Words drifted over her. Distant, imperceptible through the fog. A gaggle of voices.
More words. The fog thinned, but the sounds were no more intelligible; they weren't in any language she knew. Hopping tongues and hanging syllables floated across her consciousness like pennants on a string.
She barely managed to parse a word, the only one she recognized: ignifer.
Ruby's eye flew open, her body bucking hard as she fell into her being. Hands forced her down as an all-encompassing pain shot across every inch of her rebelling form, locking her back down to the hard floor. Stars flashed in her vision— one eye's worth. She tried to force the other lid open, but nothing more than pain greeted her efforts.
The anguish didn't stop flowing. It came like white rapids, crashing over her entire being, threatening to force her back to sleep, but she grit her teeth and held tight her cognizance.
She could grit her teeth. She could move her jaw. "Wha…"
Yang was in her vision, her mane of golden hair angelically back-lit by a hanging lantern. The ceiling was maroon wood. The walls were, too, and she'd dare to assume that the stiff flooring she laid across was much the same.
Yang gently laid a hand on her cheek, her movements more careful than Ruby had ever seen. "We're safe, thanks to you."
Ruby looked at the other faces around her, but none of them belonged to anyone she recognized. "Where're the others?" She mumbled, pain flaring from every muscle in her face.
Yang looked away, clearly awash with guilt and worry. "I don't know."
What little hope had been building up in her heart was suddenly flushed away. Ruby tried to move, only to find herself held down once more.
"Ruby! Don't move!" The Huntress commanded, keeping a firm hold on the girl's shoulders. "You need to recover; I'm pretty sure you broke every bone back there."
Back there. Pyrrha. Mother. The hands pressed down, anticipating another violent surge from Ruby. Someone shouted in another language, but she guessed it was something like 'stay still!'
"Ruby, Ruby," Yang cooed, cupping her face to try and comfort her again. The smith eventually forced her muscles to still, so Yang continued. "I'm sure the others are okay; we made it, after all."
Ruby, desperate to distract herself from the pain, observed the people surrounding her. Their features were sharp, noses long and pointy, and their ears were like Blake's. There were five of them— two large men, one tiny girl, one middling boy, and a mature-looking woman, each with shimmering locks of dark hair. With the lighting as it was, she couldn't tell the color beyond the fact that it looked black-ish. Their skin ranged through olive tones, the woman being the darkest, but their eyes were a singular, bright purple. Ruby blinked, but that fact didn't fade.
"Who're they?" She asked, the flick of her gaze indicating what she assumed to be a family of fay.
"Some fay," the Huntress answered, "this is their house. They took us in after we sort of, uh…"
Yang flushed a shameful red, her sister's raised brow imploring her to finish.
"Well, when we gated in, we may have…" Yang rubbed sheepishly at her neck. "Exploded their pig."
"We wha—" Ruby's incredulous shout was cut short by a cough, each heave of her lungs making her recently-perforated chest scream with pain.
Yang gave her a few pats that didn't help. "Yeah. Blake gated us into a pig."
"Stop—" Ruby hacked again, "saying that! I get it!"
"Sorry."
Breathing deep to suppress her coughs, Ruby let out a long sigh. "And they just let us stay?"
Yang shrugged. "Ruby, you looked like a corpse. Beyond that, I don't speak fay, or… whatever they call it here."
"How long have we been here?"
"Ehh," Yang looked outside through an open window, but that didn't seem to help. "A day or two? I'm not sure, you've been asleep since we patched you up."
"Whole… day…" The smith dropped her head back to the wood with a thunk, a soul-sucking fatigue draining her as soon as it landed.
Her one good eye slowly fluttered closed, soothed by its last sight of Yang's smile. At the very least, she could be comforted by the fact that the others were safe.
"I hate this," Qrow mumbled, tripping on a root that had clearly raised itself just to fuck with him. "Just had to gate us into the—"
"Oh, so you'd ratherbe in that monster's stomach right now?" Blake snapped, drawing her cloak closer against the forest's chill.
Weiss growled, one arm swinging her cursed sword through a tangle of red vines. "Could you bothbe quiet? I'm doing all the work here."
Qrow huffed, but Blake cut in with a retort. "Sorry, princess, I forgot you're not used to… what'd you call it?" She stepped a little closer, leaning in so her snark would achieve maximum effect. "'Labors of the body'?"
The fencer let loose another grunt, her frustration empowering her next swing through a particularly thick tangle. The fay blade handled it with ease. "Quiet, you. We had a deal."
Blake smugly tutted. "That deal never included such niceties as politeness."
"'Such niceties as politeness,'" Weiss mocked in a stupid voice. "Be silent. And leave your stench further in my wake."
'Nice one,' the sword muttered into her mind. 'Call her a hag.'
"You hag," Weiss tacked on, as if she'd thought of it herself.
"Ooooh, s-s-so s-s-sorry, my liege!" Blake taunted in return, her lanky body swinging down in a mockingly deep bow. "We unwashed peasants haven't an army of servants to wash our rears!"
"Hers was better," Qrow's voice creaked from the back, "you just said you have an unwashed ass."
Weiss threw a smug look at the fay, whose ears were quickly burning a bright purple. She huffed without another word, and let her pace drop back to the center of their marching order.
Weiss continued hacking away at the foliage, her blade always finding perfect purchase in whatever she struck. She knew for a fact that her edge alignment couldn't be this good— not for a weapon she had no familiarity with— but the sword itself seemed to make corrections in her arms and fingers, and every slash followed through flawlessly, regardless of her own input.
Unfortunately, the forest seemed endless. Dark maroon trees stretched in every direction, their thick leaves painted a deep and vibrant crimson. Beautiful as it was, she wished she could spend her time here in better company, and under more leisurely circumstances— these two had been hounding her since they gated in.
Blake, in one of her few moments of usefulness since they arrived, had aptly described this place as the 'Forever Fall' forest; Aeternum Autumni in her own tongue, where the weather was always nippy, the trees were always red, and the forest was always silent. It was actually quite beautiful, Weiss mused, but their dire circumstances sucked all of her appreciation away.
She worried about Ruby. The unstable gate had split their group, the only promising fact being that Blake knew Yang was with her sister. Her half-dead sister. If they'd arrived anywhere within this forest… well, she didn't want to think about that.
Weiss wasn't actually too bothered that Blake had gated them to the Shimmer. Her reasoning had been sound: Pyrrha— whatever kind of thing she was now— clearly wasn't the kind to let her prey go, and Weiss doubted that there was any place on Remnant where she wouldn't eventually find them.
Atlas, with its caging walls and crowded streets, was only an outwardly tempting hiding spot. Jacques could just hire another tracker, assuming Pyrrha still needed one. Sure, the city was huge, but its labyrinthine pathways would probably be more of a hindrance to them than it would be to the Knight Captain.
There'd be no respite in Vacuo among the open plains and towering red mesas; if the landscape didn't kill them outright, it would chew them up and spit them out at Pyrrha's feet.
Not even the metropolitan city of Mistral could sequester them. Too many eyes, too many people to choke the answers from. There was simply no place they could escape.
Certainly not a wooded cabin nestled deep in the lowlands of Menagerie, filled with pepper-haired runts that sprinted to the door, expecting mama to come home with a fat deer and a wide smile. After all, it had been years, why should they expect to find a twisted, reality-warping monster at their doorstep?
She shook the image from her head. They weren't even married and she was already plaguing herself with thoughts of a terrible future; a future with distinctly less fencing than she would prefer! And whose bright idea was it that Ruby would be the one getting the meals, eh? She could hunt! Probably.
'Ugh, I hate your brain,' the sword grumbled, 'could you think about something different? Preferably killing Grimm?'
Weiss' brow knit tight. It had been nagging her to do that since they'd arrived.
'I'm not nagging.'
It was, and it was very annoying. Especially considering she'd only ever seen one Grimm, and she would much prefer its image to not be in her mind, especially now.
'I could show you more, you know.'
She did know. It made that argument every time she made that excuse. However, the mechanics of such an offer deeply troubled her.
'What? It'd just be like you remembered it.'
She did not want a cursed sword doing any more to her brain than it already was, especially not one that had been spent ages trapped inside a Grimm. How it even knew it could do that was beyond her.
'Huh. Interesting point. I just know that I can.'
How unhelpful.
'Eat a dick.'
She'd rather not.
'How could I forget, you've got that Ruby girl to—'
She shut the voice out of her mind, her concentration forcing it behind a wall, something she'd discovered during a particularly petulant bout of whining from the blade. Weiss could still hear the voice, but it was blissfully muffled by the mental barrier. Unfortunately, that seemed to have a real effect on the sword itself, and her next swipe glanced ineffectually off a tangle of vines, painfully twisting her wrist.
The sudden pain made her concentration slip, allowing its voice back into her mind. 'Ha! No more shutting me out, not with a swing like—'
She shut the voice out again. Her mind budged, like she'd slammed the door in somebody's face and they'd just walked into it. Weiss took a deep breath, pulled her arm back, and took another swipe at the vines.
Her blade parted one, then twisted off the rest. Frustration bubbled up immediately.
'So high and mighty, but you can't even swing a—'
She shut it out again, then stepped back from the tangle. The others watched, confused looks on their faces.
"Uh, princess?" Blake called, stepping a little closer. "Are you tired, or something? I can take over if you—"
"No!" Weiss shouted, much louder than she'd intended. Blake took a step back, placating hands poking out from the cloak.
Weiss turned back to their obstacle, determination gleaming in her eyes. It's a sword, she told herself, a tool like any other. Cursed or not, she should know how to use it, surely somebody had taught her how to swing a saber.
She rifled through her memories. Nobody had taught her how to swing a saber.
Weiss growled. Blinded by her anger, she threw a haphazard slash at the vines. Her edge slipped on impact. Her wrist twisted painfully.
"Here, give it to me," Qrow offered, taking a few steps with his hand outstretched. "You need a break."
Weiss whirled on the man, saber clutched tight to her chest. "You can't! It's mine!"
She blinked at her own words, her frustration immediately draining out of body in place of fear. But why should she be scared? It was hers, she needed it.
'Possessive already, are we?'
"Quiet!" She hissed at the blade. It had slipped out before she could catch herself, and judging by Qrow's dubious look, everyone else had caught it too.
The Huntsman looked down at the sword, then up at its wielder. "Weiss, is that—"
"It's cursed," Blake answered for him, arriving at his side. "That's what she told me, at least."
'Oho, the jig is finally up. How intriguing.'
Weiss gripped it tighter, as if clutching the handle would choke the words out of her mind.
"Give it to me," Qrow insisted, his voice more commanding this time. "Those things are dangerous."
Weiss held it even tighter, her whole body shying away from the man's outstretched hand. She needed to hold it, it was hers. If she gave it to somebody else, she'd never see it again. If she threw it away, who knows what kind of Grimm would lock it away again? She couldn't go back, she wouldn't go back. The inky black— never again.
'You may not let me go.'
"I can't let it go," she shakily muttered, conscious of the thoughts that both were and weren't hers. They bit at her mind like rabid dogs, sinking their teeth, spreading their disease. She knew she should but she shouldn't; her soul would be forfeit if she violated it— she'd never form a contract again! She'd never join the flock!
"C-contract?" She whispered to the sword.
The sword was a splitting grin in her mind. A devious one, a desperate one, one that had bound her the moment she touched its blade. There was no exit clause. There was no escape. She couldn't let it go. Even if her fingers left the handle, her soul would always be wrapped around its hilt.
Qrow flinched at her whisper. "Did it contract you?"
Weiss had to strain her neck just to nod, her hands still tight on the sword, her arms still pressing against her smock. She couldn't let it go.
Qrow's face pinched tight with displeasure. "That's… bad."
'I think it's rather good, actually.'
"I think it's rather good, actually." Her mouth parroted the words, voice unnaturally still.
"That wasn't you, was it?" Blake asked, a small amount of fear slipping into her voice.
Qrow stood up straight and affixed her with a paternal glare. "I demand to see the contract."
There was a grumble in Weiss' mind, but one of her hands begrudgingly loosened from the sword's grip. Her arm extended rigidly, palm opening upwards. A scroll appeared from nothing, a long roll of parchment that unfurled against gravity.
Qrow squinted at the text, then narrowed his eyes at the sword. "I'm not an idiot, I know her rights. Weiss, demand a translation."
"I demand a translation," she forced through her teeth, her jaw clenching tight as it resisted against the words.
The text burned away, then reappeared in something Qrow could read. His eyes scrutinized every line, every letter, before he leaned back with a reluctant sigh. "Damn it, Schnee. Have you seen this?"
Weiss had to exert the muscles of her neck until they creaked, just for the tiniest shake of her head.
"You devious little shit," he hissed to the sword. "I thought a spirit like you would be above such base entrapment."
Blake, looking very lost, muttered, "I thought it was cursed."
Qrow shook his head. "It is, but to call it a 'cursed weapon' would be an insult to more honorable implements. Nobody's cursed that thing," he spat, "there's a soul trapped inside, some Aulus Casta."
Hearing its name made the sword's control slip from Weiss, dropping the girl like a puppet with its strings cut. Thankfully, the other two rushed to catch her, letting the sword drop to the forest floor.
"How does that even happen?" Blake asked as she righted the girl.
'I'm not telling you that,' the sword answered. Its voice still appeared in her mind, but it sounded like it had come from the blade itself.
"It said it won't tell you," Weiss groaned, grabbing her head. It felt like her brain had drained out of her ears, leaving her skull a void that echoed every thought.
Qrow huffed as he released the girl, who stumbled on her feet before catching herself. "As expected," he muttered, glaring at the blade, "reticent little husk."
"So what does this all mean?" Weiss asked. "Am I just bound to this thing forever?"
"How awful," Blake halfheartedly jeered.
Qrow sighed, still watching the fallen sword. "That's not an easy question to answer. There is a fulfillment clause— there'd have to be if it wanted the contract to be binding."
Weiss pursed her lips. If he was going straight to the fulfillment clause, that meant her only way out was to do the sword's bidding. Great. "What is it?"
"There are two," Qrow explained, his voice worryingly grim. "Neither are good."
"Well?"
The Huntsman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Either the extermination of every Grimm in existence, or…"
"Just tell me!"
"Liberating the soul from the sword."
Weiss blinked. "That… doesn't sound so bad."
"Do you know how to free a soul from a sword?"
"Of course not!" Weiss snapped. "That's illegal!"
Qrow nodded. "See the problem?"
Weiss opened her mouth, then shut it. Soul manipulation was extremely forbidden under Imperial law— a result of a human general-turned-necromancer who had used the bodies of fay soldiers to fill his own ranks. Of course, it was only outlawed after the war, when he hadn't responded so amicably to requests that he do something with his armies of undead fay, who were known to spread disease and unrest wherever he took them.
His rebellion was short-lived, and his zombies were turned to kindling. Some historians proposed that he had sequestered himself in a phylactery just before his defeat, but they were little more than unfounded rumors; if he had, one of the thousands of historical treasure-seekers would've found it by now.
"So in summary," Weiss droned, "I'm…"
"Fucked," Blake answered.
"You're fucked," Qrow concurred.
Weiss let out a bone-shaking groan, drawing wary gazes as she picked up the sword once more. She felt its control immediately try to grip her body once more, but she put up a wall of concentration that quarantined it to her arm. She knew what it would do if it held her, but she didn't know if Qrow and Blake could take it on while unarmed.
'They can't.'
"Well, if you ever try to hurt my friends," she hissed, "I will burn your stupid contract and bury you in the biggest, fattest Grimm on Remnant."
There was a scoff in her brain. 'You really think I'd let you back in your body?'
"Everyone slips up eventually," she promised, "and I'll be there, waiting."
It took a long moment to answer. 'These aren't your friends.'
Weiss turned to her fay companion and Ruby's not-currently-drunk uncle. "For the purpose of not being murdered by this gods-forsaken sword, you two are my friends."
"How heartwarming," Blake mumbled.
Qrow rolled his eyes. "I could beat it."
Weiss closed her eyes and sighed, then turned back to the tangle of vines. When she let the walls of her concentration drop, the sword didn't try to wrest control of her body. She marched towards the vines. The sword turned them into tatters.
"Come on," she said over her shoulder, "I hate this place."