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I: Runaway

"A man can have anything, if he is willing to sacrifice. With your birth comes a solemn vow: You will have nothing. Your privilege is the dirt. In the darkness, only ambition will guide you. The oath you swear, the promises you make, they are yours alone. Your freedom will be the wars you wage. Your birthright the losses you suffer. Your entitlement the pain you endure. And when darkness finds you, you will face it alone."

– Darth Vitiate

Weiss' escape from the Schnee estate had gone according to plan. She had made it the shady commercial hanger she had set out for, a hub mostly for bulky freight haulers with more unscrupulous interests making up the rest of the traffic. They paid bribes to the hanger's owners, who in turn paid the low-level Atlas authorities in the area to look the other way.

She knew who she was supposed to meet - a young smuggler with a medium sized transport, easily recognizable by its four main wings. She quickly found the ship, but he was absent. She stood next to it with her luggage, looking around nervously. She didn't want to wait for the pilot to show up, but had little choice. The various engines active at any given time heated the hanger like an oven, and her tight collared shrug was starting to feel constricting. She inelegantly tugged at it with her free hand; anxiety increased as the minutes past.

Her training at the late Beacon Academy had given her sharper senses; she had noticed people following her on the way here. They had been wearing black, well-fitting trench coats with an unmistakable snowflake embroidered on the left shoulder.

She was certain her father already knew she was gone; he probably knew where she was at this very moment. Could she ever be free of him?

The minutes went on; still no pilot. Weiss started to look around at the other activity in the hanger, entertaining the idea of buying someone else's services to get her out of there faster. It was, after all, possible her father had compromised her plans. One person in particular caught her eye.

He was…out of place. She had never seen his style of clothing before – tall, thick brown boots leading into chestnut-colored pants, themselves topped with a full black utility belt. A large holster hung from the belt on his right side, harboring a strange firearm. He wore a simple white shirt with an open taupe jacket over it; the jacket's large pockets were well-worn but currently empty. It was clearly a pragmatic fashion, contrasting harshly with the stylish black and white suits the Atlas pilots wore.

Perhaps he's from Vacuo? The thought provoked her to start walking towards him. Someone from that rugged place, where they had no love for Atlas or the Schnee Dust Company, was probably the best choice for what she needed.

He looked up from the crate he was working on when she approached. He appeared to be in his late twenties, but tired. He hadn't shaved in a couple days, although the stubble looked good on him. She delivered a diplomatic, carefully worded greeting that she had made up on her way over. The manicured words explained what she needed at the same time, the product of a business upbringing that had taught her how to get a message across in short order.

"I'm not going to any of the Kingdoms, Miss. I'm going up there." He pointed to the sky.

"...could you repeat that?" His accent was almost impossible to understand. Strange indeed.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I'm not going to any of the Kingdoms." He turned around, apparently uncomfortable now.

She pressed forward. "I'm willing to pay you quite a bit." Weiss pulled a group of high denomination Lien cards out of her coat pocket, holding them clearly in front of him.

"That's worthless where I'm going."

Time for the big guns. "Do you know who I am? I am the heiress of the Schnee Family's holdings, and you have no reason to toy with me. Now, are you interested in my offer or not?"

His expression suddenly changed.

Typical. She felt a mixture of arrogance and disgust at the power her name and status brought.

"You're part of the Schnee Dust Company?"

She let out a curt pout. "That's correct." She was hoping he hadn't heard about her recent change of rank.

He looked over her face with sharp eyes, analyzing her expression. She felt slightly uncomfortable.

After a silence that lasted too long for her tastes, he pointed at something behind her. She turned and saw large crates of Dust being loaded onto a ship.

"I want a crate of each color of Dust. Then you're on."

She turned around with a stunned look on her face, which quickly went away.

"The money I've already offered you is more than enough to buy that."

He looked at her with the heavy, probing eyes again, then turned around and started walking under his ship. He gestured for her to follow.

She swallowed her annoyance with a grimace and followed him. As they walked, she scrutinized his ship. It was like nothing she had ever seen before; she couldn't spot the distinguishing features of any of the four Kingdoms' craft. They stopped near the center of the ship, in an area where its shadow gave them a degree of privacy.

"I don't want your lien; I just want Dust. Actual dust. Get me that, I'll take you wherever you want."

Everything he said was a struggle to understand. She had only half-understood most things and had to piece the meanings together. That was puzzling; Remnant's languages had long been unified and the old ones were merely an academic study.

"Do you have a name?" she asked. The question seemed to take him aback.

"Dalmec." He seemed to regret that immediately. "Look, I don't like small talk. I'm someone who gets things done. Do we have a deal?"

She studied him, saw emotions clash in his eyes while his face stayed resolute. He was very nervous, taking a risk. He must really need the dust.

"Just the dust?"

"Get me those crates and you're on."

"Hmm." She turned around and walked back to inspect the situation - but she froze immediately once she saw what was going on over there.

The pilot was there – he matched the description she was given – talking to a pair of Atlas military personnel in front of his ship. She stood still, watching until the soldiers left. Then she slowly turned back around to her last conservation.

"Fine. We have a deal."

"Excellent," he said hurriedly. "But I'm leaving very soon. You'll have to get the crates here fast."

"You'll get them right now," Weiss stated, already walking to the other ship.

"Hello," she said shyly as she walked up to the Atlas pilot, currently bent over with his body halfway inside one of the loading doors. She knew he was supposed to be carrying Dust along with her.

"I'm the one you're supposed to take to Mistral."

He straightened and turned around, looking her up and down.

"Yeah, sure. Do you have the money?"

"Uh, well, there's been a change of plans. I would like to buy some of your Dust crates. One of each color, to be exact."

He gave her a blank stare.

"Yeah, not interested."

"Look. I saw you talking to those soldiers. I don't know what's going on, but if it's about money...I'm sure I can pay you more." She paused for effect, allowing him to glance around nervously. "This is what I'm willing to give you." She held out several Lien cards, knowing her bid was well above even the black market price of Dust. As she saw it, her deal was a good one for him. If she had been exposed and he had been counter-offered to turn her over, he was getting a bigger payout now. If he was trustworthy, he wouldn't have to deal with her and the risk involved at all.

"Uh." He was surprised by the offer. "Alright then, sure," he said, giving her a puzzled look. "Whatever."

She smiled.

Weiss was already planning her next move as she helped Dalmec load the crates. He was still in quite the hurry, but she didn't question it because she was too. Trust was, of course, a topic in the air. She didn't 'trust' him, obviously, but that was irrelevant because at the moment she couldn't trust anyone else either. She had approached Dalmec, initiated, and had to convince and pay him, which was enough for her – it would have raised alarms if he had been too eager to participate. In any case, he seemed easy enough to bribe, and Weiss could work with that. Greedy people were predictable, and betting on greed was always safer than betting on trust.

Weiss was convinced her father was tracking her, and almost certain Dalmec was going to either Vacuo or Vale. She reasoned she would be able to throw Jacquees off her trail by stopping in one of those Kingdoms before going on to Mistral.

She settled into her allotted area of the ship, little more than an open closet. The ship was just as odd on the inside as it was outside; it looked constructed of factory stamped parts thrown together in a sterile, industrial theme. She had no windows in her room, but when the ship took off, she could feel it lurching directly upwards into the sky. It was a large difference from the cautious, graceful movements of the sky ferries and yachts she was accustomed to.

This has to be Vacuo technology, she thought. It probably needs to do this just to get off the ground. She imagined the asymmetrical ship losing parts as it struggled to stay in the sky, and couldn't help but smile at the thought despite the implications.

The upwards momentum went on longer than she expected. Was it having difficulties? Were they even above sea level yet? Suddenly the violent movement faded away, and she felt herself pulled to the ship's floor instead. For a moment in between, she thought she wasn't pulled anywhere at all, as if she was weightless. The ship must have climbed enough and then sharply leveled out. Weiss wondered if the erratic flight was due to the ship's lackluster engineering or Dalmec's poor piloting, or some combination of both.

Oddly, the flight was perfectly smooth from then on.

Weiss had sat down on a metal cube roughly the appropriate dimensions for a chair, and was reclined against a wall near the back of the room. The area was cluttered and open, a dead end attached at a bend of the hallway it opened to. There was no door; she could look all the way down one of the lengths of the hall from her position. Racks overflowing with tools and belts were attached to the wall on her left, the right side only hosting a few small crates on the floor.

It was quiet and alone, giving Weiss space to think. She was going to Mistral because she didn't know what else to do; the team she met at Beacon Academy had been some of the only friends she had ever known. There was nothing left for her back home; there was Klein, but that relationship was different. Team RWBY offered her a way forward into her future, something she had found and could create on her own.

But it was still a move forced on her. She had been willing to try again with her father. Her plan had been to go home, orient herself after the Fall of Beacon, and work on her relationship with Jacquees for a while. Then she could finish her Huntress training at Atlas Academy, and maybe even get involved in Atlas' military and governance from there, as her sister Winter had.

She had realized very quickly that her father was still the same; cold, selfish, Machiavellian. Weiss was also in the same place she was before: in the way. He didn't hit her anymore; she was too old for that. He just slapped her instead. It was almost insulting.

When he disinherited her…it had been a lot to take in. She had felt crushed. Her name and the legacy of the Schnee Dust Company – the legacy of the grandfather that she romanticized in her head – was what she took pride in when she was growing up. Her father was a very different man, as was the company he ran. Maybe her grandfather was too. She had never wanted to consider that possibility, but now she could. She no longer had a legacy to protect from prying thoughts.

Weiss wanted to redeem the Schnee name, as a way of showing that she could make her own way in the world. But she knew that redeeming her name was more a power fantasy than an end goal; a way to get back at her father and Atlas and everyone that horrid charity ball represented. Really, she just wanted to live her own life, outside of and away from her father's long shadow. Conquering the Schnee name could do that. But it wasn't the only way, and maybe not the best. Running and starting anew could be better than confrontation and war. In any case, it seemed easier. So here she was.

The flight had been motionless for hours now. Normally she would think the ship was sitting on the ground, but she could hear the engine roaring behind her. It was time to find out what was going on.

The ship's cockpit was just down the corridor, in the opposite direction of the hall she could look down. She made a sharp right turn onto it, moving briskly and with purpose. The passageway was rounded like a furnished tube. The floor was composed of flat, black slabs along its length, which Weiss studied as she walked. They were shiny but didn't make any metallic chirps as she stepped. She concluded they were some sort of industrial plastic.

She didn't look up until she was almost at the open doorway she had set out for. The small cockpit within only had a single, centered chair. Control boards were clustered in a blocky semi-circle in front of it, at a level slightly below her waist that would be a comfortable height for whoever sat to use them. Above that point, the entire upper half of the cockpit was a clear window, split into sections by four thick braces that started equidistant at the front and merged into one by the time they reached the back. The cockpit itself expanded from the tip; there was room for several people to stand behind the pilot's chair.

Weiss strolled in unannounced, coming to an abrupt halt as she looked out of the windows.

The outside looked like a pitch-black screen liberally sprinkled with small dots of light, the monotone pattern occasionally interrupted by a smattering of layered colors.

Was this…no…no, it couldn't be!

"Where are we?!" she blurted out.

The tall chair swiveled around, revealing Dalmec. He formed an amused smile when he saw her.

"I told you," he said.

Weiss told a step back, visibly in shock.

"Space is beautiful, isn't it? You could stare and get lost in it. Easy to get lost the real way, too."

Weiss stood still for a few seconds, taking it all in. Then she pulled Myrtenaster from its clip on her waistline, her body adopting a combat stance in a moment as she did so.

"Take me back!" she shouted.

Dalmec drew his weapon casually. "I'm not turning around."

Weiss tried to raise her aura. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Odd, but she didn't think about it. She raised her free hand to summon a glyph above her. She couldn't feel it. Still staring at Dalmec, she tried again. She snapped her head ninety degrees, staring at the empty space. She tried again, clenching her fingers at the air. Nothing.

She looked forward again. Dalmec was bewildered at the scene.

Weiss spun around and ran, racing back down the corridor to her small abode. She turned and crouched down on the floor, pressing her back against the back wall and the side of the crate she was previously sitting on, as if it could hide her. Wrapping her arms around her legs and pulling them close to her chest, she tried to comprehend what she had just learned.

Everything was upside down. She had just thought she was so clever, so powerful, outsmarting and manipulating the entire world to her favor. And then, just like every other time in her life, it turned out she was the loser.

She shook her emotions away and tried to think, to rationalize her way out of the problem, the only thing she knew to do. It was quickly clear that thinking about being in space was too much, too overwhelming. No, no, there was another possibility – she was being kidnapped, no doubt by her father, and what she saw was a ruse. No, that was a worse possibility! Nevermind. She decided to start smaller – her aura and semblance. Why didn't they work? She guessed she might have to been too panicked to use them, like how great fear could leave one unable to scream. She took deep breaths, calming herself and clearing her mind until her tense body relaxed. Then she tried to raise her aura. She couldn't.

Ok. I just need to be calmer.

She kept trying, stopping to relax more after each failed attempt. Eventually she was able to get up and sit down on the cube, holding her hands on her kneecaps as she let the aftereffects of the adrenaline wear off. She determined to wait for a few minutes this time, fully coming to grasp with her situation and settling down before she tried to raise it again. Fortunately, Dalmec stayed away, presumably busy with piloting. In space.

After the initial shock, the idea of being in space wasn't so hard to accept. She didn't know how it was possible, but she could fathom the concept. After visiting and revisiting the idea for a few minutes, she went back to working on her aura.

It took a solid half hour of trying, but eventually Weiss was able to summon her aura by concentrating deeply and focusing on it. But it was far, far weaker than usual. In addition, she had to focus constantly, envisioning it covering every part of her body to project it. It was no longer passive; if her thoughts were interrupted, it vanished.

Alright. I'll figure this out.

Weiss sat up straight, raising her left arm into the air and stiffening it. She focused on summoning a glyph where it was pointed. She always knew when she summoned one and where it was; she could feel it. Now, she could feel something. But there was no glyph.

She closed her eyes and tried again, this time directing her entire consciousness to the thought of her task. Her thumb and fingers were spread out in the air as if she was holding something broad and cumbersome; she swayed them slightly, like she was directing some force in front of them.

She felt the glyph start to form, but only just barely. It felt like she had gathered some material into the right place in one dimension but couldn't get it to manifest in another. It was almost as if she wasn't strong enough to pull the energy she felt into reality, into the contours and patterns of the glyph.

She pushed herself to the back on the cube and reclined into the room's corner, finally deciding that her abilities just didn't work in space.

Space…

She took a deep breath, her mind returning to that subject. Was she actually in space, heading to some distant world? Fear had worn itself out, now she could let the awe overtake her. What if? The grown-up voice that protested was acknowledged and dismissed.

What if I could start over, far away from everything? In a brand-new world?

She felt a tinge of excitement at this idea, followed by a rarer emotion. She recognized it at once. The last time she felt it was when she had arranged to go to Beacon instead of Atlas Academy, far away from her father and the SDC.

It was hope.

Almost as if he was on a cue, Dalmec appeared in the doorway like an actor in step with her thoughts. He rested his arm against the frame, then leaned his body on it in a casual, somewhat weary pose.

"Look, I was thinking...I'll take you back if you want," he said in a rather downcast tone. "I tried to explain all this to you. But I'm keeping all the Dust."

Didn't Dust lose its useful properties and attributes in space? Stupid question; her thoughts jumping around, too much to take in. Weiss pushed it aside.

"Ok, ok." She pressed her fingers against her temples. "So, this is all real? We're in space right now."

"Yeah..." Dalmec scratched his neck. "I probably...messed up pretty badly. Look, actually, can you please come with me? I know you've never left your planet before but, it's, you know, you can see space and everything outside."

"Why do you want me to?"

"I really need the dust. I know I'm stupid and I feel bad so I..." He was clearly conflicted. "I'll still take you back, but it would really help me if I didn't."

Weiss was still somewhat dumbstruck. Dalmec seemed legitimate, and SDC goons hadn't appeared to restrain her in any case. And this did explain the atrocious accent. "I'll stay," she announced, almost surprising herself. What could she lose? If this was all a scheme, then playing along either way wouldn't help.

"Alright...alright." Dalmec pushed himself off the doorframe. "You'll...you'll see stuff." He left quickly.

What was happening?

The fear came back, the dread of being surprised and in over her head. But, if this was real, how could she say no?

Weiss spent the rest of the day in the ship's cockpit, having Dalmec explain to her how the galaxy worked. She had changed into Snowpea, reasoning that the thick, double-breasted jacket was a better choice than her previous attire. She absorbed the tales of trade and politics on a galactic scale, of governments that encompassed thousands of planets and trillions of individuals. It came like a flood of factoids, each more extraordinary than the last, as Dalmec disorderly veered from one topic to the next. He was clearly not a teacher on the side.

Much of it seemed to pass through her head, registering in her mind but eliciting no response, no comprehension. It would take a while for that to come. She was forcing herself to do the rational thing, to learn as much as she could about the world she was about to enter, but she was in little position to take it all in. There were too many emotions going around in her head. Anxiety, excitement, doubt, empowerment, concern, hope – they all jostled around, competing with the raw energy the last traces of adrenaline still offered.

She had learned very little by the time she was tired. She retired to her cubicle; she would sleep sitting on the floor.

The possibilities were enormous. This was everything she wanted.

But what about Remnant?

Yes, what about it?

Should she abandon her friends? But she already had, in a way, by going back to Atlas. She didn't want to leave them to fight for Mistral by themselves, but she had never wanted to be a hero. Remnant was falling apart. The Grimm had not been strong enough to take down a Kingdom's capital and a Huntsman Academy since…she didn't know if that had ever happened before, actually. Beacon's fall had shocked everyone, and broken the lines of communication that held civilization together.

She was getting away from a doomed planet.

But they're my friends.

But hadn't she only known her 'friends' for a few months? They had quickly formed the unique bond that only standing together in combat can forge, but Weiss wondered if she was idealizing them. Before she went to Beacon, her only socialization had been her family and the curated student lists of Atlas' most elite schools. Both groups only provided guarded, semi-professional relationships. Getting close to her teammates at Beacon was a new experience for her. They were authentic, simple, honest. They were more than friendships. They represented success; they proved that Weiss was able to get along in the world by herself.

And she knew all of that clouded her judgment, applying a colorful tint to how she viewed them that might not be there otherwise. Perhaps they were just a stage it was time to move past, nothing more than an awkward but validating first date with life. Perhaps Remnant itself was, too.

What if she had gone to Mistral, just to see another city burn? What if she saw the close friends she had always wanted die? What if she died, throwing her life away in a pointless fight that would do nothing but give Jacquees a final piece of propaganda?

She clenched her teeth at the thought of her father, turning her mind to her life before Beacon.

Jacquees would hit Winter. Jacquees would hit Weiss. Winter would hit Weiss, too, taking out her frustration on her little sister. Weiss didn't have an enjoyable childhood.

The physical abuse didn't really bother her; it was a fact of life she got used to. What hurt her was that she was unwanted, and she knew it. Jacquees liked Winter. It wasn't reciprocated, of course, but he did. Winter was pragmatic, ambitious, and political. She floated through the treacherous, power-hungry worlds of business and statecraft as easily as he did. It wasn't enough to spare her from his abuse, rather he interpreted how she turned out as a validation of it.

Weiss pushed aside her contradictory feelings towards her sister. Father never respected her. Winter could be a huntress and still be successful in other ways, Weiss apparently couldn't succeed in any of them. And so, in the family dynamic, Weiss was just…there. Not successful, and therefore not a favored daughter. Not a loved one. Just…there.

All the scars were still so fresh. They hurt.

She held her face in her hands, tightening them like claws and scratching her forehead.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to go forward. But she knew there was no point in going back.