Droplets of water trickled down Silva's face, collecting on her chin and then falling to the sink underneath, each with a faint tap that echoed through the large washroom. Two golden eyes were staring at themselves in the slightly worn-down mirror. The haircut which the Amber House had spent so long shaping into the cutting edge of modern fashion was long gone, and wet hairs had fallen onto her forehead and eyebrows. The makeup had washed away with the handfuls of water smashed against her face.

Now, instead of an upper-class woman, she looked like a Dust cigarette addict in clothes way too good for her appearance. And race, of course. But that was a given.

Failed again, yesterday. All that her mistress asked for was to get a few people killed, horrify Vale, get them thirsty for war. She didn't listen. She went after that damn prince. That damn, naive, two-faced prince. He and his stupidity just couldn't leave her mind, and his words kept repeating themselves - even the disgusting food he described.

She couldn't get him, either. She may as well have not been there.

No, wait, that wasn't correct. If she weren't there, she would have been replaced by someone else. Someone who would have done better in her place.

"You damn snake. Pull the cart harder. Why did they even buy you? And don't touch those damn drills. You're just going to break them, like everything else."

Yes, just like that. She didn't even need to think; her memories made her mutter to herself without any of her input.

"Why can't you just do what you're told? None of the other children in this mine have ever shown as much defiance as you. You're useless, you're a waste of resources, of food and air..."

Her eyes shifted away from the mirror, her expression pained, and her voice starting to shake.

"If you can't even work in a damn mine, if all you are is just a pathetic, useless, incompetent, clumsy dumbass who's so beneath everyone else that it's not even comparable... how could you possibly be of any use in a fight for Faunus liberation? You... you damn snake! Beast! Lizard! You... you..."

I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

That was probably what she was going to have to say. She'll be yelled at, and then profusely apologise. It wasn't going to soothe the ache in her soul, but... maybe it won't get her thrown out of the Amber Castle, even if, at some level, she believed that she deserved it. Silva wiped against her face with her sleeve, then stepped back from the mirror. She still appeared like a mess, but maybe a bit more of a controlled one.

So, she left the washroom, her mind going through one scenario of her conversation with Miss Glaesa after another. How could she best make her presence known to her mistress, in a way that doesn't immediately shed light on her failure? How does she explain her returning from the train attack empty-handed? Should... should I just lie? Tell Miss Glaesa that she was stopped by the prince and his friends, and barely escaped with her life? That would make sense, Miss Glaesa shouldn't know what went down on the train - and it's not like either of them were expecting Firre to be there.

The Amber Castle was busy, as always. It was still fairly early in the morning, but the doors of the cultural centre were already open and the first activities - such as a city choir practicing for their performance next week - were already taking place. The employees throughout the building - none of whom had been clued into what their boss had been working on behind the scenes - informed Silva that Miss Glaesa was in her office. However, she also had told everyone that she should not be bothered until she leaves.

That was discouraging. But perhaps she can wait by the door? Or maybe I can just disappear into the visitors and hope that Mistress is not in such terrible mood that she goes looking for me... No, let's not. I... should I really run away from my responsibility? Maybe I can rip off the band-aid early instead of waiting for her anger to explode... By now, Silva was anticipating Miss Glaesa to leave her office with the most furious look and scream at the Faunus for her complete and total failure.

The door to Jurata's office was indeed closed - and when Silva tried pulling the doorknob, she immediately realised that the door was locked. Yet, there was someone speaking on the other side - two voices, in fact. Huh? That was unusual... and who was that other person, anyway? The voice was muffled, though feminine - she needed to get closer to the door to make out what she was saying. An odd feeling of curiosity overtook Silva. Carefully, to not raise attention to herself, she approached the door and placed her ear onto it.

Sadly, by then, the conversation was already over.

"...of course. I will make it certain that this... "power" falls into our hands by the end of the campaign. You need not worry. I'll craft a plan - and I'll contact this ally in Mantle, too. We'll coordinate."

Wait... A Mantlean? It wasn't entirely surprising that Jurata had allies on the other side of the sea - how else would she have been able to find and rescue Silva and the others? - but still, she had never heard of someone helping with their plan of Faunus rights revolution over there.

The familiar sound of Jurata's high heels approaching followed.

"Eep!" Silva yelped and jumped back, then forced herself into a straight, disciplined stance. The door was unlocked and then immediately swung open - Jurata marched out, not even offering a glance to the Faunus girl in front of her. She had places to be, and she had reason to celebrate - already, she was giggling to herself and a proud smirk wouldn't leave her face.

Silva was familiar with that look. Whenever something in their long string of plans and operations went really well, better than she had even planned - and Jurata always planned for the best outcome she could imagine - that expression would be plastered on her face.

If she's happy, then...

"Miss Glaesa, I-About the fight on the train-" Silva tried to call out to her mistress, approaching her from behind, but Jurata did not seem to pay any attention. She simply walked away, and once the scaled girl realised that trying to speak to her was pointless and stopped in her tracks, the distance between them grew wider and wider. At the last moment, Silva was sure that she saw Jurata glance over her shoulder and offer her a glance, but... she might have just been seeing things.

That's... weird. Was there something so joyful to celebrate after their mission? What she had heard right before Jurata left certainly hinted that this was related... but they failed, hadn't they? There weren't any casualties on the train.

Wait, who was she talking to, again?

Silva peeked into her mistress' tidy and spacious office, tall bookshelves adorned with amber stretching all the way to the ceiling on each side. There was... nobody here, aside for an empty table in the middle of the room. And she was certain that she only heard Jurata depart from the room...

Standing before a sink and a mirror, Firre pulled off the lid of a small container, gently picked up a lens suspended in solution and raised it to his eye. When his father first ordered him to start putting on contacts years ago, the child prince struggled, complained, yelled, and protested, but, by now, it has pretty much become second nature to him. A second, and the lens was on his right eye. The same process went for the left.

There, they are back to the sharp blue that the world was familiar with. Why did they need to see his eyes in blue? Firre didn't really know. Sometimes, his father was... cryptic like that, but he insisted. After washing his hands again, the prince closed the lids and put the container away. Hopefully, it was going to be another productive day.

Some time had passed since the incident with the train - a few days, in fact. The thoughts of the entire kingdom were consumed by the news of the supposed Mantlean attack on the Vale-Mountain Glenn train line, and so were his. Official kingdom broadcasts confirmed the deaths of several employees that the Amber House had reported a mere two hours after the incident. The people were in a frenzy. A protest was held in the heart of Vale last evening, demanding King Ozymandias to make a strong response. The usual slogans followed - flags, posters and clothes of various colours were mandatory for the attendees as well, to display their commitment to Vale's freedom of expression and individuality, as opposed to Mantle and Mistral's abolition of the arts.

But how could this have been a Mantlean attack? I haven't seen strong proof that it was them who conducted the act. Most of the people who said that were repeating the messages that came prior - and the rabbit hole of citations ultimately went down to the initial messenger, the Amber House report. Did they have any proof? Firre didn't know. What he did know was that the one likely candidate for a member of this terrorist operation, Silva, was certainly not a Mantlean agent.

Then who else? And if this was some other conspiracy, unrelated to the tensions between us and Mantle, why does everyone on the news say that this was Mantle regardless? And how did the Amber House-

...

He was still in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection, and lost in thought. Realising this, Firre made a step back and shook his head.

"This is a mess..." he muttered under his breath and rubbed his temple. Was it really necessary to get himself involved in... wherever this overarching conspiracy was leading towards?

"...Yeah."

I'm the only one who can figure this out. Nobody else is aware of as much about this incident as I am, and... I have a duty to go through with this until the end. Moral law.

He's spent enough time in this washroom worrying about this, anyway. Firre turned away and left through the door, once again stepping into the corridors of the Vale Royal Palace - which were almost entirely empty. It was still early in the morning, after all. Maids and cleaners were busy as always, but they had time before the first expected dignitaries arrive. So, he figured that he should use this window of opportunity before it closes.

During this past few days, he was never able to catch him alone and explain what happened. Whenever he was not busy holding a meeting or speaking to someone, he seemed to be away from the palace for entire days. The early mornings were perhaps the only time in the day when Firre could reliably find him alone.

The prince scaled up the highest of the palace's towers, which doubled as an observation post for the public. Here, watching the rolling Forever Fall forest that stretched to the horizon, King Ozymandias stood, resting his hands on his cane. A small cup was placed besides him, its top releasing faint puffs of steam that were enriched with a scent of freshly grinded coffee. After he stepped off the stairwell, Firre waited on the other side of the tower platform for a few seconds, before announcing his presence:

"Father."

Ozymandias didn't seem to respond at first. So, Firre stepped forward, making his way towards his father - at which point, after giving the likely conversation some thought, the king finally began:

"General Serapion told me that you helped Rangers on the train to Mountain Glenn ward off that... Mantlean attack. None of you four got harmed, I hope?"

Firre stopped next to Ozymandias, eyes staring off into the horizon past the tower much like him, and settling to a dissatisfied look. "...Yeah. If it was a Mantlean attack. And all of us are fine, yeah."

The king turned his eyes to his son for a second, then glanced back. His hands faintly tapped on the hand rest of his cane. "So, you doubt it was Mantle?"

"I... have reason to suspect that someone might be framing them. It's all just rumours and speculation, and when I met a person who... was probably a part of the attackers, on that train, I didn't find any reason to believe that sh- they were involved with Mantle."

After a brief pause, Ozymandias let out a defeated sigh.

"I see. Even if what you suspect is correct, it is a burden of knowledge that only a few of us will ever get to bear. At this point, it doesn't matter whether or not the proof is flimsy - the nation that was framed for this attack was never seen as good hearted or worthy of a second thought, but rather it was seen as evil to the core. The events that day simply tell the average person what they knew all along."

The need for war...

Firre's eyes settled upon specific trees just outside of the palace, all while his mind got lost in his memories. Nothing too distant. Reza's worries echoed in his mind. And so did Yche's declaration. That they should go to war.

When a war seems so near, where should he stand? Asking that question felt as if trying to tear his heart in twain. Mantle's oppression, their slavery - he would tear it down with his own, bare hands, if he could. Yet... a war, an industrial war, perhaps - could he really accept the inevitable loss of so many lives that it would result in?

"Father, do you... think we can still avoid a war?"

Ozymandias' fingers tapped on the cane impatiently, and a slightly sourer expression formed on his face. "Don't... worry about it."

"No, I think I will."

This blunt response got the king's attention. He shifted his foot to turn to Firre - yet again, he could see that fire in his eyes that made it clear he was determined on something. Staring back at his father, he continued:

"If that happens, my friends are going to go to the front lines. They-We're not coming out unscathed. And... what worries me even more is that I am growing increasingly certain that there's more than just us, Mantle and Mistral in the game. There's... someone else. A conspiracy. That's... trying to push us to war, without us even being aware of their existence."

What is he even saying? Ozymandias did not reply, but Firre's pondering caught his attention. For a second, his eyes turned to the distance, eyes focused on the horizon again. Her? She'd certainly love that. But was there any thread that really led to her? From the prince's perspective, on the other hand, it seemed as if his father was just being a brick wall - perhaps listening to what he wanted to say, or rather rant at his face, but offering no answer, as if waiting for a petulant child to calm down so he could move on with his life.

So, he decided to call it quits.

"I'm going to the House of Trade today," he dropped as he walked away.

"-Wait, what?"

Finally, a response. Firre turned around, now on the other side of the tower's platform, and exclaimed over the distance:

"We figured out that slave hunters are using weapons they bought from shady dealers in Mountain Glenn. It could have been stolen from them, but I doubt it. I'll confront them about this connection."

"Do not provoke them. The House is more powerful than you think."

"I'm not going to shoot unless they shoot me first!"

That was the end of the conversation. Firre descended down the stairwell, to Ozymandias' dismay and defeated sigh. The king turned back to the landscape outside of the castle. I have a feeling that I should doubt that...

A chilly wind rushed past, getting him to clench onto his cane more tightly. At least... I'm fairly certain he won't be able to bring his friends today. Perhaps that will make him act more pragmatic.

The powerful, ringing call of the bell informed the last year students of Lantern Academy that their final moments of preparation were over and they should begin heading towards one of the auxiliary buildings some distance away from the main facilities in the centre of campus. Reza closed her book with a loud tap, while Yche threw Ashen's body over her shoulder - the black-haired girl, having already written off her chances of passing the exam, gave up and was pretending to be passed out.

"Please... tell them I can't do it today... I'm sick..." she was mumbling, barely audibly, which got both of her friends to chuckle.

"Oh, come on, you're gonna do fine," Yche answered her. "Besides, apparently, only half of the test is going to be a written exam - so, even if you absolutely, completely screw up, maybe you can make up for it in the second half?"

Ashen, however, wasn't moved by the encouragement. "We don't even know what's in the super secret second half..."

"It's probably going to be some sort of combat test. I doubt this exam is all theory," Reza, walking behind Yche, answered - Ashen's face was turned to her, while her legs were hanging on the woman's front. "And they did ask us to bring our weapons." Reza's eyes were settled entirely on Ashen. Every once in a while, what she and Firre had spoken about in Mountain Glenn still popped up in her mind. Their study regimen meant that she could never find the right moment to confront her friend about her past, but it had never left her memory, either.

After the exam, perhaps? Though, if we all pass, we'll probably crash to a bar to celebrate, so it won't be the right situation for that... Damn it.

As they approached closer to the designated examination site, more and more students would pass along - some travelling alone, some in groups; many visibly concerned, others seemingly unaffected by the tension, and some others passing the last study tips between one another on the numerous benches or underneath the shade of trees. About a dozen were already gathered in front of the doors of what looked like a chapel of white and black wood and-

"Ahoy!" a man's voice called out to the trio from the side.

"Eh?" Yche yelped, stopping in her tracks and getting Reza to step back in surprise herself. Two students were approaching them - one, a shorter one, was waving, and as soon as they turned to him, both Reza and Yche let out a disappointed sigh. Of course, they were familiar with him. Considine Fisher - a young man of medium height, with dark hair and a faint stubble on his chin, always seen wearing a straw hat that he'd often play with in his hand whenever he spoke, and known to all as the class's troublemaker. Martel Arc - another familiar face, the same one who had sparred with Firre a week ago - was beside him.

Taller in height, but far less confident in approaching someone - so, he trailed behind Considine with his eyes glancing off to the ground, as he usually did. His friend took off his straw hat, waving it, and began:

"Been a while since I last talked to you beautiful ladies. Are you- Uh, what's up with her?"

Yche briefly turned her eyes at the bottom and legs hanging off her shoulder - that's where Considine's eyes were staring, too. "Ashen's... passed out. Don't worry about her."

That got him to flash a smug smirk. "Well, she's giving me a great view."

Ashen raised her head, her eyes meeting with Reza's. "Is that Cons?"

"Yeah."

Immediately, the black-haired girl flailed, pulled herself off Yche's shoulder and then instantly crashed to the ground - however, she rose to her feet as if nothing happened and then threw Considine a dissatisfied question:

"What do you want?"

Considine wasn't dissuaded by her tone, however - he placed his hat back on his head and answered:

"Oh, just checking in on my friends on the last day before... some of us become Rangers at last. Maybe even offer a beer together after we're done here? I know a few good places."

Ashen placed her hands on her hips and then looked at Yche - who glanced back at her.

"Nah, we already have some plans," the black-haired woman then replied. They didn't, really, but Considine didn't need to know that. "Oh, we can take Martel with us, though!"

"Wait, what?!" Martel immediately called out, reacting in shock after having mostly ignored the conversation - which got both Ashen and Yche to laugh out loud. Even Reza let out an amused snort at the blond's surprise.

Considine, meanwhile, flashed a faint scowl. Still, he tried to not take it to heart. He'll have his chance. "Well, if you want. No need to be so insular, though, ya know. People are gonna start suspecting things..."

"Uh, actually, I was going to ask..." Martel briefly raised his hand on instinct, as if asking a question to a teacher, but immediately lowered it. "You all... don't know what the second part of the exam is going to be either, right...?"

"Nah, it's a secret, apparently," Reza answered. Immediately, Martel let out a relieved sigh.

"Oh, thank gods. I thought I missed that info..."

"Honestly? I'm in the same boat," Ashen said, then, with an uneasy giggle, scratched the back of her head. "Aaand, ya know, I'm not ready for the first part of the exam at all, so I really need to hope that-"

Suddenly, the attention of the gathering students was drawn to the large double door of the "chapel". With a loud, powerful creak, they began to open and then were wildly swung open by someone inside. A woman's chirpy voice called out:

"All right, everyone! Study notes, books and weapons to the compartments on the left, then to your tables!"

Professor Poucet placed her hands on her hips and smiled, watching the downcast students march into the wide wooden hall past her in droves. Though - or perhaps because? - each of them was at least two decades younger than her, they towered over her - at a mere four foot eleven inches, the white-haired tutor was outright diminutive. When the eyes were not drawn to her because of her height, they usually were because of her boots - her dress was a standard Ranger uniform aside for them, they were thick, of padded leather, and all the way to her knees.

Martel, walking next to the crew, but specifically Ashen, whispered to her as they entered the hall and took to different sides:

"Good luck on the second part."

"Thanks, you too," Ashen answered a brief surprised pause and flashed a smile. Five lines of tables, each one assigned with a seat and a name card, were lined up across the wide hall - all the way up to a podium on the other side, presumably intended for lectures. That's where Professor Poucet was heading, whereas the students were slowly finding their tables and taking their seats.

"In front of you all should be the test papers and the blank paper for any drafts you might need," Poucet announced right as she stopped in front of the podium, her hands behind her back. Fifty weary, worried, concerned faces were now staring back at her. "Keep up your spirits, everybody. You're almost there. Just get through today, and you will finally have that Ranger badge and uniform in your palms." She bopped the floor with the tip of her boot. "You should also have a pen in front of you. It uses a specific Dust mixture as its ink, so it is uneraseable and it becomes imbued with your Aura - so, we will know exactly which person wrote which line of text. Soo, don't cheat."

"Um, doesn't this mean that our pens can explode?" one of the students asked with a crack in his voice and a raised hand - which got the professor to smile in amusement.

"Only if you bite into it."

Yche, who was mindlessly chewing on the end of her pen while looking through the first few questions, immediately jolted and pulled it away from her teeth.

Professor Poucet raised her hand, and curtains were drawn over all the hall's windows. Then, she stomped her boot on the ground, dragged it through the floor, and announced:

"Begin!"

Alright, let's assess the damage... Ashen thought to herself, pulling up the exam papers. Simple A-B-C-D questions at the start for a warm-up, doable, doable... practical situations on national security, politics, and law... that's harder, that'll hurt... full Grimm silhouette identification test... easy... 1000 word long written essay describing the correct course of action in one of three described situations, with authors whose legal position you use cited...

Oh, oh no...

No, no...

...

An hour and a half passed like a snap.

Reza put down the finishing touches on the last sentence of her essay, briefly stopping to consider whether to use "exquisite" or "magnificent" before settling on the latter - then, she fixed the bundle of exam papers in her hands into a smooth rectangle. Her eyes briefly shifted to Ashen, who was hunched over and resting her head on her hand in solemn resignation while slowly scribbling something.

She expected to experience schadenfreude, joy that all her warnings to her friend about missing out on her studies were being proven right - yet, at this moment, she just couldn't be amused at her despair. It's not like she deserved this. She didn't skip study time for bad reasons.

...Well, I suppose I should hand over the answers now.

Reza raised her eyes - and only then did she notice that Professor Poucet was not in front of the podium anymore. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. That was odd - weren't the students supposed to be overseen during the exam? If they aren't, then doesn't this mean that nothing is stopping them from just... leaving? Surely, the door wasn't locked.

Wait, how much time did we have for this exam, again? she thought to herself. They were never told a specific timeframe, nor how their papers would be collected. For a top-notch officer academy that raised the best and brightest of the Vale Ranger Corps, this was surprisingly sloppy. Mantle would never allow something like this. Well, if there's no rules, I'll just do what I think works.

She rose from her seat with her exam papers in hand, getting a few of her fellow students to raise their eyes in confusion, then walked up to the podium and placed them down. Followed by confused and miffed glances, she approached the compartments next to the door, pulled up her bag by its straps, and pushed on the exit.

Thankfully, it wasn't locked - but what actually awaited her was another surprise.

"Uh, everyone...?"

The building where the exam was being held was no longer in the middle of Lantern Academy campus. Instead of clean, well-tended paths and gardens, they were surrounded by dense foliage - a forest in all directions, as far as the eye could see.

A few students, who followed Reza with her eyes, stared through the open door and even rose from their seats - thus, they were joined by more and more of their peers, until the entire class was now drawn away from their exams.

Still shocked, Reza mumbled out again:

"I... think something's off."

The screech of a Nevermore Grimm tore through the sky, immediately making the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Several sets of pure red eyes opened within the thick trees, camouflaged in the darkness.