((A/N: Just as a quick aside, the Champion is basically selecting memories like mp4s, just grabbing relevant information and ignoring the little stuff. Sometimes Aaruth's personality or thoughts may tinge Champ's actions, but he's basically dead.))

My eyes glance over the room again. My—well, 'my' bedroom, has been picked clean. The trinkets and personal things hold no true weight to me, they will stay here. Like a grave for Aaruth, whomever he may have been. Yes, I can't deny that this home does have some appeal to me—anemoia more than anything. These are not my memories, after all—it holds no weight to me, it is simply a stranger's house. It's not like it could house a wounded Idfir, either, so good riddance in any case.

Anyways, everything that would come in handy—fishing rods, bait, food, clothing, currency, identification, anything I would need for transit and wandering—has been stowed in my inventory. Sadly… it seems most of my items have stayed behind in my original world. The ones that mattered, anyways—as it seems that my tools for Eidolism have stayed safely and conveniently intact. Knives, goblets, candles, skulls and the such—all of which are good and all, but I'm missing an Effigy, or even a table on which to set it on. Of course, there are a few other things, most of which are unimportant…

Except for one very, very important thing. My old cloak. I had been meaning to give it to one of my Dragon Knights, but I had just gotten distracted over and over again. Now, though, I truly can't help but feel grateful about the continuous distractions—they've allowed me to keep an integral part of my armor. Sadly, it seems I'll have to start from scratch on the things that do matter.

I take out the old and cared-for dreadhound fur, looking over the carved sigils on the skin inside fondly, softly thumbing over the worn—but cared for—runes. A faint smile creeps upon my lips as I throw it onto my shoulders, the familiar weight settling delightfully upon my shoulders. The runes within and without thrumming a beautiful white for the barest of seconds—faint little whispers of mana telling me exactly what enchantments are active and which need maintenance.

Thankfully, all of the main enchantments—Projectile Protection, Mending, Unbreaking, and Thorns—are perfectly functioning. The Warding Mail lining is barely holding on though, its enchanted properties flickering on and off as it struggles to hold the magic for long. "Hmph… I'll have to work on that. Tsk, I hope the mages aren't aggressive in these lands." I sigh, drawing my hands into the cloak. Once upon a time, it would reach down to my waist—but now? In this… seventeen year-old body? It reaches down to my knees…

"Well, that's no issue. Simply more cloak to enjoy." Softly patting out the dust in the somewhat matted fur, my smile grows a little—nostalgia filling my mind. I can still remember the time I made it… and how awful it smelled. Ah, memories. In any case, the acceptance letter had told me I needed to be somewhere at a certain time, and I intend to be punctual.

Usually, I would simply have to trust my inner clock, hope that the days here and in my world are the same, or that whatever happened to me didn't destroy my sense of time. However, my new host had a thing called a 'Scroll'. As I understand, it's this world's analogue to a phone, though it is… annoyingly over-engineered. A tablet, phone, controller, everything humanity had before the Frostbringer's arrival, but mixed into a single holographic package.

What's next, mixed weaponry? Lunacy.

In any case, this little chaotic package does also tell the time. Currently close to noon, I have a few hours to leave the island of Patch to arrive at Vale, the home of Beacon Academy. Aaruth seemed knowledgeable about Vale and Patch, so I will have to trust the instinct of this body.

My house ransacked for all it's worth, everything of worth or useful packed neatly into my inventory. I approach the front door, Aaruth's weapon firmly attached to my hip. It's a simple war-pick, though perhaps lacking in craftsmanship or care, as the barest traces of rust have begun accumulating on the very tip of the pick's head.

In any case, once I leave for Beacon, contacting Eidolon might be a bit hard to do—assuming this society is not accepting of animal sacrifices and occult rituals, of course—but I will have to try. My journal was left with my original body… and there were no journals to use inside the house.

I'll just have to buy a new one, I suppose. Taking a deep breath, I open the door, stepping out into the light once more—the wonderful dumb happiness flooding my system; I can't help but tilt my head upwards to catch more of the warmth beaming down. A deep breath confirms again that I am, in fact, here. It's real, not an illusion—I am alive and feeling the warmth of a living world.

I sigh, smiling as I close and lock the door behind me, tossing the key haphazardly into my inventory. "Ah, peaceful student life… how I've longed to be back in school!" I stretch my arms and back, the joints popping slightly as a small, quiet groan escapes my lips. "Haah~ Such a beautiful day. Hail the sun~!" With an indescribably raw happiness coursing through my body, I start skipping through town, allowing my instinct to lead me wherever I need to go.

As people pass, they give me amused stares, some pausing to take a photo or two of me. I even pass by the unknown mailman, who just chuckles and waves me off.

I feel such a deep and all-encompassing peace at the sight of such a colored world, the town—though small compared to the grand metropolises of my world—is so lively and obviously tight-knit that I just feel like I belong here.

People pass by—seemingly content, children play nearby, playing tag while the adults buy the groceries of the week, unbothered by anything in the world—I absorb every color, every scent, every rich and unique feeling with a broad smile plastered on my face. Every single thing that I see is greedily engraved into my memory, carved deep and permanently, just in case anything bad happens to it. This feeling—no, this moment, is one I wish could stretch on forever.

Perhaps, if it can't stretch on forever… I can simply stretch it for a while more? Yes, I do have hours to get to Beacon, of course. What could possibly be the harm in delaying a few minutes?

[Three hours later…]

I stand, at the edge of a cliff, looking on in total disappointment as the aircraft meant to transport students of Beacon fly in the distance, turbines roaring—audible even from here. Did I truly delay my entrance this much? Surely there will be another round of… of whatever they are, right?

…

A man, somewhere in his forties, dressed in casual streetwear comes up next to me. "Hey, kid. Missed the bus, huh?" He looks down at me, chuckling. "Didn't set your alarm?"

"… I suppose." I cross my arms under my cloak, very unhappy. Though the sun's presence does abate that somewhat. "Will there be more?"

"More transports? Eeeeh…" He scratches the back of his head. "Ain't gone to Beacon myself, but I do have a sister that went. She said that if students didn't get on the first round, they're kinda screwed. You know, back in my day…" I tune out the man's inane rambling, staring across the great divide keeping me from my goal.

If Idfir were not still wounded from his fight with the Black Frost, I would simply ask him to carry me across on his back. But he's wounded—his wings torn, still recuperating. His wounds have barely begun to heal, I couldn't possibly bother him.

With a sigh, I walk a few paces back. I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way… there's an ocean before me; meaning perfectly usable water. Once upon a time, my magic would barely be enough to cross a thin frozen river, but with the Frostbringers' mana now added to my pool?

I have enough.

I must be careful about it, though. I do not want to freeze over the river between these cliffs, I only want to make a path. My legs tense up, hands touching the ground as I get ready to sprint.

The man seems to notice what I'm doing. "Kid, what are you doing? You're not planning on jumping over, are you?" He looks at me oddly, surely fearing for my safety. Oh if only he knew the truth of my existence.

With a deep breath, icy magic coils in my fingertips, leaving a thin layer of frost. I let out the breath, my cold breath forming a little puff of mist as I steady my resolve—as I hype myself up, as it were.

"I am."

Unleashing that built-up tension in my legs, I take off in a dead sprint towards the cliff edge, the man's worried shouts drowned by my own resolve to overcome the great divide. It feels as if time has slowed, my mind working overtime to figure out a proper path.

As I reach the edge, I unleash a mighty leap, jumping as far as my legs alone can carry me… it is not far.

My arm stretches out at a steep angle, almost right below me—an incantation under my breath is all it takes for the mana built in my hand to flare up, the moisture in the air thick enough to make a path in. Ice conjures itself from the air, the creaking and cracking of ice filling my ears as a smooth and perfect road forms beneath my feet.

As my shoes hit the ice, my momentum and the lack of friction of the ice forces me to keep going. Though a little shaken from landing, my hand keeps spewing frigid mana, making more and more road, the ice's perfect smoothness making me skate atop it.

My little moment of panic is immediately replaced by a thrilling rush of excitement as wind rushes by my face, whipping my hair and cloak around. Before I can even truly process what's happening, I find myself doing… tricks, I suppose. I cease and start the flow, jumping from end to start, creating little obstacles for myself. The thrill of pulling such bold tricks midair makes my heart race—adrenaline filling my system as I catch up with the aircraft in front of me.

'Ah, wonderful! I just need to get on!' I smile as I speed up, making a steep ramp to build up my momentum. Time seems to slow down to a crawl as the ramp grows and grows in length, deeper, steeper–so deep it grazes right against the surface of the water.

A beating thrill builds in my chest, excitement burning brightly as I slide quicker and quicker–flakes of ice flying from the bottom of my soles, my heart bursting with anticipation as I reach terminal velocity. A cheering, laughing whoop breaks from my throat as I yank my hand up, immediately launching myself into the air, feet running on nothing as all that momentum carries me upwards.

I fly forth, up and up, even surpassing the four-winged aircraft. I overshot it! "Oops. No matter!" Changing the type of mana, my hand stretches to the sky–fiery mana exploding out of my palm, all of the inertia from my jump turning downwards–

[Inside the Vale Airship…]

Yang and Ruby stare at the hologram of the teacher–Glynda Goodwitch–in silence, listening to the speech that cut off the news they'd been half paying attention to.

"...Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide yo–" The whole airship is suddenly rocked side-to-side, the hologram of professor Goodwitch flickering, then shutting off.

The sisters share a look, Ruby considerably more worried. Yang is the first to pipe up. "What the crap was that?" She looks up at the ceiling, eyes widening once she realizes there is a considerable dent on the ceiling. "Oh my god, look!"

Ruby and the other students look at the spot, worried murmurs spreading throughout the gallery. "Did something land on the airship?" "We haven't even started yet!" "Guys, calm down, the grimm feed on negativity!" "Wait, seriously? I thought that was a myth!"

Ruby sighs, reaching behind to pat Crescent Rose, just to remind herself that she has something to defend herself. They haven't even started and they might already be in huge danger. She feels a hand on her shoulder, making her jolt and yelp. "Ah! Oh- Yang! You scared me!" She crosses her arms, pouting.

"Heh, sorry." Yang scratches the back of her head, chuckling awkwardly. "You alright?" Ruby responds with a nod and a nervous smile.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just… I didn't think anything would happen so soon."

"Me neither…" She cracks her knuckles, a confident grin splitting across her face. "But hey, so long as we're together, we can definitely kick anything's butt!"

Yang's confidence is contagious. With a deep breath, Ruby's smile gains a more confident edge. "Yeah… yeah! You're right!" She puts her hands on her hips. "We can totally handle it!"

With her smile still on her face, she takes her scythe off her back, though she doesn't unfurl it quite yet. It pays to be ready, after all. The rest of the trip is quieter, the students on-edge and constantly looking out the windows. They may have their weapons, but they're still only out of combat school.

While everyone is freaking out, someone points out the window, calling for everyone's attention. "Guys! There's someone on the outside!"

Immediately, everyone's eyes are drawn to the window overlooking the bow of the ship. And sure enough, there's a lone young man sitting on the tip, overgrown silvery hair whipping in the wind along with their black, fluffy cloak. In spite of being sitting on top of a goddamn moving airship, he seems… relaxed. Almost content.

"What the heck?" Yang asks in a low tone, pressing her face up against the window. "Who is that?" She cups her hands above her eyes, squinting to try and get a better look.

Ruby walks up behind her, only slightly leaning in. "Uhhh… maybe he's coming to Beacon too?"

"Mmmn… maybe." She chuckles, straightening herself out. She puts her hands on her hips, grinning again. "He's probably gonna get detention first thing. He dented the ceiling pretty bad."

"Poor guy." Ruby adds, shaking her head sympathetically.

((A/N: Hell yeah boy))

{{Special Thanks to: Singular Ash for beta'ing and helping me to think up stuff}}