Once again, Willow Schnee had fallen asleep at her desk, overworking herself with the coffee staining the entire workstation. This was, of course, not the first time this had happened. But now that she had gotten close to the answers she was looking for, there really was not much care put into anything else, like the messy uncombed hair on her that continued to spiral out into a fit of insanity.

Her hands shook uncontrollably from countless sleepless nights sitting in this secret office working the case of the mysterious stone slab. The words were close to revealing themselves, but her time drew nearer and nearer with every passing day. Downing another cup of coffee, she got to work.

And being wrapped up in her little world here, Willow had completely failed to notice Pietro standing by the door frame, coming into the room.

"Ahem."

He knocked on the door, prompting her head to spin around.

"Pietro, what are you doing here? I'm in the middle of something here. I won't be home for dinner."

To that, he simply shook his head.

"You haven't been home for weeks."

Willow paused for a brief moment, before resuming reading the reports and research papers in front of her.

"We need to talk," Pietro approached, "about my son."

As soon as Willow heard those words coming out of Pietro's mouth, she immediately stopped everything she was doing and slowly turned her head. Facing him, her eyes lit up as the pupils shot around trying to comprehend what exactly Pietro was talking about.

"You… cheated on me?"

"NO! No, no, he's your son, too." Pietro wiped his forehead. "I'm sorry, poor choice of words."

"But… we don't have a son."

Placing a file on the table, Pietro replied:

"We do now."

Flipping open the file, the two of them were met with a photo of the young private in his early twenties. The portrait had now, for some inexplicable reason, gotten much less blurry compared to the last time Pietro opened it.

What was more was the fact that a couple more of the boxes concerning his physical descriptions and other personal information had been further filled in with more details about his short white hair, his blue eyes, and lanky frame.

"I don't…" Willow picked up the paper, shaking her head. "Is this what I think it is?"

In a dark somber manner, Pietro nodded his head:

"Watts' theory. There's no doubt about it."

Scanning up and down the papers, Willow scrambled to her workstation, trying to decipher as much as she could. But then certain gears began spinning, and soon it became clear to Pietro that Willow was now more preoccupied with other thoughts rather than just the simple shock of them suddenly having a son. Although, that sense of confusion never really went away.

"This… explains a lot," she said.

"What does?"

"The theory of gravity. There are multiple facets of the concept, alongside the dimensional mathematical planes of String theory. If things are truly leaking from outside the universe into our planes – then the prophecy…"

"What prophecy?"

Rushing to the other side of the table, she tossed all the other pile of papers and reports onto the floor, trying to dig though the unorganized mountain of crumpled folders, paperclips, pens, pencils, and scattered files. All the while continuing to say:

"You remember the slab I was working on? It's said that there are potentially thousands of these scattered across the world. But so far, Atlas has only been able to acquire one of these. It's taken me too much time to break down the language written on the surface here. But I think I have a general idea."

"Willow, I don't think now is the time…"

"LISTEN!" She cut him off. "I promise you, this is important. Listen to what the prophecy on the stone says. This is much more serious than any of us first thought."

With the proper translation written on a piece of paper in one hand, Willow cleared her throat and began reading out loud:

"From the farthest stars in the sky

Further than the beyond of age primeval

There comes a hand from on high,

The hand that holds the good-evil.

The hand that holds the sand

In the sand are hands in four

One of flames, one of breathy wind

One of soil, one of cold command.

From these hands, flames descend at cosmic shore,

Palm of Giants, palm shielded in burning skin.

The palm floats from far in beyond,

Crushing the fragmented lands below the dawn."

Pietro simply could do nothing but stand there, shaking his head. To which Willow proceeded to ignore and went on explaining:

"These stones are from a collection called the Songs of Ragnarok. It's an old word that many scholars think is meaningless. But a select few believe some possible translations include 'the End Time' or 'the Doom Time' or anything of the like. It is said that ancient Edenites treated these stones with reverence, but that doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, because Ragnarok is also a term used in old Northern Atlesian Sagas centuries ago, old frozen poetry. So there is sure to be a connection somewhere. What's important to understand here is the content of the prophecy. And here, we can clearly see the stone is talking about the Seasons. That's what the four hands are – and one of these hands will come from somewhere far in outer space to bring about the destruction of Remnant itself, that's what the phrase 'fragmented lands' means."

"Willow…"

"It's all connected in some way, I just know it. The gravitational force of the universe is literally pulling in these cosmic powers from beyond the universe, causing there to be a leak. Maybe it is this same gravity that will be the one to bring the destruction itself, pulling in the palm of the Season. And from this so-called leak, there will come emanations of concepts and maybe even gods to shape the very fabric of our reality. That must be the origin of old lost languages like this one here, maybe even the origin of all languages and names in the world. People say that words like these have little to no meaning, and they come from an old tongue nobody speaks anymore. What if the reason why is because these are conceptual emanations that come from somewhere beyond our physical world? It just makes sense, there's a lot more to unpack here. I haven't even…"

"ENOUGH!" Pietro slammed his hand on the table, thus silencing the room.

Clearly, on the verge of tears, Pietro's lips trembled as his hands similarly quivered in frustration. For a brief minute, he gathered himself, but still not entirely sure how to put it all into words. After another good long moment of silence, he sighed:

"This… all of this – you're… you're too deep in this obsession. I… Willow – come home, please. I beg of you. You've been down here for far too long. And time is running out."

Willow clenched her fist at the mention, turning her head away.

Pietro continued:

"Don't you get it? You're tearing our family apart. Our daughter needs her mother. And so does our son. Out there is a boy who must be scared and confused, having been conjured to life out of thin air. He needs our help."

"He – is not our son." She repeated.

"Maybe we do not know him like we do our Weiss. But he is here now, and he is real."

"Don't you get it? I am doing all of this for us," cried Willow. "This prophecy here speaks of doomsday, Pietro. The end of the world. Something I fear not even our daughter has the power to stop. I don't want this world to go to ruins. We… I don't have any more time."

"Then let me help you! Let us help you. No matter what, we are your family. Please, Willow… come back home. Come back to us."

Turning her face around to finally reveal an expression welling up with tears rolling down her face, Willow would quickly dive into Pietro's embrace to feel the warmth of the man she called husband. From there she cried into his shoulder while a cough began building up from within her lungs, making it hard to speak.

"I… I don't… want Weiss to see me like this," she wept.

"I know, dear. I know."

"We come from Lower Cairn," the boy's father told Jaune, "we have traveled far, and we thank thee for thy hospitality."

The nomadic tribe of Kaisar were distant descendants of an ancient people of the Valley who centuries ago intermingled with travelers from the West in Vacuo. They were a people of a unique cultural identity who could often be found scattered around the foot of Mt. Glenn. It was said that those born under the name of Kaisar were Destined to be kings and rulers. Which seemed difficult to believe considering this current sect of the people seemed so passive and polite.

They wore with them some very traditional blue cotton garments fashioned together in the form of a robe with a purple sash draping over from their shoulder, all adorned with colorful red and yellow patterns of varying squiggly shapes, sizes, and complexities. On their heads were headwraps woven out of those similar garments of purple and red, all tied together to accompany full faces of big beards.

It had been several days ever since Jaune ran into the young boy and his parents in the Forever Falls, his name was Melone, and he was eleven years old. And it wasn't long before the rest of the boy's tribe came settling into the heart of this crimson forest, now setting up tents and communal spaces as best they could. Jaune, of course, found out afterward why exactly this was happening the moment he read the news on his phone concerning the progress of the war on the western front. Things seemed to be getting more intense as the days went by, and he was getting more anxious as well, especially with Weiss' blade still there on the ground, still yet to budge even an inch.

Several of the tribesmen who were curious of the sword did come by trying to lift it out of the ground, some of the young men even made it a competition amongst themselves. But they would quickly realize that it was going to be a fruitless effort, so they let it be. Opting, instead, to simply build the camp around it.

"We've always been traveling, big brother," said Melone, "but this, this is…"

"The war changes things," said the father, chopping away at a tree to make space for camp. "Though there is at least some comfort in knowing the escort was carried out by the High Chancellor herself. So we weren't super worried about being attacked. But still… it's a lot to take in."

The mother came by, carrying with her a heavy bucket of water. Which she almost spilled after stumbling over a rock.

"Oh, let me help you with that," Jaune immediately came over, taking the bucket.

"Thank you so much, young man," she smiled. "It's a blessing to have a helping hand around here. Though, don't overwork yourself now."

"Don't worry, ma'am. It's not a big deal. I just consider all this a part of my training. I still have a long way to go. Besides, what kind of a Winter Servant would I be if I didn't follow her commands? We're churchgoers, you see, me and my sister. I'm pretty sure she would slap me in the face if I had gone home, ha-ha."

"Oh, bless your heart," she said, "we of the Kaisar tribe revere the Seasons as well. Though, we do take more from Vacuan traditions rather than the Valley. Where we come from, Spring is one we must place above all others."

"My sister has always wanted to travel West someday. I should introduce you guys to her. I think you'll like her, I'm sure."

"Oh, that would be lovely," the mother smiled.

"So, clarify something for me Mr. Arc," said the father, wiping the sweat off his brow. "You said you're one of the students at the Academy, correct? How come you're not out there marching west with the rest of the troops?"

Jaune's faint smile from there disappeared now that he was reminded of the crushing reality of where he really was, and where his friends were at this moment in time.

"I, um… well, it's actually by the Chancellor's order believe it or not. I was tasked with taking that sword out of the ground. But so far, it's been a… difficult process, to say the least."

"Oh, you don't have to make up excuses to convince this old lady," she smiled. "My husband doesn't like to fight either, on the account of… well, his nerves. He's always tried to stay out of all the wars, and for the better I'd say."

"But… it's not an excuse. I'm not lying, it's the truth."

"Hey, big brother," Melone interrupted their conversation, "do you wanna go play some throwball with me and my friends? We could use a catcher."

"Huh? Throwball, you say?"

In the entire history of the Atlas Empire, there had not been a sport that was more popular than that of the nation's pastime named throwball. It was a sport with a bat and a ball. One played in a diamond-shaped field with four bases placed at the shallow infield. The goal of a batter was to hit the ball thrown by the opposing team's thrower, which in the opinion of many scholars and experts, was the single most difficult skill to accomplish in the history of sports itself.

Once the ball was hit, the batter would try to make their way onto the bases, going in a counterclockwise motion around the field. And if he or she were to touch the base from where originally started running from, aptly named the home base, after touching all the other three bases beforehand, the team would score one run. The opposing team's defenders, of course, would try their best to prevent this. Spreading out across the grassy field, trying to catch the ball, and throw the runners out before they could reach the bases.

Traditionally, the game used to be played with a leather glove on one hand for the fielders in order to aid them in catching the ball. But with the development of the sport to allow the usage of Aura to enhance one's physical attributes, gloves were no longer necessary. As the players now possessed the reflex, dexterity, athleticism, and gravity required of them to field the small white ball properly in the palm of their hands.

The game was often slower, and more methodical compared to other sports. Usually involving many advanced player statistics and metrics to form a cohesive strategy. It was also considered a game of failures, as a batter would already be considered a superstar if they were able to successfully hit the ball just thirty percent of the time. Making contact with the ball could happen often, but it was making good contact with the ball and getting safely on base that was the real issue. The advantages were heavily skewed in favor of the throwers with the way the game was designed, especially considering how elite throwers had been known to be able to hurl at speeds as high as a ludicrous 1500 miles per hour. Launching from the hand like a catapult, the ball would often pop like the sound of a massive cannon's blast zipping through the atmosphere, setting the air ablaze.

The forces behind the game and the laws of physics simply did not want the batters to succeed. So when they do, the people of Atlas would soon realize they were witnessing something special.

Or this case, this something was a brave legend by the name of Rredd Williams. A man many considered to be the greatest hitter who ever walked this planet.

Under normal circumstances, a hitter was considered great if they were able to hit three times out of ten. But for Rredd, every single time he walked up to the field with a bat in his hands – the ball was guaranteed to leave the bat five times out of ten.

He remembered the thrilling sensation well. The cold breeze of the early summer's light, the sweat rolling down his forehead, and the pine tar stuck on his hand gripping tightly the wooden bat, amplified by his enormous Aura reserve.

And when the ball bounced off his rustic wooden bat and the fighting spirit within carried it far into the vast blue sky above – Rredd would feel he was at home.

But that feeling had not been in his heart ever since the Empire marched into the heart of the Valley. The war efforts had put a massive halt on all major sports of both the Kingdom of Vale and Atlas. There were many years in between when a few games were organized in the middle of the year, but these games were very few and far between.

Having joined the war efforts, Rredd Williams would prove to be one of the most proficient Air Force military leaders in the entire history of the Empire, fervently serving his kingdom as best he could.

But the man was reaching his late thirties by this point in time. And every time he would fly any of the war machines the Empire had to offer, whether it being a fighter jet, or an airship – Rredd Williams simply could not help himself but look beyond into the clouds to Dream of the day he would be able to pick up the bat and ball, so he could feel the rough leathery surface and the rustic wood in the palm of his hands one last time.

Entering his office, he tossed his white service cap aside to let his shoulder-length red hair loose with all the sweat flying about. Dripping down his sharp clean-shaven face, he would notice that there were Dust particles remaining on the side of his cheek the moment he walked past a mirror.

He never even noticed his office had this mirror here installed. He figured it was because he was always too busy burying his head into the paperwork to really care. But now noticing the small wrinkles ever so slightly popping up on the surface of his fair skin, he would give a long sigh into the surface of his own reflection, shaking his head.

His green eyes began to grow weary, seeing things a lot blurrier than he used to. Almost to a point where he was beginning to see a shadow of a figure emerging inside the silver of the mirror in front of him.

"Good to see you, General Williams."

He panicked, spinning his head around – only to have a sudden surge of elation swiftly coursing through his veins.

"General Vulf!"

She smiled at the man, before asking:

"How are you these days? Anything happened while I was gone?"

There before him, the woman stood tall in her white Atlesian uniform, except she was without her usual service cap. Instead, it was a rare opportunity to let her luscious dark hair flow about like a shimmering river in the night.

"I can't believe you're here," he said. "I've been so worried. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you had just… well…"

"Hey, come on now. You are one of the best pilots I know. You don't need this old lady's guidance anymore. And besides – I have a big hard skull, so don't you worry about me."

"That's… that's good to hear, ma'am."

"So tell me what's going on. What did I miss? I want to know everything."

"Oh, well, I thought I already had my secretary brief you on the war. The reports must've gotten lost in the mail then. I'll send it to you immediately."

"No, no," Sam chuckled, "I mean what's going on, you know, in your life? We've been in service for so long we rarely get a chance to just talk about things other than work, even during times of peace. How's your girlfriend Emmy doing these days?"

"Oh… that… that's what you mean," Rredd smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well, um… Emmy and I are engaged?"

"What? No way, congratulations. About time then, huh?"

"Yeah. I proposed not too long ago. Went out to a nice steak dinner, the usual stuff, you know? I even dropped the ring in the wine if you can believe it. My hands were shaking like hell."

"Well, you did it, and that's what matters."

"Thank you."

They both stood there, pausing for a brief second.

"Well?" She asked. "Anything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that really it? You have nothing else going on? No new hobby? No visiting the folks back home? Nothing?"

"I…"

"Rredd… you're still thinking about it, aren't you?"

Turning to face her, he had no other choice but to respond with a simple nod.

"Even after all this time?" Sam asked.

Shaking his head, he replied:

"It's all I can think about. My mind keeps… wandering back to the field. It's been years, General. Of course I miss it."

Contemplating for a moment, Sam's eyes scanned up and down the man standing before her. Inspecting every tiny detail she could pick up in his mannerism, and even as tiny as the wrinkles in his clothes. She stood there tapping her foot for a while before turning around toward the door, waving her hand.

"Come with me."

Stepping out of their office and onto a wide balcony, the two of them would come into the view of a shining nightlight deep in the cosmos far above, looking downward to a mortal world of Remnant. The moon watched silently with its glimmering crystal light like a dutiful sentinel, never to sleep, especially now as the world became slowly engulfed in the fires of wars that could be seen by the two Generals from miles away.

"What… are we doing out here?" Rredd asked.

Turning around, Sam simply smiled on – then quicker than the eyes could react, she reached down to her belt and launched forth a metal ball that zipped through the air at an explosive speed, directing it straight to where Rredd was standing.

From there, relying on his pure Seasons-given instincts alone, Rredd would immediately find the ball spinning fiercely in the palm of his hand, shielded by his thick layer of Aura. The sound the ball produced upon contact managed to echo so far, it took almost an entire minute before the lingering sound of the aftermath could fully be dispersed in this quiet murky night.

Standing there, Sam began to smirk:

"So you can still catch. But can you still hurl?"

Immediately shaking his head, he tossed the ball back to Sam, saying:

"I'm not a thrower, I'm a hitter."

"Oh, don't give me that crap!" Sam caught the ball, tossing it right back at him. "You are the Sultan, the Kid, the Bambino. The best ball player alive."

"I haven't thrown since high school." He shook his head once more.

"So," Sam crossed her arms, "after everything we've been through, everything I taught you, everything you've done. You're just going to throw it all away? Just like that?"

"Of course not! But…"

"But what?"

"All this – they're just going to be a distraction. And that's not something we can afford. We have a war to fight, you have other students to teach, I have my own troops…"

"You are my only student," Sam immediately cut him off, "always have been. I have recruits, sure. But you – you're the only one I've ever cared about. So stop hesitating and show me! Unless… what they say in the tabloids turns out to be true – that you are a washed-up has-been."

"Why are we even doing this? What exactly do you want out of me?"

"Do I really have to spell it out? I want the best pilot in the country under my command."

Rredd stared on, almost as if confused, but seemingly more as if he was expecting something like this from the start. Sam continued:

"Look, the war – this war may be the single most important battle in the history of our Empire. With the full power of the Superman unleashed out onto the world, we have a real chance to catch King Oz and put him away once and for all. But I know… I know for a fact, as you have told me, how much you miss the game, how much you miss home. That's really what this is all about. So use your brain, Williams. If we unleash the full force of the Atlesian might onto the West – then that'll be one damn quick war now, don't you think?"

Fiddling with the metal ball, Rredd did not say a word. Instead, he simply stood there, and eventually diverted his eyes toward the deep black sky far beyond where the moon was dancing. His eyes rode on the moonbeams, mesmerized by the white rays sparkling like diamonds.

"So what are you waiting for?" Sam smirked. "Are you still the best ball player who ever walked this planet? The best pilot who ever flew for the flag of Atlas? The successor of one General Samantha Vulf?"

Without another moment of hesitation, Rredd's eyes lit up with a furious spark of his crimson Aura. From the palm of his hand, he gripped the ball tightly before curling his entire left arm and shoulder into the shape of a catapult. Bending the joints back and within a mere few milliseconds – Rredd had launched the metal ball so high up into the stratosphere, it immediately escaped the gravitational pull of the planet and planted firmly onto the surface of the moon.

The force of the ball was so massive, the two of them could see a huge crater beginning to take shape after a mere few seconds from where they were standing. Cracks on the ground forming at least a mile wide, maybe more.

Staring at the mark on the moon, Sam was beginning to feel the tides turning, as she grinned ear to ear. Soaking in the silence and the burning scent of the ball traveling all that way straight into the heavens far above.