endeavour alive and whole."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"No, but we shall do everything in our power to succeed in that mission. Despite all that has happened, I do truly believe that the Gods are with us."

"That makes one of us. All I can think of is that old saying that you can never return home again."

"That doesn't mean what I believe you think it means" Ozpin remarked. "What it means is that you cannot truly go back to a place you once lived, because so much will have changed since you left, that it is not the same place anymore. You will return to your farm, Mister Pine."

Oscar sighed, pulling on the straps of his rucksack. "I was taught not to make promises you can't keep."

"So was I, and I would not make such a vow if I did not believe it would be fulfilled" Heidrian stated confidently.

"Like I said, that makes one of us."

"Two, Mister Pine."

"Okay, speaking of promises, can you make me one that should be much easier to keep?"

"Certainly."

"Can you please stop calling me 'Mister Pine?'. I just don't feel comfortable with a Grand Huntmaster referring to me as 'mister'. Just Oscar is fine, sir."

"Very well, Oscar. In that case, call me Sam."

"Well, I can't do that for the opposite reason."

"My, my. Such a polite one. Is 'Master Pine' unacceptable, then?" Heidrian asked, obviously grinning in amusement from the tone of his voice.

Oscar thought for a moment. "It's sorta weird, but I know that it's a really old term for boys my age so, you can do as you like, sir" he replied.

"Very good. Onwards, Master Pine."

Oscar nodded, and with one last glance at his home, he turned his back to it, and began the long march on the lonesome road before him.

---

Author's Note:

I want to start off by saying thank you so much for the warm response to the first chapter. It was great to see familiar faces, as well as some new ones. Also, the hate I got was exactly as I predicted it would be; and as it turns out, Reddit still hates me. So, that's a plus.

Also, I want to quickly reply to Uvuvwevwevwe Onyetenyevwe Ugwe's review, since he does not allow PMs. I hope he sees this:

I am confused. Aura manipulation seems to be something that all Huntsmen are capable of, usually to create armour, as well as boosting and healing, varying from person to person.

To have it that his Semblance can OBTAIN other Semblances, either stealing them or copying them, is BROKEN as Hell, especially COMBINING THEM. He would be stronger than the Maidens. We already have the insane problems with Velvet's camera, so I want to avoid things like that as best I can. Even absorbing Aura seems too much, which is why I have Aura Dampening technology developed by the military.

I should also stress that I have made the same retcon as CRWBY, where Grimm are attracted to Aura rather than negative emotion, something I did not like as a concept from the start.

That is one Hell of a power-up, and while I appreciate the suggestion, it would break everything if I ever implemented it. Nonetheless, thanks for reading and reviewing.

---

This, without question, is the chapter that I wanted to write most—even going back to DDCT. I touched on my feelings towards the character of Oscar Pine and how he was handled there in Chapter XVII, as well as Sam, the Order, and the plot of RWBY, but here I can let loose and go into great detail. Saddle up, pilgrim.

Oscar, the Good Ol' Boy

The moment that Oscar Pine was introduced in V4, I was intrigued. I immediately felt Luke Skywalker vibes from him; the archetype of a young boy getting roped into a grand adventure, usually by a wise wizard, done many times before, such as with Bilbo and Frodo by Gandalf, Arthur by Merlin, and obviously, Luke by Obi-Wan. Since we were then presented with the revelation that Ozpin had survived in some form, his soul entering Oscar's body through magic, such as a desperate last-minute spell, we were going on the same journey. Of course, in hindsight, this felt like the start of the story, rather than roughly the half-way point, as well as the fact that Oscar fits as a leading protagonist. However, like most things regarding RWBY, assumptions and implications fill in gaps when the writers cannot. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thought Ozpin was a wizard, and the only reason I can think as to why, given that he performs no magic by that point in the story, is that we know he is based on the Wizard of Oz...who also can't perform magic. Sigh...

Nonetheless, a country boy character opened up the obvious path for him becoming a magic gunslinger down the road, so I was excited to see how Ozpin was going to convince Oscar to leave his home and join the group. Oscar's natural response to panic was actually interesting to me, as it would not be as easy as, "Want to go on an adventure, lad?", and Oscar responds, "Boy, do I!". So, I asked my laptop, "Alright, Ozpin, how are you gonna convince him?".

When I realized that they had Oscar agree off-screen, keeping in mind that he does not believe what Ozpin is telling him and thinks he's going insane, I lost my shit. Honestly, I stood up and pointed at the screen and shouted, "No! You can't do that! You can't just not show how you convinced him!". This is not an issue just because Oscar was so resistant and time was of the essence, but that we also wanted to get a better understanding of who Ozpin was. He is alone with a civilian who needs to be convinced of the importance of them getting to Mantle or the Mistralese capital. That situation was just begging to reveal more back-story for Ozpin and the Maidens, not to mention it can develop Oscar's character. The fact that they did not, left me beside myself. Of course, they had nine bloody side-stories going on simultaneously, and not enough episodes (or long enough) to go through them at a proper pace, so it was a mess from stem to stern.

By this point, I was gone. I had originally thought that I would maybe give V5 a chance, but after thinking upon it, I decided to walk away for good. This allowed me to reminisce over the series and how things could have gone. I then began to work on Ozpin and Oscar, what their character arcs would be, their working relationship, and more. And here is the start of it.

Since I saw Oscar as a country boy (which he is), I had to show him as such—especially since the show does not utilize that background to define his character in any way. I partially did this in DDCT, but here it is far more than just a cameo. Of course, I gave him all the hobbies one would expect, as well as the cowboy guns. Drawing inspiration from John Moses Browning and my own personal experiences, I had it that Oscar has a talent for gunsmithing, therefore he has his own workbench—something he inherited from his father.

This now leads us to another question: why was Oscar written as he was in the show? Why not go the obvious cowboy route and make him a magic gunslinger? While one reason is that CRWBY needed him to be a host for Ozma and nothing more, thus why would they invest in his character, the other reason is who they are and where they are. Yes, they are based in Texas, so you would think that would have been the perfect incentive to make him a cowboy. But here is the problem: they are based in Austin, and the sad reality is that Austin isn't Texas. Austin is California. Austin is New York. Austin is Montreal. Given the mentality of the people at Rooster Teeth, they have no incentive whatsoever to make Oscar into the obvious cowboy he should have been. Even if he wasn't meant to be a meat suit for Ozma, they wouldn't have done it, for it would have gone against their...world-view, for lack of a better term. And what makes things worse, is the complete lack of fanart of Oscar as a cowboy, or anything remotely close to it. You can find cowgirl fanart for Yang, but nothing for Oscar. This means that the fanbase don't see him as a cowboy at best, and don't care about him at worse.

If it wasn't painfully obvious, I am a massive Western fan, having grown up with Western movies and television at my grandparents' house [edit: as I was making my final edits before uploading, my blu-ray copy of El Dorado (the John Wayne Western, not the DreamWorks film) just arrived], with my grandfather's authentic Winchester Model 1894 made in 1900, mounted above and to the left of the TV. I grew up half the time in the country, working and running around on farms, both in Canada and on my family's farm in Italy, learned how to shoot, hunt, and fish at six years old, how to look after livestock, and so much more. It should now make sense why I am so frustrated with what happened to Oscar, and, I hope, everything in this chapter is an indication at what will be in store for him. I put a ton of work into him, and I cannot wait to show it. There is so much more I want to say about him, but sadly, this section has gone on for long enough.

While I would not want to spoil too much so soon, I would like to state for the record that my version of Oscar draws inspiration from Luke Skywalker, "Little" Joe Cartwright, Lucas and Mark McCain, Rowdy Yates, Roy Rogers, and one other character, but I will keep that a secret for now. I adore this kid, and I hope you will too, with my version of him blowing his show counterpart out of the water.

Call me Sam

Another major change is the introduction of Ozpin, who we shall now be calling Sam; though if you are familiar with my work, I gave Ozpin a first name starting with DDCT. Since this has proven to be a much greater contention than I expected—well, a greater contention by focusing on the wrong things—I should explain why I made this change. Sadly, this will mean overlapping my notes, but oh well.

Since I left the series at the end of V4, I was never aware of what came afterwards, and all the "big reveals". I instead decided to imagine what could have been, and thus tried to fix the problems that seemed the most glaring. One of them was Ozpin himself, starting with giving him a name. This was primarily done to humanize him, as everything done thus far made him very difficult to trust. By giving him a name, it starts to make him a character, as well as cement him as the Huntmaster.

Putting aside the Ozma retcon for a moment, for Ozpin to be a Huntsman and then a Huntmaster, he would need a full name to sign documents, be a citizen, pay taxes, serve on the Council, and much more. That is something people do not seem to realize, as I learned when one of my detractors could not wrap his mind around it, especially when you take into account that Ozpin was someone before Ozma took over.

To stop myself from ranting too soon, as I showed in DDCT, I wanted to make Ozpin a more likeable character, as well as make this Inner Circle something to take seriously. I was very happy with the overwhelmingly positive reception to my changes to him, as well as to the rest of the Order, and I hope to continue that trend here, especially with how Sam is devastated to learn that Pyrrha was killed, and being very regretful that Oscar has been dragged into things.

As to why I chose the name "Sam", it just spoke to me. I very much love the name, thanks to characters such as Samwise Gamgee and Sam the Eagle, and historical figures like Samuel Adams, Samuel Colt, Ulysses Samuel Grant, and Sam Houston. It is just a comforting name. Now, I would end it at that, if it were not for what happened during Christmas, for I decided to enjoy my new television by watching a series of Christmas movies and specials. When I got to one of my all-time favourites, the Rankin/Bass 1964 classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, something happened that caused me to burst out laughing. The famous snowman character, voiced by the legendary Burl Ives, gives us his great opening monologue, and then he says the following:

"Oh, excuse me. Call me Sam."

It clicked at last. Here before me, was a magical jolly snowman, dressed in green with an umbrella and a pocket watch, wanting to tell me about a legendary story, was my secret inspiration for my Samuel Ozpin. That may seem strange, but I had completely forgotten his name, as I hadn't watched the special in years, having only a taped copy from my childhood—as in taped off the TV during the usual seasonal airing. Only because I bought the "Original Christmas Specials Collection" on blu-ray, was I able to watch it again. Furthermore, while I am usually very aware of what I am referencing and drawing inspiration from with my work, there are times that I come up with ideas without realizing where I am getting them from. It then takes a while before it clicks, and that is always by accident, mainly stumbling across the source, watching or reading where the source originated, or having conversations with friends. Thankfully, I have been very happy every time it happens.

To repeat myself, I hope all of you will enjoy these changes, and can accept Sam as the good man that I wrote him as, rather than the "character" he became in the show.

Oscar's Reaction and Agreement

As I said before, Oscar's initial reaction was refreshing, and I was beyond angry that they didn't show how Ozpin convinced him to leave his home. In retrospect, I no longer think it works. What I mean by that is Oscar thinking he has gone insane and ignoring Ozpin makes little sense given the incredible abilities that Huntsmen have. Why would a civilian in a world like this, who would naturally have reverence for monster hunters blessed with magical abilities from the Light, let alone a Huntmaster, think it is abnormal for him to be there? At least at first. Then, of course, there is the breaking of verisimilitude that Oscar doesn't have basic knowledge of the Huntsmen, Aura, and Semblances, a problem started first with Jaune back in V1, which I "corrected" in DDCT with Jaune admitting to Pyrrha he lied.

This is precisely why I've changed my mind about Oscar's reaction, at least until he learns that Sam is within him, as well as Salem's existence.

Here I had his reaction be more layered, with the fear he had in the show being utilized for when learning of the great evil of Salem, and that her minions will hunt him down to get to Sam, which also puts his aunt at risk. While perhaps a bit quick, I hope what came across is that Oscar, though small and young, has grit, heart, and proper motivation to help. There is also the promise that he and Sam can be separated, which would be motivation enough, though here it serves more to undo the disturbing choices CRWBY made. Furthermore, Oscar asks Sam the obvious questions, and does not simply jump onto the bandwagon. He knows this is dangerous and terrifying, but he also knows he has to do what is right.

Another thing I wanted to touch on is the lack of care by the Mistralese at Pyrrha's death. Other than a statue in her home town (I have a LOT to say on that), there's never been this recognition of Pyrrha's existence, even though there are a number of Mistralese characters involved, not to mention that the story, for a while, took place in Mistral. One of those characters is Oscar, who obviously can offer that insight, which I have already begun to do. The truth regarding her death would not be told to the public, so here we got the before and after in the same package.

It's also why I had Sam wanting to know what happened to Pyrrha. Learning about her death and feeling guilt from it, was not only to humanize him, but for him to voice our own questions. I stand firmly that her death was terribly written, and while I made the changes necessary in DDCT, here we have to build back up to it.

I hope that these changes come across better than what we originally got.

Heidrian the Paladin: The Last of the Old Order

And then we have the introduction of Sir Heidrian the Heroic. If you've read DDCT, then you would already know his name, as when Sam is explaining the truth to Pyrrha, he tells her of a lore book written by a Paladin named Heidrian. This is obviously very different than the show, but I played my cards close to the vest until the release of this chapter. I still hinted to Heidrian's existence several times; two were of him appearing when Sam fought Cinder, and having him speak to Cinder directly before her death. This, of course, begs the question of the whereabouts of Ozma, but we will cover that next.

The core issue is that I never understood why the inner circle seemed so shabby and unorganized. Shouldn't some ancient order be a bit more...well, orderly? The only answer I could think of that made sense, was that the order had been recently revived and they were doing the best with what they had. The truth, as we all now know, was far more pathetic, but since I walked away at the end of V4, I wrote the story without knowing that truth, resulting in what you are seeing and what you will see.

After deciding that the Inner Circle, now named The Order of the Maidens' Ring, was a young revival, I had to think of how they learned of the original, as well as the Maidens. A book of lore was simple enough, but it needed more. It was then that the image of Sam walking towards me with a spirit of a Paladin above him, à la Nelo Angelo, appeared in my mind, something that you might have seen in DDCT. I was sold, and the character of Heidrian the Heroic was born. Everything else just fell into place—how the original Order went into hiding, was crushed, fell into legend along with the Maidens, and how Sam revived it—and I hope to show it all off over the course of this story.

Ozma, Demon in White, Begone!

At last we get to the major question you must be thinking: where's Ozma?

To answer it simply: he isn't here. He never happened. He's a total fabrication. Pure fiction.

So, what is really going on? The long and short of it is that I never knew of Ozma's existence. As I stated previously, I bowed out of the show at the end of V4, so I was never made aware of Ozpin's true identity (or the Artifacts for that matter); at least not until well after I rewrote Ozpin as Sam, and invented the character of Heidrian and the Order. As far as I was concerned, the story was to revolved around the Maidens, with Heidrian being the link to the past.

But how can you tell the story without Ozma? He's so important. Well...pretty dang easily, actually. As I said, I never knew about him, so I just wrote what made sense, and thus far, people seem to be quite happy. Well, I suppose we shall see just how happy people will be, as despite making it pretty damn clear that Ozma was gone given I fully rewrote the original purpose and history of the Maidens, as well as making Ozpin a character with likes, dislikes, and a history, no one made a fuss about it. I can only assume it is because how unlikable Ozma is as a character (I refer to him as the Demon in White, myself), though one would think that would be even more reason to remark on him no longer being in the picture. I am sure you will let me know how you feel about this major change. More information will appear as the story progresses, I assure you.

While we are here, I might as well discuss the naming convention of Ozpin/Ozma, as it has always thrown me off. The name "Ozpin" is from the book, The Wizard of Oz, as that is part of his initials: Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, or O.Z.P.I.N.H.E.A.D, which was shortened to Ozpin and then Oz. This is fair enough, and you can also see where the name Oscar came from. But what about Ozma? Well, that would be Princess Ozma, the future Queen of Oz, who he advised before leaving. Personally, I think they were trying too hard here, so I just simplified it all. Maybe CRWBY are a fan of Californian Alternative Rock, I don'know.

Speaking of the book, another name taken directly from the story is Aunt Em, as that is Dorothy's aunt. However, from what little we have seen, as well as how I have written her, they do not have the same personality, as book Em is joyless and is somewhat afraid of her niece's happiness. That then leads me to ask, "Where is Uncle Henry?". And then I realized that despite Dorothy being turned into the Huntmaster of Vacuo, Oscar is the character filling in her red shoes with cowboy boots, just as Blake is meant to be Belle, but also (somewhat) fits the role of Mowgli.

I should confess that because of all this realization over the years, my full rewrite has it that Oscar has not just been living with his aunt, but with his uncle Henry, and his two cousins, Isaac and Norman (remember when Em says in DDCT that this one, meaning Oscar, is her nephew, not her son?). For the sake of simplicity, I left them out of this story, but I will keep his parents and what happened to them, to help make Oscar a more rounded character.

To end this segment on Ozma, I just want to say that the subject matter, from stem to stern, is awful. The revelation that he was the old man in the Seasons story, that he was Salem's husband, his constant lying and manipulation, his inability to come up with a plan to kill Salem after all these centuries, the consuming of the souls of the innocent. Enough self-censoring. That is all fucking disgusting. No wonder the Inner Circle hate one another, ran away, or became traitors. Why would anyone swear fealty to him? And to make matters worse, they seem to have swept under the rug that Oscar is dying. Since I cannot give CRWBY the benefit of the doubt, what are the chances that Oscar is not panicking because Ozma is puppeting him? What if his crushing on Ruby is to keep him docile and keep Ruby invested?

Is that a gross theory? You bet, which is why I am sticking to my rewrite. Begone, Satan!

Oh, yeah, one more thing, the reveal of Ozma's existence means that he is the real main character, not Ruby. Oops.

Big Game, Big Lead, Big Iron

Alrighty! Back to the fun stuff. As you saw in this chapter, Oscar has got himself some firepower. While I think that is entirely appropriate for his character, it does touch on something that has been bothering me since the very beginning.

Big game requires big guns to fire big cartridges. That is what huntsmen here in our world do; select the right firearms chambered in the right calibre for their desired quarry. Why would that not apply to the Huntsmen of Remnant?

While it is impossible to know what calibre each weapon of the main cast are chambered in, as not even the official guides and fan wikis can neither confirm nor deny, we can only guess based off of what each weapon looks like, meaning the base firearm they are built on, and the rare glimpses of the ammunition in the show. Thus far, it looks quite awful.

From what I can see, a lot of weapons in RWBY are effective against regular Humans and Faunus, for the simple reason that they are not capable of taking such trauma, and can bleed, have organs fail, be crippled, and have many places that can be fatal if struck. Grimm are not the same. Admittedly, they seemed to die rather easily, making them hardly a threat, but we shall get to that topic in Chapter XVII. Grimm do not have organs or blood, so the only reasonable way to kill them is to aim for the head and either decapitate it or destroy it through trauma; sharp trauma from a blade or blunt from bullets or clubs. This works just fine given that Huntsmen have swords and bludgeoning weapons, and since they are so much stronger than people without Aura and Semblances, they could make every stroke count. This is also why they could fire much more powerful firearms, not to mention the level of technology would help with mitigating recoil.

I mention all of this because of the rifle Oscar is using. He has a Winchester Model 1895, which was chambered in a number of calibres: .30-40 Krag, 7.62×54mmR, 7.92×57mm, .303 British, .30-03, .30-06 Springfield, .35 WCF, .38-72 WCF, .40-72 WCF, and .405 WCF, the last being what Oscar's rifle is chambered for, introduced in 1904. This calibre is what we would call "big bore", reaching a maximum bullet mass of 400 grain (26g) flying at 1,900 ft/s, delivering 3,207 ft⋅lbf or 46,000 PSI thanks to its 10.45mm bullet diameter, housed in a 2.583 inch rimmed, straight walled case, resulting in an overall length of 3.175 inches or 80.6mm. That is a big cartridge, and President Theodore Roosevelt referred to it as his "big medicine gun for lions", with other hunters using it for rhino and buffalo. It is one of my all-time favourite rifles, and at long last Winchester has brought it back, even in the wildcat .405, though it is far from cheap. Imma get one.

I should state for the record, and forgive me, Browning, for I have sinned, Oscar's 95 is a fusion of the First Casehardened Deluxe model and the WWI Russian Musket Model. I know none of you would have known or cared, but I feel a bit dirty doing this, though it is nothing compared to the cursed gun nonsense CRWBY have come up with. And since Winchester were known for offering a ton of custom options, such a rifle is not that farfetched.

The funny thing is that the .405 is now considered rather weak. And in all intents and purposes, it is. .416 Remington, .416 Rigby, .444 Marlin, .450 Marlin, .450 Nitro Express, .458 Win Mag, .458 Lott, .460 Weatherby Magnum, .470 Nitro Express, .500 Nitro Express, .505 Gibbs, .577 Tyrannosaur (yes, this is real), .585 Nyati, .600 Nitro Express, .700 Nitro Express, .750 Nitro Express Perry, and for fun, the .950 JDJ, the largest centre-fire rifle in the world.

The point I am making here is that firearms are strong. Human beings are not, therefore we make such weapons to compensate. It is why I believe that not only would Huntsmen have their firearms chambered in these and other heavy hitting cartridges to take down Grimm, but that civilian ownership of such weapons would be prominent in Remnant—with their personal limits determining what they can handle. Plenty of people think that owning a Barrett M82 .50-calibre anti-material rifle is weird and even scary. In Remnant, it would be fairly common. Furthermore, the big game cartridges I mentioned are rather expensive, given that they are meant for the African hunter that owns rifles that cost anywhere from $5000 to over $20,000, and I have even seen them go for hundreds of thousands of dollars; the most expensive ever was the VO Falcon at $820,000. They are artesian and personalized rifles for sure, but this is where you see the interesting stuff, such as my personal favourite, the Szecsei & Fuchs Double Barrel Bolt Action Dangerous Game Rifle, which literally has two barrels with a special double magazine that loads them with two bolts simultaneously. So cool.

That being said, in Remnant, where it would be like the later 19th century and early 20th century, where everyone and their grandmother were making and selling firearms—North America and Europe—both the rifles and the ammunition would be rather inexpensive. Cartridges like the .500 Nitro Express, which go for $11.50 and higher per round (the bullet alone costs three bucks) in our world, would be far closer to how much we pay for common calibres such as .223 and 9mm, about 32-64¢/round and 16-34¢/round respectively. And we haven't even mentioned the new cartridges that would be developed specifically for Grimm.

I am sure that there are going to be people who will read this and think that I am being absurd, but given that the core element of this series is the hunting and killing of monsters (which CRWBY completely forgot), and firearms exist, it has to be spoken about and taken seriously. Verisimilitude matters, just as much as muzzle velocity, bullet mass, grains of powder, and foot pounds of energy.

To prove that, let us apply this to another franchise: Jurassic Park. The biggest problem with every Jurassic Park movie—yes, even the first one—is that no one has a gun. And I mean a real gun. Not some overpriced SPAS-12, but any dangerous game rifle or double rifle, starting at .375 H&H Magnum and up. I cannot tell you how happy I was to see Chris Pratt with a Marlin Model 1895SBL in .45-70 Gov—the old workhorse. Loaded for dangerous game, you could take out an elephant. I don't remember if he killed anything with it (I doubt it), but at least it is there. Anything bigger than an elephant, get an M82 or an anti-tank rifle. I do not care what the script says. If they had real guns, everything would have been (mostly) fine. The fact that the military showed up and had nothing stronger than an HK91A2 in 7.62x51mm NATO, which Muldoon ignores for the SPAS, has pissed me off for years. Tremors came out three years before and they knew what to do. $63 million versus $10-11 million. For the record, I have no idea if there are proper guns in the book. Logic costs nothing but your time, and you keep it for life. Furthermore, in the original King Kong film from 1933, Carl Denham and crew kill a stegosaur with Krag-Jørgensen Rifles in .30-40 and a Lee-Speed Sporter in .303, and Kong himself is killed by a Lewis Machine Gun and two Browning M1918 machine guns in.30-06.

Guns are good at killing things. Who knew?

Lastly, while I have much to say about sidearms in RWBY, I wanted to get it started with Oscar carrying the original hand cannon, the 1847 Colt-Walker. This was the start of the long relationship with Colt and the United States Army and Navy, especially with the Cavalry, even if the pistol itself left things to be desired. While it was a black power .44, which is about as strong as a modern .357 Mag, it was the foundation for modern big-bore revolver hunting and shooting, the most famous being the .500 S&W Magnum. Keeping with the cowboy aesthetic, Oscar carries a Walker, but modernized just enough, unlike Ironwood, who has proper modern big-bore revolvers. I can talk forever about this, so let's wrap things up.

Final Thoughts

I honestly feel embarrassed for forgetting to talk about the RWBY NSFW kerfuffle on Twitter several weeks ago. If you aren't aware, RT had a Christmas art thing on Twitter, and RWBY fans were insulted that NSFW artists decided to join in, telling them to stop "leeching off their community". This is beyond hilarious, as RWBY R34 content is what keeps RWBY relevant. The RWBY R34 subreddit has more followers than the official subreddit, and is the only thing that will be remembered about the show once it ends.

What makes me laugh even more, is that RWBY R34 content is a mirror to the thoughts and feelings of the RWBY community, for they are the ones commissioning said art. RWBY fans hate Jaune and Ren? Perfectly reflected in the R34 art. Dogmatic support of crack ships like Wasp and WhiteRose? Reflected in the art. Fixation on race and politics? Reflected in the art. If the RWBY community was a far cleaner one, and these NSFW artists had drawn anything to the degree of your average RWBY R34 piece, then they would have the right to be angry. But the vast majority of the modern RWBY community are degenerates who love degeneracy, and have reveled in it until now. Even when CRWBY stripped the female characters of their attractiveness, the RWBY community saw fit to put it all back and then some, so they have no right to complain. Maybe that is why it bothered them so much? Hitting a bit too close to home, me thinks.

You made this cum-stained bed, so sleep in it.

The only thing that halts my amusement of this situation, is the renewed attempts to cancel and doxx the artists. No one has thinner skin than these twats. I actually have a lot to say about RWBY R34, but we shall save that for another day.

Also, regarding the RWBY x Justice League movie, I have no reason whatsoever to watch it. I no longer care about super heroes, and I am also very much against crossovers that do not make sense. The excitement and joy of crossovers comes from taking similar (enough) properties and having them meet. Comic book crossovers, Street Fighter x Tekken, Capcom vs SNK, Super Smash Brothers, etc. There are some popular dissimilar crossovers such as (was) Marvel vs Capcom, but much of that is owed to the gameplay, with it, and most of the characters, being niche, which is why that series, when allowed a home release, only sold a million copies on average per installment, whereas SSB has sold—as of September of last year—nearly 71 million copies.

The only reason why this movie (and the comics) exists, is merely that Warner owns all of them, and nothing more. This is why fan-fiction crossovers fail as well, as there is usually nothing that bonds the crossover parties. This is also why my own plans for a RWBY crossover, is with a small series that fits so well, I have been borrowing a few elements from it for the rewrites you are reading. Nothing major, but small elements of world-building that fit perfectly in the world of Remnant, which really shows how the idea of RWBY was strong, yet those involved failed to realize it.

Oh yeah, they gave Yang her boobs back in the trailer, which is the only thing people are talking about. I guess that proves CRWBY took them away since she is in her V1-3 model—and now we are full circle with the R34 nonsense XD. Also, they changed Ember Celica, making them triple the size they originally were. Odd.

With that, we can end this giant chapter, and brace ourselves for V9. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, for the stage is now set and everything has kicked off. Well, almost everything. I hope you enjoyed all these changes, and I will see you guys next time. As for me, I'll be enjoying some baked tilapia, a can of Sapporo, and watching Rio Bravo. Cheers.