The cold, shiver-inducing early morning was replaced by the rays of the morning sun, seeping through the near endless forests of the Frontier - and then, by a warmer, calmer afternoon, with occasional chilly wind moving down upon the vast wooded plateau from the direction of the mountains. The five refugees from Altar kept moving. Past the rustling grass and leaves, over a small river crossing their path and then another rivulet, through clearings and then back into the depths of the woods - throughout the entire journey, they could not stop. As soon as they left Altar, the team managed to slip through the near-encirclement of the town and then headed as far west as they possibly could to get away from the enemy positions. Altar and the giant mobile fortress looming above it were long past the horizon behind them.
Eventually, stepping through a dense thicket of leaves and bushes, Reza led them to a small abandoned campsite. It wasn't much to see - a pile of ash, surrounded by a circle of rocks, which itself had a handful of tree stumps surrounding it. There was no sign of recent human activity, either in the site itself or in its vicinity - no unnaturally scattered twigs or leaves, no trash left behind. If the commander had to guess, she assumed that whoever had set up camp here must have done so many years ago.
"Alright, we can take a break here..." Reza declared. The rest of the team - Ashen, Yche and Firre, and Silva, tagging along with them - emerged from the thicket afterwards. "We're going to have to cross half of a continent, and we won't be able to do so in one day."
The reactions of the team differed. Yche let out a sigh and sat down on one of the smoothened tree stumps, then put down her bags and her hammer next to her to let her back rest a little. Ashen soon joined her, still caressing her wound from the battle before, even if it was starting to heal and she could walk with the rest - on the other hand, Silva, still anxious about tagging along with a group of humans, took some distance from the rest and awkwardly stood on the edge of the camp, looking away. Firre was the only one who did not even stop and pause.
"We can't stop. We need to get back to Vale as soon as possible."
"Firre," Reza's voice rang out behind him. After almost disappearing in the thicket again, the prince turned his head back towards the team, only to see that not a single one of them was following. Each one of the girls had their eyes on him, but the fire that was burning in his eyes had faded in all of theirs. "Even if we weren't all exhausted and tired, we can't blindly rush to Suchan. We're not going to reach it in a day, and when we do, we won't be able to simply knock on the town gate and enter, either."
It wasn't an order, but the implication behind her words was there. Though his expression was clearly hesitant, Firre sighed and joined the rest of the team in the abandoned campsite. Yche carried some food out of town as they were fleeing in her bag - it wasn't much, but, with enough rationing, perhaps it would be enough until they reach civilization again. Once Firre sat down on the tree stump on the other side from the campfire, Ashen leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and focusing on the prince's face. Something is off with it. She wasn't able to focus on it during the battle before, nor during the frantic escape from Altar, but now that they had a moment...
"Firre... your eyes. Why are they silver?"
The question briefly caught Firre by surprise, but he soon settled down. The fact that his lenses were burned off had almost vanished from his memory at this point - there simply were too many impactful and crazy things happening one after the other - but once Ashen reminded him of it again, he sighed and answered:
"This is the natural color of my eyes. Before today, I wore a set of lenses that dyed them blue, but Argo burned them off during our fight."
"Huh?" Ashen mumbled in surprise. It got the rest of the team to turn to him and stare him in the eyes, too. Reza soon froze up and then retreated to worried thoughts, while Yche and Silva were merely confused. Though Ashen's expression was still a little pained because of her arm, she forced out a faint smile regardless. "You know, that... looks good on you. I mean... to me, at least. Between the white hair and now the silver eyes, it makes you look like a ghost."
"A... ghost? What do you mean?"
Ashen gestured around her face, pointing at her own eyes and hair. "White on white, pretty much. Too little colour. I-I don't know how to explain it, you just need to look into a mirror..."
Yche joined the conversation with a question. "Why did you hide your eye color in the first place?"
Confronted with that, Firre went silent. Back home, putting lenses into his eyes was just something his father had instilled in him and he never really questioned it. Now that they were off... he had no way of explaining why they were needed in the first place.
"I... don't know. My father never explained it. He never told me why hiding my eye color was of any importance. I didn't bother questioning it, but..."
"Wait," Reza suddenly snapped out of her concerned contemplation and interrupted the prince. "You... don't know?" Her voice was worried enough that everyone's attention was immediately turned to her - even Silva, who stayed to herself and tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone, turned towards her, if only for a second. Briefly confused, Firre tried to correct her, speaking:
"I told you, my father didn't-"
"No, no," Reza interrupted him again, and gestured to him. "I mean... the importance of silver eyes." As if expecting approval, she briefly glanced towards her two teammates, only to be met with the same puzzled looks. "Really? None of you?"
Defensively, Ashen began to explain, before anyone else could chip in. "I mean... I've read stories. All three of us did - the ones where a warrior with silver eyes is a stock character... You remember, we had to do an analysis of one during literature class - 'giving a character silver eyes is used to symbolize that character's purity and heroic virtues', yadda yadda..."
"That's all I've read as well," Firre added, then immediately began correcting himself. "-I mean, not the... literature analysis, but I've heard a handful of stories with warriors with silver eyes when I was a child."
Only fairy tales. Literature. Reza let out a deep sigh. She dropped her hands down, looking away for a second, then said in a more somber tone:
"They're real. It's all real."
Reza's words settled in the campsite for a few seconds, initially met by silence, until finally, with a brief, concerned stammer in his voice, Firre answered:
"I-I'm sorry, Reza... I'm not sure how to take this. You're not the kind of person to just... drop a joke on us."
"I'm not joking," she said. "I've done a bit of reading about people with silver eyes in the past. There is a collection of real, confirmed cases where people with an unnaturally light silver color in their eyes have been spotted and found. They're almost always alone, and they live far from civilization. But what's more important is..."
By "reading", she meant a report she once found on her mother's table, a glance through its pages in the spare minute she had between classes and training sessions. Even if the details had gotten fuzzy in her mind over the years, she still recalled the basics vividly.
"Something about them is... unique. All of those known were warriors, and they appear to have some sort of... unnatural ability to destroy the Creatures of Grimm. That must be where the literary trope of them being legendary Grimm hunters comes from. I-well, obviously, we're dealing with something that's strictly on that fuzzy border between fact and myth, so I can't in good conscience tell you that that's what we are seeing here, but it's what immediately came to mind as soon as Ashen began talking about your silver eyes. That... this might mean you're one of them."
Some sort of... clan of warriors with silver eyes? Firre hadn't heard of this from his father or mother before. Of course, he'd read plenty of fairy tales where you had a village deep in the woods protected by a mysterious warrior with silver eyes - usually with a tragic end, that forces the villagers to take their lives to their own hands - but, as he had mentioned before, he only thought of them as stories. And he certainly never imagined that it applied to him.
"That doesn't explain anything, though," Silva mumbled to herself under her breath, but, unfortunately for her, drawing everyone's attention to her this time. The Rangers and the prince hadn't even thought of her as listening to the conversation. The attention placed on her immediately caused her to shrink to herself, and only after building up the necessary courage did she finish what she wanted to say. "I... I mean... if it's some kind of super powerful trait, and assuming it exists... why would his parents order him to hide it?"
This time, Firre answered instantly, and bluntly. "They are hunted."
"Huh?" the other three girls muttered one after the other. Firre clasped his palms tightly and leaned forward in his sitting position, focusing on the sparse grass of the campsite while in deep thought.
"Argo told me this. He recognized that my silver eyes are important as well. Then, he told me that a person named 'Frigga' guessed that I would have those eyes, that I should be 'turning Grimm to stone' and that he's been ordered to kill people like me by his 'Mistress'..."
Frigga?! flashed in Reza's mind. Immediately, she pictured who exactly Argo was talking about - but she immediately shook those thoughts off. Discipline, discipline. Try to control your emotions. "But why would the empire of Mistral want to hunt silver-eyed warriors?"
"That's the thing. I don't think Argo is actually working for Mistral. He was clearly referring to someone else, but I don't understand whom. Whatever he meant, it doesn't change our plan much. We would be hunted and targeted by Mistral whether or not there was an unmentioned third actor in play. Getting to Suchan in secret and then returning to Vale is our first priority."
While her comrades were prattling about the mythology of silver eyes and what it could mean - she didn't really understand why both Reza and Firre became obsessed with the idea, how likely was it that one of them was some sort of legendary warrior from a mysterious lineage anyway? - Yche turned toward someone else instead. She briefly gestured with her hand and said:
"Silva, why aren't you sitting with us?"
The Faunus girl would have been perfectly happy to just keep to herself since her brief comment, some occasional mutterings to herself notwithstanding. Firre had pulled her into this, and right now, following him seemed like the best way she could survive and return to Vale. Preferably, no commitment beyond that - so, once Yche spoke to her regardless, it caught her by surprise.
"I... I'm fine."
Who's to say that Yche won't stab her as soon as she comes closer?
"Really? You've fought in a battle, and you've been walking for hours, presumably with very little sleep. Even I'm a little winded after that," Yche continued. True, Silva could feel her legs yearning for rest. On instinct, she began going down. "Oh, come on, don't sit on the dirty ground when we have these stumps for exactly that..."
"I'll be fine, human. Watch your issues, not mine."
"I... brothers, alright..." Yche mumbled out, the surprise getting her to blabber under her breath and lodge complaints to herself. "You could have at least called me out by my name, I'm trying to respect you over here..."
She didn't try to bother Silva again. It had already been the worst day of her life and she had no intention of making it even worse.
Smoke, ash and dust.
Mantlean soldiers marched through the emptied, silent town of Altar in small groups, inspecting one house after another. After their forces entered the settlement, fires from the surrounding forest had reached it, and several of the houses were already burning down - as most of them were erected almost entirely from wood, it being plentiful here, they were highly vulnerable. They had ceased by now, stopped by gaps between trees and houses, but at least a third of the town was left in ruins, even if not a single shot was fired directly into it during the battle.
The evacuation appeared hasty. Breaking down doors and rushing into houses, soldiers discovered untouched shelves and houses still furnished with the usual trinkets - as was policy, the Mantleans swept through to seize everything that could be useful and brought back to Mantle. Dust was nowhere to be found - it must have been too important for the inhabitants to leave behind when evacuating - but more primitive sources of energy such as coal, precious metals - earrings, jewelry, other gilded items - and then various electronics and stocks of Valean currency. Some of the rescued resources disappeared within pockets and bags, but the rest was brought towards the town center, where a camp was established and surrounding trees were taken down in order to open up space for airships to land.
There, in quick order, a supply depot and a medical camp were established. Casualties were numerous. Most of the losses during the battle were permanent - but some, stabbed and cut by the weapons of the Valean Rangers, or blasted by wood grown from below them, "walked off" with only severe injuries. Occasionally, a pained grunt or even a yell would reverberate throughout the whole military camp. At times, when an injury had completely bungled a soldier's limb, it needed to be amputated - and here, on the field, there was no other method available but holding down the injured soldier tight and bringing a surgeon's saw. Unfortunate losses to the army, as a soldier can no longer fight without a limb and must be sent home... but, as the great state hopes, they will be able to pay back in another way.
A small troop of sixteen soldiers was approaching the camp in orderly formation, surrounding a large metallic armchair-like seat from all sides. It moved on a set of wheels, powered by a small engine within the apparatus, and it carried General Frigga Betula of the Mantlean Army. Her expression, even if dulled by many years of emotion suppression, was far from happy with what she saw. Her eyes glanced from one side to another, observing the smoking emptied houses, the wounded soldiers rolled into blankets on the floor, the supplies gathered and meticulously measured by the statisticians, then finally settled on three officers approaching her escort.
As soon as they arrived and bowed, the seat stopped, and the soldiers around her moved to the sides, forming a line to the left and the right, eight on each.
"This operation went far worse than predicted," Frigga declared, her dissatisfied glare now falling directly upon the officers and getting one of them to fix his uniform in discomfort. "Over a dozen soldiers were killed, several were wounded, all while the Rangers did not suffer a single casualty. This means we severely underestimated their capabilities, and will have to reconsider our strategies."
Most of the generals and commanders in the Mantlean Army, and the civilian bureaucracy of the Kingdom, dismissed the Valean Ranger Corps as a worthless force well before the war began. They valued individual initiative and one-to-one combat ability, and their ranks were extremely narrow, only refilled by cadets who trained for years in Lantern Academy and were pushed to the limit of their personal strength - for a Mantlean noble or general, this bordered on insanity. Why would you rely on a handful of overpowered super-warriors and then give them such freedom of action? Would it not lead to constant disobedience, orders that were treated more as suggestions than commands, or Rangers simply running away and returning to their homes? In their eyes, a soldier had to be controlled, had to be obedient, had to fulfill orders without question - and if they don't hold this discipline, then they are next to useless.
It was a common thought within the royal court that the Ranger Corps would fold and scatter upon first contact with the Mantlean Army. Frigga did not share their view, and here she was, proven correct in the most bitter manner.
"And the town... Somehow, it managed to completely evacuate before we even stepped foot in it," the general continued, laying down her frustration, even if her voice was as flat as monotone as always, refined after years of practice. I don't understand... Did the Rangers not arrive here on a frantic retreat from Sumire? How did they manage to organize such an effective evacuation, so quickly? Valean commanders are not known for such efficiency - who's the person in charge...? It's not the prince, right?
Argo's voice from the distance called out towards the general:
"Frigga."
The Invulnerable was approaching, the familiar sound of his thick, heavy bronze boots pushing against the ground alerted the Mantlean soldiers of his presence even before he spoke. With his hand, he was violently ripping off the metal plates bolted to his armor before the fight and tossing them down to the ground, each one with a loud clang against the dirty town street. Frigga's eyes turned towards him, then she gestured towards the soldiers with her hand - immediately, each of them, as well as the summoned officers, stepped away and returned to their posts. Once her mobile seat was left alone, she answered Argo:
"The prince escaped your grasp again, did he not?"
"Pulled out of danger by a beastgirl again," Argo answered, with faint venom in his voice, and stopped in front of the general. "Before he escaped, however, I was able to confirm what you were suspecting - he has silver eyes. Turns out that blue color was simply a set of contact lenses that burned off as soon as I targeted them."
"Clever," Frigga laconically remarked. Being proven correct all along was hardly relieving, however. "But this is not good news. This is the second time that you failed your task, and at this point, we are starting to run out of opportunities to capture him."
"...I will capture him. Both of those times, I was so close. Close in breaking both his body, and his faith. I'll find a third opportunity, and he will not escape me then."
That came off very determined - almost hostile, even. Frigga could have easily taken this as an offense and knocked him down a peg, but, for the sake of their common struggle in the name of their Mistress, she let it slide and merely sighed instead.
"If the prince and his followers fought you and then escaped this town, then they could not be very far away. They and the town's inhabitants will be holed up somewhere - that is the only way they could have vanished with such little trace. The Mantlean troops will root them out, eventually. We have enough soldiers here to police the forest night and day - they won't have the opportunity to escape, and their lair will eventually be found."
"This is nonsense."
"...Pardon?"
"Firre isn't a coward. He wouldn't have agreed to simply hide and wait us out. Either he is going to reemerge and strike back, or he is already on his way back to Vale."
"And... what do you propose we do, instead?" This got Argo to stare at her intensely for a few seconds before he let out a sigh himself and glanced away. With no answer, Frigga continued. "My hands are tied somewhat. The Royal Court only approved an expedition to seize Valean frontier towns and so force King Ozymandias to the negotiation table for a peace treaty to surrender the entire Frontier. I won't be able to deploy troops beyond Altar's surroundings regardless."
"So, you're staying here?"
"For the time being, yes. My soldiers will have to find Altar's inhabitants, and the King will send an ultimatum to Oz while we wait. You can either stay here and help me root out these escapades, or you are dismissed."
Hearing her double offer, Argo glanced from side to side, his eyes looking through the military camp a little bit away from them - for a second, he considered his options, before loudly proclaiming:
"Stay here, twiddling my thumbs, when I know that Firre is not here? Tsk, not a chance. I'm going back to Mistral. This has been a wash."
"Your choice. Wait for the next message," Frigga answered, following the departing Argo with her eyes - then, at the last moment, she spoke again. "One more thing."
"What is it?"
"Don't become obsessed. The Valean prince is just one cog in the whole machine. There will be more - the Maidens, the Relics... This war we're fighting is just one of the tools, not the end itself."
Frigga's words got him to stop. His eyes turned upwards, briefly getting lost in the morning sky. What does she even mean? Obsession? War is what gives people life. And how can a person refuse to keep living?
Argo glanced at his comrade over his shoulder, let out a scoff, and walked away.
A light drizzle was going down on the city of Vale. Now that gray clouds had covered almost the entire sky, the evening was darker, and the streets were emptier. Carrying umbrellas of various colours and often dressed in suit jackets, three-piece suits and a wide selection of hats, from trilbies to the more lower class flat "newsboy caps", citizens of Vale walked along the streets and occasionally conversed with one another. There was a lot to discuss. News about the invasion and occupation of Sumire had spread throughout the population like wildfire, but this news was followed by the tap shutting down almost instantly, leaving many clueless to what was taking place beyond the mountains. Some said that the Mantlean Army was already crossing them and would descend upon Vale on the very next day - the train route from Sumire to Vale was shut down and the tracks were disabled in several sections to prevent the Mantleans from arriving here by train, but there was still the danger of their air fleet. Not everyone was so alarmist, but this loud minority in newspapers and on the streets did a lot to shape the opinion of the rest.
Several identical posters were hanging on the brick wall of a residential block standing by the sidewalk, bunched together by the volunteers putting them up - the light rain had gotten them wet, but they were still well legible. "VALE, STAND PROUD!" they proclaim. A slew of real and imagined Mantlean and Mistralian crimes against humanity, morality and law follow, and, finally, a demand for Vale's citizens to stay loyal to the Kingdom and for the King to mobilize a vast Valean army to finish it off. Sharp, striking visuals, with the eye-pleasing geometry of the raised fists and flags, adorned them on the corners and sides.
"Did the King buy these?" one of two civilians, each one in jackets and hiding under their respective umbrellas, remarked as he finished reading one of the posters. The other one shook his head and answered:
"Seems not. See, there's the organization written on the bottom. Seems to be a group of concerned citizens, or something like that."
"Huh," the first mumbled. "Good for them. Gotta stick it up to those snow gobblers."
"I know, right? Psychopaths and murderers, the lot of them. Mistralians too. There's not a single one I've met who didn't threaten me or try to swindle me..."
Before they could continue, the sound of footsteps rang out against the wet pavement of the sidewalk. Both of the civilians' attention was drawn towards two approaching men. They were in Ranger uniforms, the familiar dark green overalls, though each one was adorned with gold strips or a symbol of a fish, respectively. Neither of them paid much attention to the civilians standing around, but both of them immediately tensed up in respect, even though the Rangers appeared quite young. One of the civilians even tipped his hat, which got one of the Rangers to turn in his direction and briefly follow before moving on.
"Heh," Considine commented under his breath. After a few minutes of grumbling and frowning that his straw hat was getting wet in the light rain, this brought a smile back to his face, and he tapped on his uniform. "I'm loving this get-up. Finally makes people respect me, you know? I can just... stroll to the street and see faces light up with reverence."
"I still don't understand how you managed to pass your exam..." Martel weakly mumbled under his breath, his hand still holding onto the grip of Crocea Mors on his belt.
"Huh? What'd you say?"
"I-uh-no, nothing at all!"
Considine laughed out loud. "I heard you, don't worry. I did participate in the fight, you know, even if for a bit. And I actually studied for the written test, so you can't fault me there at all."
"Right, right... s-sorry..." That wasn't nice of me to say... Martel shook off his internal worries and anxieties when Cons spoke again, this time inquiring about something else:
"So... why exactly are only two of us going to investigate? General Serapion was suspicious about them, but if they were apparently clearly 'potentially dangerous to the royal order', wouldn't it have been better to send a whole regiment to apprehend them, not just us?" He imitated Serapion's deeper voice in a somewhat mocking manner, which got Martel to sigh and twitch.
"A-all we have right now are suspicions. Apparently, uhm, the King himself asked the Rangers to investigate them," he answered. "But if a whole regiment barreled down on their door one day and demanded answers, that'd cause an uproar. So, all we need to do is talk to them, ascertain their intentions, and bring the information back to headquarters."
"Shame. I would have preferred something that gives us a chance to fight."
"Internal Affairs Corps aren't supposed to fight..."
Well, they were, but it was rarer than usual. Certainly, a safer position to serve in these days than deployment in the Frontier, anyway...
The two officers stopped in front of the wide double doors of the Amber House, briefly taking in the mansion's modernistic splendor and the intricacy of the carved oak doors, then Cons pressed the button at the side. A loud chirp rang out inside, and soon, the sound of hurrying steps followed. An eye briefly looked through the peephole, then, in an even more breakneck pace, hurried away. Neither of them was aware of what exactly was going on. The House was not informed about the officers' arrival in advance, just in case its owner was fearful of the law enough to run away before the first questioning. Just in case, Martel searched through his pockets until he pulled out an Internal Affairs Corps warrant. In the situation where she tries to challenge their request by legal means, they have the papers to prove everything. Worried thoughts continued to run through his mind.
Should... should I keep my hand on my weapon? What if they're planning to shoot us? Um... No, that's dumb. That's not happening...
Still, Martel briefly tensed up when the doors creaked and the one on the left started to open. One of the House's employees was pulling it with all her might, and behind it stood Jurata.
The face was familiar from all the news they've watched during the Academy, but her dress was... surprising. A red tint briefly formed on both of their faces. She was in a flapper dress, with a beaded headband, a set of jewelry, and her finger wrapping around a strand of her long blonde hair.
"Hello, officers... what may I do for you today?"