Chapter One: Eyes in the Shadows
Cinder felt them slide across her body—sickening, slimy sensations trailing across shivering muscles, phantom tendrils groping at everything she tried to hide from the world. It went beyond just the physical, beyond some pathetic voyeur peeping at her body; it was a kaleidoscope of memories flashing like a film reel being yanked undone for the viewing pleasure of another. Random moments from years long past surface just as quickly as they are replaced with another. The feeling of a shocking collar, the monotonous mopping of tiles in a guests' bathroom, peeking through closet doors as bandits ransacked her parents room, and the night she had strangled her stepsisters with her bare hands—something malignant and perverted beyond her understanding was violating her mind just as easily as it exposed her body. Her dress, modest and high-class, felt transparent.
As she ran, the prickling hairs on her neck told her that something was behind her, yet she had given up on trying to see anything. Every look across her shoulder showed nothing but an empty hallway, dark as the outside sky. Ahead of her was the ticket out. A big door, gray to contrast the primarily white hallways, with the glowing holographic "EXIT" sign directly overhead, illuminating the giant number "15" plaque on its metal surface.
Hands brace the metal push bar and swing heavy steel wide. Before the door had even been pulled shut, hands were on steel bars. The stairwell was the usual emergency exit, a repeating pattern of steel bars and gray stone steps leading to the bottom floor. Cinder gripped the metal tight and, with smooth, athletic precision, vaulted over the rails. Her falling form threaded in between the repeating 15 rows before slamming herself on the ground a few seconds later. Someone without an Aura, an unawakened, would've died from the fall. She barely even paused before running to the door.
Her heart thundering with adrenaline, she gripped the handle…
Right there, on the door, is the number 15.
"Wha…" She whipped a quick 180. She had just landed on solid stone ground, the bottom level, not even a second ago, but now she was back where she jumped from. Flights of stairs descended downward, but now there was no termination, only an endless spiral; it's only destination madness. An unnatural vertigo churned her stomach.
A door several flights above her suddenly opened and shut, a loud metallic bang echoing into the infinite. Shoes, heavy and with confident steps, began the descent down, almost leisurely. Not bothering to think Cinder reached out for the handle anyway. Whatever was happening right now, questioning why was a luxury she did not currently have.
A nostalgic sound stopped her dead. Echoing from above was a whistle, a musical lullaby, one she knew all too well. She remembered her dad in one of her most treasured childhood memories. He'd had a deep, soothing voice, and little Cinder had begged him to sing her something on one hot, miserable night to help her sleep. He'd refused at first, being a shy, soft man despite his burly appearance, but, like most fathers, pleading eyes and a quivering voice had him wrapped around her little finger. His resistance was weak against his beloved daughter, and he started an awkward attempt at singing, eventually evolving into a whistling melody. Young Cinder drifted off into a wonderful sleep not long after he had created that little tune.
That whispering melody existed solely in her head, but now it echoed across infinite space in a voice higher than her dad's velvet baritone. This was the last straw. Wrathful flames burst forth from her silhouette. Metal bars glow red and white paint begins to break, running down the walls like sweat.
"You picked the wrong fight!" She shouted at the one above her, mocking her dad's memory.
The footsteps were suddenly to her side, not above. She swirled her head towards the sound. There was only time for two observations. For one, it was an obvious male figure, but the most important thing stole all other thoughts.
Inhuman eyes bore into her soul. Cracked like a broken mirror, those multifaceted eyes were the things in the dark observing her. Her own image was distorted in a dozen different ways, in one of a dozen broken facets. Low points of her past mixed with possible futures of failure and shame, abstract thoughts and fears rendered in all to real detail. In some she was naked while in others she wore the dress she had on right now. In some she was beaten and bloody, at the final moments of death, while in others she was alone and destitute, cursed to live on in perpetual ignominy.
A fist clad in leather bashes into her nose and mouth. Teeth loosened, nose cracked, and lips split. Her Aura seemed to have abandoned her, for it shielded nothing. Her back slammed into the heavy slab of reinforced metal, knocking air from her lungs speckled with bloody saliva. A foot rammed into her gut, busting the hinges off with inhuman strength and back into the 15th floor.
There were no walls, doors, or tables. There was no floor or light except whatever filtered in from the dimly lit stairwell on the other side of the now doorless opening, alive with fire.
Cinder fell for longer than when she'd jumped the railing. She was panicking, too many freakish things happening back to back to process what her next move should be. After all, this black hole she was falling down broke all the laws of reality. How does one process something impossible, how should one react when fundamental logic seems to break down?
She turned herself around midair. Within the abyss, there was only an open row of teeth, slobbering wider than the hotel was tall, eager for a tasty morsel.
As she fell, they snapped shut.
Headmaster Ozpin's office was a glorified timepiece in the shape of a tower, so tall that it sat equal with the clouds. Inside, it was large and circular, cobbled together with cogs and gears, giving a relaxing, at least to him, soundscape that allowed his mind to filter out all the superfluous things of modernity. There was something about the aesthetic of the old days that comforted him, even his desk reflected this state of mind—a special order piece that, despite having all the technological functions of the latest holographic desks, looked like a colossal antique of burnished wood. He spent more time in this room than in his own house.
A ding preceded the opening of the elevator doors. He looked up from the forms on his desk. Jaune sauntered in with all the grace of a tourist on vacation, with the getup to match. His shorts were cut at the knees, his shirt was a graphic T with some comic book characters on it, and a limited edition Pumpkin Pete button-up was left open over top of that. His flip-flops slapped against his soles with every step.
Pyrrha was much more refined and presentable, with an open jacket the same red as her hair, the length of her modest skirt, a casual shirt yet still pleasing to the eyes, and tights leading to casual shoes. That said, no matter what she wore, her vivid red hair was always the standout, though now it was in a simple, high-topped ponytail lacking the usual bronze accessories her image was known for.
Jaune plopped down onto one of two chairs with careless dramatics. "Sup, boss." His somewhat hairy legs were propped up on the arms of the other chair. Pyrrha was content to stand behind his chair. For whatever reason, she wasn't a fan of sitting down when in his office. Something about being too casual around her place of work and previous schooling.
Ozpin leaned back in his mechanical chair. "Afternoon to you as well. I take it you're enjoying your days off," he said warmly.
"You know it. The past few days have been the best nights of sleep in over a month."
"That's good to hear." His spectacled gaze moved to Pyrrha. "I'm sorry to be interrupting your alone time after so long apart, Miss Nikos. I promise this won't take long."
Pyrrha raised her hands. "Oh no, please don't think that, Headmaster! If anything, your calling us down here was the perfect excuse to try that new Haven restaurant down the street. So really, it's a win-win!"
She was always a people-pleaser. Her renown as a world-class hunter of grimm often belied her bottomless heart of gold. Ozpin had lived a long time, and even he could scarcely remember meeting a more nurturing individual. "Even so, I'll try to keep this brief for you: your next assignment is ready."
"Oh? So quick?
"Well, it's been in the works in the background for a while, before your last one, actually. A question for you: remember Mountain Glenn?"
Of course Jaune did; he and everyone else in the kingdom, if not the world, knew about it. Some called it hubris, while others cried pitiful naivety; either way, the result was a stain on Vale's history and, more than that, a warning to the rest of the world.
Mountain Glen was the first and last serious attempt by Vale to expand its borders, and it was such a disaster that it became the last government-sanctioned expansion in any kingdom over the last fifty-odd years.
It had started out admirably enough, but with a population boom after the Hundred-Year War and the subsequent global trade and migration, the possibility of land and food shortages went from a theoretical concern that future generations would solve to just a few decades away from an undeniable fact that risked collapsing the kingdom. Seeing the potential disaster at their doorstep, Vale's council, in collaboration with their closest ally, Vaccuo, poured billions of lien into the most ambitious expansion of a kingdom on record.
It would have been more merciful if things had been ruined at the beginning, before the first foundations had been laid and before the first rail tracks were set. Instead, the progress was great: buildings, roads, schools, power plants, sewage treatment facilities, a water dam—an entire metropolis' infrastructure had been built, and tens of thousands of people migrated in over the course of its twenty-two years.
Then the grimm happened. At first, it was nothing; in fact, up until its last month, not a single grimm fatality had occurred, but then one single breach changed everything. As it turned out, the leader of the Mountain Glenn project had been careless with the budget she had been given. During the years of her prosecution, it was discovered that she had cut several teams out of the early stages of planning and later on during construction. Why? To funnel money towards her sister, who'd already been named mayor before the site was complete.
Give them some credit; the money wasn't entirely for selfish ends. The two were quite the activists and squirreled away all the extra money they could for things like schools and healthcare for the future population. An admirable idea if nothing else, but one of the teams cut from the budget were the geologists. As it turned out, one of the force-field generators, unbelievably large mechanical constructions the size of five-story buildings and even heavier, had been placed on softer-than-thought soil. Over the years, it gradually sank into the dirt in increments so small that unless you were deliberately measuring the height year after year, no one would be able to catch it—merely fractions of an inch every two or so years. This particular generator, as luck would have it, had been placed dangerously close to a naturally occurring void underground.
Finally, one day, the insane weight caused the dirt to collapse into a sinkhole, and the barrier went down with it. The shimmering dispersion that signaled the disappearance of the forcefield could be seen city-wide. Panic spread almost instantly. Grimm followed the negative emotions and raided Mountain Glenn for the first time in its history. People died, more fear and panic spread, and more grimm came. Rinse and repeat for two weeks, and you have the death throes of an entire city.
The day before Mountain Glenn was officially abandoned, a rare horror slammed the nails into its coffin.
Strong grimm, ancient grimm, are a lot like addicts with deadened nervous systems. After being around for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, these monsters don't even notice the fear of one or two people anymore; in fact, it is theorized that these great grimm are almost permanently asleep, only waking up when an extreme, concentrated amount of negativity festers close enough and long enough to be knocked from their perpetual slumber.
An ancient Wyvern awakened, bringing a horde of thousands in its wake, seemingly out of nowhere. That day, for the first time since the Great War, mankind saw the terror of a truly ancient grimm.
The Wyvern mysteriously vanished just twenty hours after it was first sighted. The city was abandoned, tens of thousands of people were killed, several thousand more were left as refugees flooding back into Vale, and the sisters were jailed for their negligence. These are the memories Mountain Glenn has left the world, while also acting as a warning to anyone who tries to expand their territories. Almost sixty years had passed, but its scar ran deep to this day.
"Of course I remember; my final history project was Mountain Glenn, and...?" Jaune furrowed an eyebrow.
Ozpin reached for a drawer on his side of the desk and fished out a thick binder. "Well, in a joint operation between us and Atlas, it has been decided to launch a mission to try to restore it and continue human advancement beyond our kingdoms."
Jaune nodded. He was surprised, but not necessarily shocked. Great advancements had been made over the years with shield-generating technology as well as automated defenses, mainly from Atlas, and it was important to remember that the number one cause of Mountain Glenn's fall was human error, not technological. Had its leadership not been incompetent, it would still be running today.
"What, you want some extra muscle or something?"
"Actually, a bit more than that. You see, me and Ironwood have been going back and forth trying to find someone to head up this monumental operation," he smiled, "and we've come to the conclusion that you are probably the best fit for the job."
His jaw went slack.
"Of course you would be compensated for this; after all, this job will be unbelievably taxing on you, and its importance cannot be overstated, so your pay would reflect this. I'm thinking an extra 60k a year, paid out on your same monthly schedule, so about 21k a month."
"Y-you're joking, right? I don't… I mean… I'm pretty sure... w-why?" Jaune stuttered out. 252k a year, he hadn't been expecting that much of a pay increase. His wife's fingers grabbed onto his neck and shoulders and gently started kneading them—a little message to help calm him down. He so loved it when she spoiled him like this.
"C'mon, little knight," she whispered to his ear with warm breath. "I know you've got what it takes to do this. Oz thinks so as well.
Wait, she was being way too casual about this. Her face was practically blushing with excitement. "How long have you known?"
Her smile was wide. "Ozpin asked me his opinion just before we left for the last mission. I told him you absolutely have what it takes to do it and would just need a little pushing to understand that."
"And I agree with her," Ozpin continued. "You've headed up a few base building jobs before, and they've all gone extremely smoothly. You're a great huntsman and a great tactician, and you've got a lot of administrative experience, especially since working under Zephyrus. Honestly, I can't see anybody else that would fit that criteria, even if there are people who've been around longer. Between your leadership and Pyrrha's skills, I don't think there's anything the two of you can't accomplish together. Besides, you also have some experience with engineering, which is even more fortunate considering the nature of this task."
Meh, empty flattery, and that degree wasn't all that special anyway. All huntsmen-in-training at Beacon Academy are required to have a secondary field of study to pass and get a proper license. Those in other kingdoms often questioned why, but it was rather obvious if given just a little thought: it gave Huntsmen a plan B should they get injured or simply want to retire; after all, everyone has their limit, be it mental or physical. Jaune had picked civil engineering because he'd waited a bit too long and all the electives he wanted were at max capacity. Not to say he didn't end up enjoying it—quite the opposite, in fact—but it wasn't exactly something he'd specialized in, especially now a decade later.
Jaune took a few deep breaths and leaned into his chair. Pyrrha's hands moved upwards, threading through his hair briefly before beginning gentle massages of his temples. There was a particular quirk of Jaune's that she knew all too well. When in the middle of a stressful situation, Jaune was in his element, keeping complete control over himself and those around him. It was one of the reasons he was a natural-born leader. Before that, however, he often stressed himself out by thinking too much. What-ifs and plans for those, and even more plans for those plans, and so on. He often turned himself into a ball of anxiety before missions only to turn around and be the calmest one when in the thick of it.
Ozpin laid a binder on his desk. It was comparable to a phone book from back in the old days—black and stamped with red letters, bold and in your face. At the moment, it was less of a binder and more of a rectangular metal casing, as overlapping metal plates covering the text block sealed the front and back together, making it impossible to open. A grid of nine numbers toward the spine was the key to opening it
"Read this when you get the chance." The binder was slid across the desk to Jaune, and as he did so, Pyrrha held her breath for a second. "The finer details are in there."
TOP SECRET
AFSPO-HO
RESTRICTION CODE: 24-3(C)-Y5045
Pyrrha knew more than most about these types of things from being around Jaune so long, such as that string of letters meaning "Access for Specific Personal Only-Huntsman Operations". Meaning that, even in the world of classified secrets, people who had regular clearance authorization, even for things labeled "top secret", didn't have the authority to even touch that binder without being given explicit permission, let alone read it. She didn't understand the restriction code, however. No doubt, whatever it was referring to was above her paygrade by many, many leaps and bounds.
"You'll have discretion over the Class C Huntsman under you, so feel free to pick whoever you need and assign them to the project," Ozpin added, carefully observing Jaune's expression.
In Vale, huntsman licenses are segregated into three classes. The C-class was your stereotypical huntsman, private actors that often, but are not required to, sign specific contracts with Beacon Academy, and in return for getting a centralized body to handle mission loadouts, medical insurance, weapon insurance, transportation, and ammunition, Beacon took a little off the top of every individual job as compensation. This was what Pyrrha listed as. Class B huntsmen were directly employed by the academy itself and paid a steady wage, and as such, they could not take contracts without the approval of the headmaster. They were mainly focused on teaching the next generation.
By far the smallest in numbers, Class A huntsmen were employed but not by the academy and paid a wage, nor were they private actors taking commissions; they were employed by the government itself, salaried in fact, and took orders from Vale's ruling council directly. They were also known as Praetorians. In essence, they were government actors whose authority automatically usurped all others on any given mission. These huntsmen bothered less with grimm and more with people matters, government projects, or rogue huntsmen turned traitors, often acting as ambassadors to the other kingdoms; their jobs only sometimes concerned grimm. Their reputation was so well respected worldwide that even those in other kingdoms generally deferred to their judgment. Jaune himself was an example of one.
A small thought occurred to that prompted a slight smile. He already had the first two people in mind. He would love to bring his old team back together.
"However, there is one little caveat to this," Ozpin added. "There is a team of fourth-years that I would like you to assign to the project."
Jaune rested his chain on a lazy hand. "Oh? They your new pet project?" Pyrrha's fingers continued for a second longer before relenting her massage. He seemed a bit better now.
Ozpin's face was unfazed by the comment. "I simply think they are worthwhile additions to the team. I advise you not to take them too lightly for being young; they know more than you think."
Jaune called his bluff. "Really, how much do they know?"
"More than most."
Jaune chuckled at that non-answer. "That's a nice way of saying 'nothing.' Why the hell would you saddle me with teens for a job like this?"
Ozpin rested his chin on his knuckles. "Jaune, do you really think I would send them if I thought, even for a second, there was a chance of them being a burden on the mission?"
Crap, he had him there. Jaune groaned. "Fine," he said, raising a finger, "but if they cause problems, I'm sending them back, kicking and screaming if I have to."
"That's not going to be an issue," Ozpin said, reaching over the desk. Jaune rolled his eyes but still met his hand with a firm shake.
"Sure, boss, whatever you say." He stood. "I'll get with you Monday." Jaune walked away, a binder tucked under his arm, his noisy shoes flopping away. Pyrrha said goodbye before following his trail.
"Oh, and one more thing." Ozpin stood up, really more for dramatics than anything else. The couple stopped in their tracks and turned to him. "I saved the best for last: it's a bit early, but I've already talked to Zephyrus about it and confirmed it with Boreas and Notos. It's been agreed upon that, as soon as this mission is completed, Zephyrus will begin his retirement. Congratulations on your promotion, Councilman Jaune." Ozpin sat back down, pleased with himself.
His jaw slacked. Pyrrha was a lighthouse of emotion, tackling her husband with a dozen gleeful kisses on his face. Jaune seemed obvious to them, almost in shock. It was quite hilarious. Zombie-like, Jaune was pulled into the elevator by his significant other, her smile radiant. As the doors shut, Jaune's eyes were dazing off into space. Ozpin closed his desk drawer with confidence and sat back down. That had gone even better than he'd hoped.
With all that done, he could get back to his paperwork.
Her hair was wet, turning a normal bright red into an almost wine color. She enjoyed the freshness of cool AC on her hot skin, still a tad damp. Her pajamas are a matching set of solid fall colors, loose and airy on her body, with long sleeves rolled up to the edges of her elbows. There was something terribly relaxing about the transition from an environment filled with hot and humid steam to something cold and relatively dry; even the wood paneling under her bare feet felt nice. It was hard to fully articulate.
The hallway Pyrrha walked down was dimly lit; in a couple hours, the night would completely swallow the single ceiling light they had. If he was going to be up any longer, she was considering upping the brightness via the hallway slider.
She stops at a door, the third farthest away from the flight of stairs, the one closest to their master bedroom. This was Jaune's personal study. The house they bought had four rooms: one master, one guest, and two personal studios, one for each of them. At first, Pyrrha had been unsure of buying a house with that many rooms, but over the couple of years they'd owned it, she had recognized the convenience of having their own little space for personal hobbies. It was a little thing, definitely not necessary for a healthy relationship, but it was certainly nice to have.
Pyrrha knocks on the door leading to Jaune's office. It's already open, just not wide; a couple soft knocks were enough to open it just enough to step through.
Jaune's studio is a mix of several different flavors of nerd paradise. On one wall, bookshelves were filled with everything from comics to novels to porn magazines, including many hardbacks and collector's editions, and on the opposite wall, you had books on politics, economy, history, engineering, and the like. Every single one of them had been read at least once; she knew this for a fact because Jaune's personal rule was that no book went on his shelf until it was finished for the first time. If something wasn't worth finishing, it wasn't worth taking up space in his prized collection.
There's a couch, a love seat, and a couple chairs; it was almost like a mini living room, really, but with no TV. The main attraction was definitely at the opposite end of the door. A big corner desk made of thick, polished wood, built into the wall itself. A personal construction project they had done together. At the longer of the two ends were small bookshelves, about 3 feet long and double that in height. These shelves were not for books of any kind; instead, they had figurines and dioramas, all of them assembled and painted by Jaune. Some were static characters or monsters, scenes depicting demons and angels or the like, made of plastic, resin, or wood, while others were mechanical constructs that could move, make sound, and be programmed, composed of surprisingly complex mechanical components.
A few steps in, Pyrrha noticed a brown and white puff ball laid flat on the love seat. Buck was a fluffy Rough Collie dog with a narrow face, a slender snout, large but stiff ears, and just the cutest overbite ever, though with his tongue flopped out, you couldn't tell. Her knock must have triggered something because the dog started paddling its front paws like it was swimming in his dream. Pyrrha stalled for a few seconds as she watched the short, adorable show. Even if she wanted to, the smile could not be suppressed by the sheer cuteness. If she had a scroll on her right now, she'd be taking a video of it.
As Pyrrha got closer to her husband, she saw the top-secret binder sitting on the shorter, corner end of the desk, more towards the edge. If it had been opened at any point in the last few hours, it was now sealed back up again, so it was impossible to tell.
Just glancing at the binder made her nervous, but there was also this spark of pride. Ozpin trusted both Jaune and Pyrrha so much that he made no mention of their secrecy. He knew Pyrrha enough to know that she would never prod her husband for a look or try to sneak a glance for herself, and he knew Jaune well enough to know that, even if Pyrrha was that selfish, he would never allow it. It was a tiny thing, but the implicit trust shown did mean a lot to her.
Jaune was hunched over his desk, head buried in his arms, no doubt exhausted. A dozen sheets of paper were scattered across the main portion of the desk. It took just a glance at them from behind his chair for her to understand. Some only had single paragraphs written with single lines through them, while other pages had been completely filled out before being crossed out. There were a couple scribbled diagrams mixed with a bunch of annotated maps of the old Mountain Glenn that Jaune had printed out. He had pretty much locked himself away in here ever since they got back from dining at the restaurant, and that had been over six hours ago.
"Hey, beautiful!" Pyrrha gently grabbed his shoulders. "Awake?"
His whole body did a quick jerk at the contact, his combat instincts telling him to be ready for danger whenever startled. He relaxes when he realizes he is still in his studio. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at his wife with a red face imprinted with the creases of his sleeves. It was kind of cute, in a dorky, endearing type of way. "Oh hey, what time is it?" he asked in a raspy voice, heavy with grogginess.
"Almost 8." She gently parted his wild blond hair from his face. "If you're gonna sleep, don't do it here; come to bed."
"Sorry, didn't really intend that." Jaune leaned back in his plush leather chair. "Don't worry about me; I'm sure I'll be in there sometime tonight." He turned back to his papers and went to grab his pen.
She could hear the popping of his joints from behind him. She was putting a stop to this. Pyrrha pulled his chair out from the desk and turned him around to face her. She sat her weight down on his lap, one arm looping around his neck. "You've been putting that big brain of yours to work, I see."
Jaune laughed with an annoyed huff. "Not really; I'm just running ideas through my head to see if I can even come up with something useful." His blue eyes peeked upward at her emerald ones. "Nothing worth talking about yet."
Pyrrha's hand glided down, smoothly rubbing a flat palm over his shoulder first, then his collarbone, before resting on his chest. "Come on, we all know you can do this. You're the only downer here."
Jaune gave her an odd look. "Wait, 'we', whose this 'we' you've been conspiring with?"
"Oh, just Qrow, Glynda, Oz, Oobleck..." She casually counted her fingers.
There was a moment of silence. He dropped the pen again. "And you all think I can do this?" He sounded almost in disbelief.
"Yup," she said without pause.
Slender fingers threaded through his hair—nothing more than a simple way to fidget and another way to give her husband reassuring contact. "I don't know about this, Pyrrha. It's so much pressure—the mission is bad enough, but now I have that councilman seat hanging over my head."
Her grip around his torso tightened, chin on his shoulder, lips to his ear. "But you knew that was coming; that's why you've been shadowing Zephyrus for the past year."
"I didn't think it'd happen so soon! He told me that he wasn't intending on retiring till at least 65, and he hasn't even turned 63 yet!" He exclaimed. He slung his head against the back of his chair in exasperation. "Too much, too soon."
Pyrrha didn't really have much to say. Jaune's mind is essentially spiraling in a hamster wheel of anxiety right now. Sympathetic words were nice and all, but they only did so much for someone like him. Besides, he was in a very different situation from her. Huntsmen with Class A designations had little to no say over their work or hours; even their days off were completely at the whim of the council. If, for whatever reason, they needed Jaune to work eight months straight without a single day off, he would; if they required him while he was off on vacation on a different continent, they'd call him back and he'd be obligated to return; if they demanded he work 75 hours straight, he would. All of these scenarios had happened.
Praetorians may be the highest-paid huntsmen in the world; they may be the most respected and influential; but they are also habitually run ragged and to the bone, specifically because they are considered the best in the world. Pyrrha was a simple huntsman at heart, fighting the evil monsters that target humanity, and that was what she was gifted at; she didn't have the skillset or the desire to do what Jaune does. It would be inappropriate for her to try to compare herself, who has only led a handful of grimm extermination missions over the years, with the near constant pressure and stress Jaune is under just as a job requirement.
She couldn't help but take a quick look behind herself. Past the small bookshelves was a construct, halfway finished, and it was already to her knees in height. These things, called Titan Figures, were robot models that required complete assembly and painting by hand. Jaune had put so many of them together over the years that he'd left the thousand-page booklet it came with inside the giant box, now stuffed in this room's walk-in closet. Thousands of parts, from nuts and bolts to wires, metal plates, and circuit boards that needed soldering, were not made for kids or even most adults; the box even states it's for people with at least some form of intermediate engineering experience. Many relaxing hours have been spent on one of the couches here, simply watching him assemble these things with concentration and enjoying the simple pleasure of being together.
It hadn't been touched in over half a year now, and a layer of dust was starting to become a blanket. He had been so excited when he opened the birthday present, like a child during the holidays. Lately, however, it seems that if he wasn't sleeping, he was away on some mission, and though Pyrrha tried, she simply couldn't be on all of them with him. With whatever free time Jaune managed to have, he was hellbent on making sure they were doing stuff together, neglecting all of the hobbies that once put such joy on his face.
An idea formed. She suddenly had a very confident slash to her lips. Words may not be the most helpful right now, but there are other things she could do. "Here, let's take your mind off this for now. You need a destresser, and I know just the thing." Jaune was pushed against the back of the chair just as her position switched. Now she straddled him, thighs trapping thighs, hands on his chest keeping him in place, and her propped up, a red waterfall of hair cascading down the right side. That smirk was on full display now; her smile equal parts loving and sadistic.
Something poked her. "Ah, there's the big guy," she giggled, so very proud of herself. She gently rocked her wide hips back and forth and gave them a little wiggle from side to side for extra spice.
"I'm sorry, Pyrrha," Jaune said with a slight heaviness to his voice. "As tempting as it is, I just don't think I have it in me right now." Hands reach upwards, gripping her waist firmly, not to push her off but just enough to keep those dangerous hips still. "Maybe you can call one of your friends or something."
"Nope," she quickly replied, popping the p sound. "You've been away from me for over a month; I told you I'm not leaving your side for the rest of the week, and I meant it." She leaned back on her knees and laughed. "Welp, it was worth a shot." She clearly had not actually expected him to comply.
Pyrrha grabbed Jaune's hands and gently removed herself from his lap. With a tug, she pulled him onto his lazy feet. He tried to act resistant, but she knew the truth. They weren't teenagers anymore, and if Jaune really didn't want to go, Pyrrha didn't have the strength to force him. He was just being stubborn right now.
"Stop dragging your feet, lazy butt!" she smiled at him. Led by the hand, Jaune was escorted over to the adjacent couch. Buck's ears twitched, indicating he heard them moving past him this time, but he was apparently so comfortable on the loveseat that he deemed them unworthy of attention.
Pyrrha was the first on the couch, aligning her body with the back cushions. She swings her arms wide in invitation. "Come here," she says. "You need rest." He was somewhat reluctant; there was just so much he needed to do right now, but Jaune couldn't resist the sweet temptation. Still in his socks, he walks forward, tumbling gently into her comforting embrace.
He feels himself come to rest against the familiar curves of her body. Taking a few deep breaths, Pyrrha slightly curls into herself, giving her greater coverage over him like a blanket. Slowly, Jaune gets swallowed by a warmth only found in his wife's arms. The burden of knowing too much fades into the fruity sweetness of her shampoo; the burden of thinking of the future is lost in the gentle thumping of her heart. Slowly, the anxiety fades, and he lets himself go by counting her rhythmic breaths on his neck like sheep. He can feel his soul slowly release the weight burdening his mind, as if slowly peeling away the fingers that have clutched the weight of the world.
There was comfort here, safety; he could let everything else go.
He was asleep in no time.
Eyes opened, or at least one did. Cinder regained consciousness, and it was a dizzying experience; she didn't even know how she blacked out. The world around her was a messy blur of shapes and color blotches. There was something odd about her vision, like her field of view was cut in half. Subconsciously, she went to open it, but pain like fire rippled out in response. A wet sensation finally registered in her dreary mind: warm blood running down her cheek and dripping to her clavicle.
Cinder trained her neck upward, not out of thought or intent—it was a reflex to avoid a sudden bright source of light. It took a good number of seconds for her one eye to adjust to a world that was no longer completely black. Tentatively, the eyelid opens; the world has regained its defined lines and hardened colors.
Cinder immediately wanted to throw up.
The world makes no sense anymore. The stuff of dreams and nightmares was no longer distinct from the rigid rules of the universe. Cinder was currently in the foyer of the Storybook Hotel, at least in theory. The supposed ceiling was the floor; the red carpet was spotted with the lobby furniture and the giant reception desk. The whole world was upside down; it was a nauseating experience.
Her damaged vision shifted back to the close source of light, no longer so photosensitive. The grand chandelier with hundreds of little diamonds, so beautiful and admittedly pretty gaudy, was something Cinder had momentarily appreciated when she'd first booked her room. Now it's right in front of her, the new perspective making the thing look like a tree sprouting from the ground, or the ceiling, rather. It was probably a full bus' length away from her, yet its brightness was less severe than she would have figured, being so close.
Her legs jerked against the restraints, finally bringing her physical condition into conscious thought. She looked down to her feet, drops of blood falling to what she would consider the floor. Something wet and pink was wrapped around her legs, ankles to thighs, like rope. It was textured like a tongue and most certainly organic in nature. Shots of adrenaline kept her from dwelling on the implications of that.
At the same time, a similar resistance kept both of her arms fixed, spread wide and immobile. She sent an eye to the right, and as she did, her anxiety became ice in her veins. Her right arm was gripped by a dozen tiny hands, disturbing, childlike things spewing from the wall like the wiggling legs of an insect, pinning her arm in their clutches with nails like tiny cleats. Turning to the left, Cinder wasn't sure what could be worse than those disgusting arms. She knew something was different because the sensations on her left and right sides were different; had she been in a more stable mindset, it would probably have been easier to deduce. Sinking into the wall, her left arm held captive by some horrific mouth, oddly perfect human teeth gently cradling the appendage, threatening to bite it in two at its whim.
For a few seconds, she screamed. Then she squirmed, trying in vain to rip herself free from this hellish bondage, gripped with such horrible fright that the thought of what would happen immediately after freeing herself didn't cross her mind. Fire burned around her one good eye in her last desperate attempt to free herself. A flare-up of Maiden's power to burn away everything, even this whole hotel if she had to.
A man's voice ringing out disembodied yet with the weight of thunder. "None of that here." A clap echoed from nowhere she could see. The fire around her eye was snuffed out; its fuel, her magic, evaporated.
Before she could even blink, he appeared, a figure almost exactly between Cinder and the chandelier—the same man who had struck her, the man with maddening eyes that reflected everything she hated about herself. Her father's tune played, bastardized by his lips. He was on the ceiling like her, but something was wrong, and it took her a second to put her finger on it. They were upside down, yet they were being pulled towards the ceiling, not the floor. It was like the concept of gravity had been inverted.
She recognized that face. Now, with just a few seconds to breathe, she had enough time to appreciate the man's face and not just those otherworldly eyes. He was familiar, like trying to recall an insignificant detail from a distant memory.
The whistling stopped. "I wonder, would you feel better if I said that this is all real and not just an illusion? Reality is not as stable as most would like to believe." The man patronized her, almost sarcastic in his delivery.
That voice rang even more familiar. A name was almost at the tip of her tongue. "Who the hell are you? Where am I? What is this?"
The man ignored the questions. "You know, I never expected much from you, but I didn't think you would be so quick in stabbing us in the back."
Realization sent cold lightning down her spine, and a pit dropped in her gut. He was one of Ozpin's right hands, part of the inner circle within the brotherhood. If her face showed any signs of realization, he paid no attention to it. His name? What was his name again?
"You snagged a speck of power, and you turned against us, thinking you had it all figured out. I can't even fathom your stupidity." The stranger continued to berate her.
Cinder finally snapped back. Now that the unknown is beginning to be understood, much of her fear is evaporating into distilled, concentrated rage. "You're feeling awfully brave with me all tied up after an ambush! If you're so confident, then release me, and I'll show you just how stupid I am. I'll burn you nice and slow."
The goading didn't work. "I just can't understand it—did you really think Ozpin had told you everything, so soon after your induction into the order? More than that, did you honestly believe that there were no countermeasures for rogue Maidens?" Going by his voice, he was genuinely perplexed.
He was beside her suddenly and without warning, within arms reach, so fast that Cinder was still staring at where he had been when she registered the voice. "We are the countermeasures." Her head snapped to his new location, eyes wide in shock. "So, let me reintroduce myself: my name is Jaune Arc, my designation is ZEX of the tenth layer, and I bring ego death."
Oh no…
Jaune Arc was well known in the public eye for two different but related reasons. He was a heroic figure known for his grand exploits in battles against grimm and terrorists alike, saving countless lives in the process and collecting over a dozen different medals over the course of his 13-year career; he didn't hold the record for the most medals or anything, even if limited just to Vale, but it was how quickly he amassed them despite this rather young age. Barely breaking 30, the man had also recently been announced to be under Zephyrus, the current triarch in charge of the kingdom's infrastructure. Jaune has already been appointed as his replacement for when he eventually retires. In that regard, he would be breaking a record—one for the youngest triarch in the kingdom's history.
However, there was another side to this man, one the public knew nothing about. Even within the secret brotherhood, he was apart from most, occupying a spot as one of Ozpin's inner circle along with just a handful of others, making him one of the very few who knew all the secrets the world had to offer. Cinder herself doubted if she knew even one tenth of the knowledge that those in the inner circle possessed. They were the true rulers of Vytal, beyond nations, beyond cultures, and beyond armies; it was they who pulled the strings of the world.
Cinder had seen him in passing a few times, but they had only ever interacted a few times during the annual meetings the brotherhood held. Outside of those occasions, they were simply worlds apart in their daily responsibilities. Even then, her impressions of the guy were thoroughly unremarkable; he had almost no decorum or professionalism and was prone to bouts of sarcastic humor and surprising pettiness. He was nothing like the man in front of her now. This Jaune was confident and authoritative, speaking as if he had all the power in the world at his disposal.
Cinder mustered some steel in her voice. "So it's you who's been spying on me? I heard you and your wife were a couple of perverts, but I would have never guessed spying on women got you off."
"Your bravado is empty." He adjusted his position, now directly in front of her, face-to-face. Jaune raised a lax finger. The nails and teeth gripping her arms tighten, up to the edge of breaking skin. She winced at the pain. "Now, I'm going to ask some questions, and you will answer. How long this takes is completely up to you."
Wait, Cinder thought, couldn't he read her mind? Ever since this horror show started, memories have been bubbling up from deep in her psyche, plaguing her like foggy nightmares. Some of them were still displayed in those shattered eyes. Hell, he whistled her dads song. If that was the case, then something was off. No, he couldn't read her mind, or, if he could, it was imperfect. There was some trick to this she didn't know about, some condition she wasn't fulfilling. If her assumption was right, then she had all the leverage.
"I want to know who put you up to this," he started. "You knew about Amber. You sought out an immature, underdeveloped Maiden and stole her powers. Even I have to admit, you play the role of a helpless woman quite well."
"You already know what happened; it's not my fault you're too stubborn to listen!" She lied. The plan had worked well, almost miraculously so, creating the perfect scenario to justify her getting the powers next; just a victim of simple happenstance.
Luring a Maiden, the most inexperienced of the current generation, to a bandit camp, attacking and killing her, taking her power, then killing all the bandits themselves—that had worked flawlessly with the help of her teammates. After that, all she had to do was run back to the cages and pass herself off as another victim to the authorities a few hours later. Of course Ozpin would have his hands on the pulse of anything involving a Maiden, which gave her the perfect opening to embed herself within.
She laughed. It was an empty expression, something to take control of the situation and assert some sense of authority. Deep down, however, she felt deep, suffocating helplessness. "Besides, what makes you think that I need someone's help to fool you guys? Don't give yourself too much credit; you're not as secure as you like to think."
"Don't bullshit me, Cinder," he said, taking several steps forward. With each step, Cinder's heart fluttered, her instincts trying to compel her body to run despite its immobilized state. It's been many years since she felt this kind of fear. "You and I both know you couldn't pull this stunt off without help. So I will ask one more time: who are you working for? Tell me now or things will get so much worse for you."
Her chest swelled with paper pride. "I hate pushy guys like you, the kind that can't take 'no' for an answer. Restating the question doesn't magically make my answer change!"
There was a pause.
"You know, there are worse things out there than her." Cinder felt another urge to run, jerking her legs at that statement, but the tongue-thing tightened around her legs to the point where she could feel the rapid pulsating of her blood. "Greater than her, greater than me, hell, greater than Oz. They sleep for now, but don't misunderstand your place in the pecking order. I can assure you, you will never be at the top, no human ever will, no matter what she's promised you."
Jaune held up three fingers. "Now answer my question. Three…two…" The last pause was long—longer than necessary, a test of wills. Neither would budge. The final finger curls. "One," he said, sounding more annoyed than anything else. "Fine, we'll play it your way. You want to sit at the adults table, little Maiden, then you'll be dealt with like one."
Shadows dripped from the ceiling, or rather, the floor, which was now the ceiling, like people-sized raindrops of oil. Splashes of liquid black formed various humanoid silhouettes, some big, some small, and some somewhere in between. The darkness quickly faded, revealing color and definition, turning uniform shadows into people that sparked her memories. Her parents were there, as were child friends she had while growing up, associates and subordinates from more recent years, even enemies such as bandits, the man that took her parents, her adoptive family, and more; they all gathered behind Jaune.
They all stared at her with various emotions, each realistic for the person. Her parents, for example, looked shocked and horrified at her condition, though they made no moves to help; her stepmother and sisters, however, seemed to be getting a sadistic enjoyment out of seeing Cinder so helpless and battered. They were certainly true to character as well.
There was one commonality linking them all that Cinder could spot: all of these people were supposed to be dead.
"The destruction of the self through shame, failure, and humiliation; that is my role." He started raising his hands.
Cinder doubled down on her efforts to free herself. She struggled, writhing like a worm in shackles but incapable of escaping. Things started screaming, carrying a phantom wind like a powerful scent. She even broke down as a dozen eyes split the air like a solid surface, pleading in desperation that she would cooperate, but Jaune ignored her, pulling his gloves tight to his fingers.
"Your friends, family, and enemies shall all watch as I strip away every facet of your identity."
Eyes burning brighter than the full moon at night, his hands clapped together with the sound of thunder.
(End of Chapter One)
Author's Notes: I'm not entirely sure what you would classify this story as, its something that I've had sitting on the back burner in one form or another, for, I want say, a few years now. I've really wanted to dive into the politics of Remnant, not just the flimsily social issues RT tries to portray (I'm looking at you, faunus) but the actual structures and power/economy dynamics that would come from this type of world. I think this story, if I decide to continue it, will give me a really neat challenge in flushing out all of the systems that are sort of hand-waved away in the show proper. Also, I just really wanted to rework the whole magic part of this magic/semblance system, make something more interesting to me, especially after coming back from catching up on the latest Index light novel, the difference is night and day. I also wanted to try a bit of a unique relationship dynamic with good ole Arkos, so, win-win.
Also, just in case anyone reading this is curious about Undivided, its still being worked on, I've just been side tracked with 1, this story, and 2 platinuming Sekiro, Bloodbnorne and Elden Ring back to back. to back. To say a lot of my free time was diverted would be an understatement lol (all amazing games, btw). Depending on how long the next chapter takes I might do another in-between chapter to fill the void, but only time will tell.
