Ruby XV

The rhythmic clanging of black hammers against red hot steel sounded not unlike a choir, their hymns filled The Crucible's hot air. Today, for whatever reason, the place was practically empty which meant that I would have my pick of the forges, and the tools as well. From the wall hung chisels and large tongs, along with hammers and gloves. Many of them looked to be new, perhaps Ozpin took pity on us and the sorry state of our equipment. Although I was excited to work with the new equipment, a darkness blanketed my heart and my mind was filled with worry. The remains of my beloved scythe were in a large sack that I had hoisted over my shoulder. The possibility that there was nothing I could do to fix her scared me, but if there was anywhere it could be done it was here.

I could hear the forgemaster at work on one of the old anvils. He lorded over the thing as he struck at a piece of hot metal. It was some kind of sword, whether it was a personal project or a masterpiece commissioned by some odd country lord I knew not, because he put the same amount of effort into both. I often made visits to The Crucible so I was familiar with the disposition of the forgemaster. Despite his age he was still as sharp as ever and few things managed to slip by him. The only part of him that had withered with age was his body. However, old Pietro managed to find a way around that as well. That man was so smitten with the forge and her heat that he smithed a chair with iron legs so that he could keep walking after his legs gave up on him. The chair was black as night and so were the spidery limbs upon which it walked. I thought about asking him to craft me an extra pair of arms for my own personal use, but caution got the better of me. Forgemaster Pietro didn't take kindly to those who made light of his condition. Once a boy called him a crippled bug and Pietro hit him on the top of his head with a hammer, leaving the boy's skull flat as a table for the rest of his days.

Pietro quenched the hot blade not in water, but in a basin of earthy grits shaved from Dust. Stabbing the blade into the Dust produced a great puff of silvery smoke. Once it stopped smoking he sifted the blade around a bit before pulling it from the dust and when he did it glowed a pale blue. The subtle light from the blade reminded me of the morning with its gentle glow. Despite my best judgment I wanted to touch it, even though the blade was still hot. However, by the time it cooled it would no longer glow. What a pity it was that beautiful things never seemed to last.

I thought back to the recent past and recalled memories of my team, of Weiss. She was never far from my mind. In fact it seemed like everything reminded me of her. Midday's heat and the biting frost of early morn were both alike in their ability to dredge up memories of her. I saw her in the driven snow, in the short lived streams that ran down the gutters; in the flight of doves, and, most recently, in the blue glow of Pietro's blade.

"Gods be damned, I thought the crucible was a place for making pointy things that kill! What are you doing holding that piece of art? Put it away!" I finally made my presence known and the professor was happy to see me. I visited The Curcible regularly and Pietro was always happy to see a familiar face. Most students only came by twice in their entire academic careers: once to forge their primary weapon and then once again to repair it. Having someone around who not only appreciated the craft but also made great steps to master it was quite refreshing for the old forgemaster.

"Oh, Miss Rose, I had no idea you were here. It's nice to see you again. How long have you been lurking over there watching me work?" Pietro held the glowing sword aloft and somehow it grew only more lovely.

"Long enough to see you working on that beauty of a blade. Who's it for?"

"I don't know if I can tell you that, at least not yet. For now, let's just say that it's part of a set. I've got three more left to forge and trust me forging three more like copies of this thing won't be easy,"

"I would imagine. Although I may not be as experienced as you, I've spent a fair bit of time around the forges and can appreciate the work it takes to make something like that. It's beautiful, I mean, there's no other word to describe it. That sword you made here today is something magnificent,"

"Aye, it's so lovely I almost mistook it for a lady," He grinned at his own oddly lecherous comment, expecting me to laugh.

"Gross! What would your wife think of you comparing women to swords?"

"Can't imagine she'd have much to say. The dead are seldom chatty," his words were solemn but his eyes never left the blade. As it cooled the color of it changed. Now it was glowing violet as its light grew dimmer.

"My apologies, I had no idea. I saw the ring on your finger and just assumed that she must still be with us. "

"Don't be sorry. How could you have known? It's not as though I've been forthcoming about any part of my life outside work. I'm a man of the forge, a man of iron. That's all you knew of me and that's all you needed to know, truth be told." Pietro admired his sword and watched carefully as its colors changed. As the violet hue began to fade he quickly stabbed it into the dust once more. This time the smoke it produced was thin and black. When he pulled it from the basin it shone no more brightly than a dim candle and in an instant the light was gone. "She's a beauty isn't she? Steel quenched in magic always cut sharper than regular blades," He never took his eyes off the sword when he spoke, until the task was done that weapon was his whole world.

I hated the idea of interrupting his concentration, but I had to ask about my scythe, "Speaking of blades, Sir, I wanted to ask you about a scythe,"

"That daft little weapon of yours finally break on you?"

"How did you know!"

"It was obvious. The steel was cheap, it had to break eventually. Come on now, show me what's left of the thing. Perhaps the two of us could mend it and make it more sturdy come the second time around," He stabbed the sword back into the giant Dust basin and gestured for me to show him the scythe. I pulled a table over to where we were and dumped the remains of my weapon onto it. She was little more than a broken handle and about a dozen or so pieces of steel. When the blade shattered in my duel against Cardin it broke like glass and sent pieces flying everywhere, so it was entirely possible that I hadn't collected all of the shards from the original blade.

"This is all that's left of her," I grimaced as I ran my hands over all the broken pieces. It was like the pain of losing her became fresh and I experienced the hurt all over again.

"God's be good! We can't fix this! It's completely broken in every way imaginable. How did this happen?"

"I may have gotten into a fight,"

"A fight! With who?"

"Cardin. I would have come to you earlier were it not for the shame of actually losing to that oaf. I hate it, I hate it, but there was nothing I could do. So now here we are with my weapon completely destroyed and him walking around feeling like he taught me some kind of lesson. I swear when I see him again things won't go so well for him. I'll put him in the ground! I'll make him regret ever even looking at me! I'll-"

"Ruby! Calm down! Are you going to hold onto such a petty grudge forever?"

"No, once he's dead, surely, I will begin to forget. Damn him, him and that bug, damn the both of them,"

"Speak of death and he will come, but not in the way you expect; or so the saying goes. I'd watch my tongue if I were you. At any rate, it sounds to me like there's more to this than just the spriggan boy. What ails you so? I'd be happy to lend an ear and listen to your woes, that is, of course, if you're willing to talk," Pietro put a hand on my shoulder and the feel of his calloused, meaty grabber brought me some comfort, strangely enough. I hadn't realized how hot my face had gotten nor how fast my heart had begun to beat after I started talking about Cardin. My hands were shaking and the muscles in my neck were stiff with worry, worry and anger. I told Pietro everything that had happened. I told him about Cardin, Tyrian, and all the trouble they had caused me. I told him of my fallout with team RWBY and of the mysterious girl I saved from a Grimm in the sewers below Beacon. Pietro seemed shocked. For a second I thought that he didn't believe what I was saying, but as I recounted the events of this semester his steely gaze became more like copper, or maybe gold.

"I've been through so much, Sir. And I feel like the pain is changing me. I'm not the same bright eyed girl who enrolled here. Each passing day this place changes me and I start to become more like them: more like Cardin, Tyrain, and Weiss. This sickly green heap has become the cocoon of my own twisted transformation. Should it continue at its current pace, I fear that I may not recognize myself by the end of the semester,"

"Don't let them trouble you. If ore could be changed with just a few words we'd have no need for smiths. You're a woman of iron Miss Rose, pulled straight from the earth you were. Those children can't change who you are inside because you're made of finer steel,"

"Your words are sweet, but what of my scythe? My need for steel grows by the day, not unlike my list of enemies. I can't be caught without my weapon. What if something happens? I came to you because it broke in 40 different places and I didn't know what to do. If there's anyone who could fix this it's you. I know that you're busy and you can't just drop whatever you're doing to help me. If it's coin you want, I'll offer you all that I have to cover the price. I'll work off the remainder, if you'll allow it," I saw the way that Pietro looked at my weapon as I pleaded with him and the look on his face did not inspire confidence. It's worrying, that's for certain, after all he was the best smith in the city. If he didn't think she could be fixed there might not be any hope for her.

"And what would you have me do? Turn back time so that you never quarreled with the young spriggan? Or should I forge an entirely new weapon identical to this one and give it to you so that you can pretend it never broke? Because there's nothing to repair here, if you want me to fix it that's more or less what I would have to do,"

"So you're saying it can't be done, I can't fix her?"

"Afraid not, child. You seem to be in bad need of steel. I have a sword you could have and I would only charge you a fistful of coppers. It's a fine blade too, she'd serve you well. As for that scythe of yours, I'd give up on it. Forge something new and be done with it,"

"I don't want a sword. I want her back,"

"Oh please, you'll make a new one in a week and completely forget about her," He hissed that last part, sure to emphasize the word her, "I bet you didn't even name the sodding thing!"

"I thought I would have more time to come up with a name. I didn't know it would break so soon," A wave of guilt washed over me when I admitted it. Every hunter had a signature weapon and each one had a name. It was unusual of me not to have named my scythe. None of my peers knew of course, had to keep up appearances. In truth I just couldn't think of a name and simply assumed that I would accomplish some great feat before too long. The plan was always to name the weapon after whatever incredible thing it enabled me to do, but it seems those dreams have been dashed. How troublesome! I hate it! Now I'll never get to give her a name. They won't sing songs about her nor will any intrepid young huntresses ever name her weapon after mine in hopes of following in my illustrious footsteps. Her story ends here it seems.

I picked up my things and left after thanking Pietro for his time. My worst fears had come to pass. The scythe could not be fixed, not by earthly means at least. Perhaps I could ask Emerald for some help on that end. If she could place hexes on gloves then maybe the girl had some insights into true magic. As unlikely as it was to work, consulting her was one of my better options. There was also another choice though. I never did get around to asking Cinder if she knew anything about weapons. After all, Tyrian did say that she would be most fit to help me repair my broken blade. However, with her memories all but gone I doubt she would be useful. What to do? What to do? Perhaps I would ask her anyway, just to see. It couldn't hurt to ask.

While lost in thought I happened to bump into someone. I had half a mind to snap at them until I saw who it was. The girl who's back my face had just smacked into was my teammate Blake. She was a fair bit taller than me, as was everybody else. Now that I knew it was her I would have to savor the feeling of my face against her shoulders.

"Oh, um, hello," I stammered.

"It's a pleasure to see you again. I feel like we never get a chance to speak with each other. How have you been?" Blake seemed genuinely happy to see me after all this time. It had been almost two months since team RWBY had begun to dissolve. Even though we basically fell apart, nominally we were still a team. I told Blake what I told Pietro. When she learned of what I had been going through she placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Giving you a cuddle. You seem like you need it," Blake was warm to the touch, warmer than I had expected in fact.

"Thanks,"

"Think nothing of it. It can be hard being a leader, and thankless too. Perhaps you should step down, abdicate the position to someone else, and wash your hands of the whole thing. Team RWBY hardly even exists anymore, hell it never really existed if we're being honest. We were only four girls who managed to tolerate each other for a month and after that time had passed everything fell apart. Team RWBY, as it was, didn't even last long enough to be missed. It's not your responsibility to try and fix it, Ruby! Your sister makes bedfellows with cravens and Weiss has committed her heart to all manner of evil. The whole thing is a mess, but you didn't make it," Blake gave me a kiss on the forehead. It was a custom among the Faunus, usually only shared between siblings, so the act was bittersweet coming from her. It shows that Blake only views me as a younger sibling or some sort of child. I would have to scrap any romantic plans I had with her. Though, truth be told, my feelings for her were less than pure.

"But what about Weiss and Cardin? Should I just leave them be? That is to say nothing of my mother's killer, Tyrian. How could I just let him live and get away with that?"

"Weiss and Cardin are as much a threat to themselves as they are to you. The two of them are so vain and petty, their own pride will surely bring about their end before long. Do you think Ozpin wants to lord over a school full of troublemakers like them? His actions on the day of your duel say otherwise, or at least that's how it seems to me. As for Tyrian, I know he's a madman filled with low cunning and viciousness, but must you exact your revenge on him right this second? Can't you wait for a better time, one where you're older, wiser, more prepared to-"

"I cannot wait! He's a killer, a thief, and a graverobber; and all three of those deeds he committed on the same night upon but one single woman. That woman was my mother. He killed her, defiled her corpse with black magic, and now walks around sporting her silver eyes like they were elk's horns, or some common hunting trophy. I won't have it and neither would you if it were your mother,"

"My parents are strangers to me. I never knew either of them so perhaps it's not my place to say," Blake released me from her hug and I saw where freshly wet tears stained her silk blouse. I had no idea that I was crying, the tears seemed to sneak up on me unannounced.

"Blake, forgive me, I had no idea," Although I was upset I had no right to hurt her, nor was that my intention. Tyrian always seemed to bring out the worst in me, even when he wasn't around.

"It's alright. You couldn't have known about what happened to me because I never told you. In fact, I scarcely told anyone at Beacon about it. When I came here I planned on turning over a new leaf. Some days have been harder than others, but I think I've done a fantastic job of leaving my past behind,"

"What was it like? Your old life, I mean, before you came to Beacon?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Only if you're willing to tell me,"

"Telling you is no problem. Putting what happened to me into words has done a great bit of good, makes my past feel less like a whirlwind and more like a series of things that actually happened. Anyways, it all started in Menagerie around the time of my 13th naming. By the laws of Menagerie girls of 13 are considered full grown women, so I had just become eligible for marriage. Like so many other abandoned children, I was taken in by a temple built in reverence of The Masked God and had been living there for as long as I could remember, but they were eager to get rid of me once I turned of age. My aptitude for the pious living of a priestess was slim to none and I was awful at spreading the dogma to potential acolytes. The head priestess was quick to recognize this and offered me as a gift to the blood prophet, in order to gain his favor. Strangely enough, the man who supposedly spoke with god's own voice was more than happy to accept a child as an offering. The blood prophet took me for a wife, bedded me on the day of our wedding, and for three long years I suffered his cruel wrath," The flippant way she described such terrible things left me speechless. I couldn't find the right words to say so I just told her:

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't be. It's not like you're the one who married me to a man twice my age. It's in the past now and luckily my life has changed for the better,"

"Even still, it sounds awful. How did you get away from him?"

"The same way anyone escapes anything, I ran. Even now, as I speak with you, I am running. The Path of Tooth and Nail, and their militant Whitefang, are still searching for me most likely, but I doubt they'll ever find me. This world of ours is quite large and Vale is a strange place to go looking for Faunus, "

"That can't be, I mean that's just too awful. They could find you at any moment, and when you least expect it to. What happens then?"

"Then I'll be killed,"

"I don't understand how you can be so cavalier about this. Your life is in danger,"

"Well what would you have me do, Ruby? Should I be miserable and paranoid for the rest of my life? Rest assured, Rosebud, I know the prophet well. In fact I may know him better than he knows himself. I couldn't find it in my heart to love him, so he instead sought to control me through fear. Unfortunately for him he's failing at that too. The man may frighten me, but I do not fear him,"

"Perhaps Tyrian is the same way,"

"Perhaps so," Blake pulled a pink rose from a vase and rubbed one of its petals between her forefinger and her thumb. The more I thought about it the more her words began to make sense. Perhaps even being close to Tyrian was dangerous and the only thing keeping me safe was the lie that I loved him. It was clear from the day we met that he was obsessed with me and my silver eyes. I shudder to think what he might do to keep my attention if I suddenly started ignoring him, or if the truth came out and he learned that hated him. Indeed, the overzealous pursuit of my mother's killer seems to have put me in quite the predicament. It was entirely possible that the only reason why he seemed so reasonable and docile was because he thought that he could easily control me, and by extension the power of my eyes, by playing with my heart. Little did he know my heart has precious few strings left to tug. At any rate, I would have to deal with him quickly, ideally in a manner that would also resolve the issue of the two Spriggans. For all of his flaws, Cardin's feelings for me seemed genuine. If I was careful with my words then maybe I could conjure up some kind of lie about Tyrian and have him dealt with. No, that won't do. I couldn't have the two of them fight to the death over a lie. Cardin may have been annoying, but I couldn't have him risk his life in the vain hope that I might one day return his affections, because there was no earthly way I was ever going to love him.

And then there was Blake, that poor girl. All this time I had no idea she was dealing with so much. I felt bad. I usually only talked to her about my problems, about the challenges that I was facing, but seldom did I ever ask about her. Every day she gets up knowing that it could be her last and yet she still manages to smile. It didn't make any sense to me, though it was still admirable nonetheless. I offered to let her join the study group I started with Cinder's team, almost like some form of meager pittance. She agreed and the two of us walked to the Library. It was a bit of a walk, seeing as it was as far from the Crucible as possible. All I could think about the whole way over was what would happen if I took Blake by the hand and asked her to leave with me. We could run away from this wretched school and never look back, abandoning all our problems the second we leave Beacon. There's no point in staying someplace where you won't be cherished, she was certainly right about that. And although I never asked, I wonder what she might have said.