CHAPTER 1 - The Raven


January 7th, 797 E.A
Coast of Anima, Kingdom of Mistral Territory

The waves crashing against the shore, she couldn't escape the red paint splashed all over her world. People stained in Red. Hopes stained Red. The insides of the waking dreams were also Red.

Ruby Rose stared at the sea.

The ruined village. The creaking, falling apart wooden structures of this port. The sea breeze. The sharp sound of the waves smashing against the fragile construction and the worn-down cargo ship. The moon shone high above her, covering everything in pale silver as if outlining the shape of the sea.

Arrow piercing the chest. A tower, crumbling apart. A town in ruins, beasts of hate and despair swarming over its carcass. Human beings tearing into each other, divided by fear and despair. The torn-apart dream lasting too long gave way to harsh winds, sweeping away everything in sight.

To Ruby Rose, Pyrrha Nikos and Beacon Academy were one and the same.

A symbol of hope. A bright light piercing the dark skies. Inspiration to strive to be better. In hindsight, it was an obvious target for any villain longing to discredit everything a Huntsman stands for.

Pyrrha Nikos was everything Ruby pictured a Huntress to be - kind, caring, selfless, and forgiving. She was the hero of her childhood fairy tales, a knight from the stories that chased her nightmares away. An embodiment of all that was good in the world. Ruby could never imagine a situation where Pyrrha would have had to compromise on her ideals. To her - Pyrrha was a constant. A moral center, an example for everyone - a someone others would want to live up to. She was the driving force behind Ruby's wish to become better, stronger, and smarter. Had she continued, Pyrrha would likely have saved countless lives, made the world a better place, and would forced others around her to be better people. A moment of cruelty took her from the world that needed her, right in front of Ruby.

What is the point of all this? What is the point of moving forward if all it takes is a single act of malice to turn everything to dust?

Towers get built, and then towers fall. Towns get built throughout a lifetime, and they crumble to nothingness in a single moment. The world was littered with ruins - gravestones for people abandoned to their fates. The ones who were not strong enough to protect themselves, and nobody would do that for them. The Isle they visited was no different. Neither was this ruined fishing village. Another gravestone, slowly vanishing.

A single spot of dark red upon the Land.

It doesn't matter how many people I'll save. It will never undo the weight of the ones I didn't. Why can't I when it matters? Why do I fail again and again?

Penny Polendina.

A naïve girl from a country far away. Penny represented everything Ruby never knew she wanted from the world around her. Empathy, friendship, bonds - Her presence made Ruby long for actual friends, even if interacting with others was hard for her. With Penny, there was no doubt, no hours spent practicing what to say - their friendship blossomed in a single moment, the right words coming at the right time. The day she met Penny was the first time Ruby doubted her claim that she did not need friends, only her weapon.

If she hadn't met Penny, Ruby would have likely never opened up to the degree she did to the people around her. She made her believe that there was more to this world than heroes and villains. Penny Polendina showed her what humanity was. A true friend - now in pieces, all because Ruby Rose, the self-proclaimed hero, wasn't fast enough.

Why am I never fast enough? Would anything change if I was faster, if I was stronger? If so, then doesn't that mean that all that matters in this world is power? Power to make ideals a reality, no matter what mine are? Power to survive?

Roman.

A petty criminal. The first villain that she faced after arriving in Vale. Ruby never thought much of him. Another spot of malice, painting the town red. And yet, his last moments haunted Ruby in her dreams, his final words lingering like a curse. What she wrote off as malice was actually desperation. She had no idea who this guy was or what life he led. She knew him for his evil deeds. And yet in his last moments, he was another human. Filled with anger, fear, and hate. Driven by the need to survive. A living embodiment of everything she hates, everything she fears, everything that angers her.

"This is the real world. The real world is cold. The real world doesn't care about spirit. You want to be a hero? Then play the part and die like every other Huntsman in history! As for me, I'll do what I do best - lie, steal, cheat, and survive!"

His words echoed inside her, like a scar, a searing wound that ached with every second of her existence.

And now she stood here, on the other side of an ocean.

She stared at the horizon, where her home was, somewhere, out of sight. Vale was still in disarray. Her sister laid over there, in bed. And yet she was over here - on a journey without purpose, driven by a single sliver of misguided hope, chasing after fading dreams of heroism.

Mom, scattering in the wind, far away from home, from me. What was the ending to her heroic struggle? Did anything she did matter in the end?

Crescent Rose.

A weapon. A symbol of her relentless pursuit of being a huntsman, walking in the footsteps her mom left behind. A tool she built to save lives now weighed heavy in her hands. Every swing and every move reminded her of an endless truth - that all things die. Whether by her hand, by an unpredictable act of malice from those with ill intent, or by mere coincidence, an accident.

What will I do now? What is the point of this journey? Why am I even here? Why am I lying to myself? What does "moving forward" even mean? What is the point of a hero if, in the end, power decides right from wrong?

Cold wind tore into her hair, caressing her face with a chill, like death - welcoming and endless.

Steps, weary and slow, behind her. She turned her head.

A bald man worn down by life. Sideburns and ash-white beard.

The smuggler captain.

"Sea can be calming, kid." - The old man smiled. - "Just be sure to not get lost in those waves. That's never good."

Ruby was silent.

What could she answer to that? Her chest hurt, heart was heavy. Every single breath of air was a struggle, a fight.

"It's easy to lose sense of time or even distance when staring at the sea. The waves are chaotic, yes, unpredictable even, but all of them have a reason to flow the way they do." - The old man continued. - "Will I ever know why the waves carry my ship the way they do? Likely not, no, but they carry it all the same, they do."

"I'm not sure I follow…"

"I can see you have a lot on your mind, kid - lots of turmoil, like waves, inside your heart. But your heart's in the right place. Back in the Isle, you jumped headfirst without thinking - you act to protect, even if we folk did not seem right to your eyes. You lot made sure to avoid me all journey, yes. And yet, when things got dangerous, you still, without a second of hesitation, jumped to fight. Alongside you, three other huntsmen were on a ship. And you were the only ones to do so. And that matters in this dark world."

"Does it? If nothing changes, does it matter? Does it matter if nothing matters?"

"It should for you. I can't change the direction the waves flow, you see. The sea is fickle and chaotic and can carry me to the ends of this Land. All I can do is sail my ship where I want it to. The sea will object - it will try to stop me. But as long as I have a direction, I'll still end up somewhere, yes."

"I am not sure I believe that."

"Well," - The Old Captain laughed. - "That's something you'll have to work on on your own, kid. Learn to be yourself and never stop."

Disbelief.

Ruby did not want to take the Old Captain's words for truth.

Here stood a smuggler, a criminal, a villain. And again, even if in a friendlier context, a villain gave her advice. Someone who indulged in bribery, theft, and a life of debauchery. And yet in this moment, a weary old man in front of her with friendly advice.

"I'm sorry for mistrusting you." - words finally came out from her mouth. - "I shouldn't assume things about people."

"Oh, you absolutely should, kid. I am not a good person. It's about balance, you see. If you are too selfless and naive, you are just an idiot, you see. There's evil in this world." - The Old Captain scratched his forehead. - "But just because the world is full of evil, doesn't mean you can't find good too. You did something good, and now I return the favor."

The two observed the sea in silence.

"You are about to set off on your journey, yes?"

"In an hour, maybe. A friend went ahead - we are waiting for a response, but…"

"Careful, I see. That's good. Vigilance is always good, yes. Anima's a beauty but a treacherous one. And Mistral is not big on empathy or friendship. If it doesn't end up eating you alive, this place could use people like you, kids."

A bell rang in the distance, interrupting them.

"Ruby!"

Ruby took her eyes off the sea, turning around. Nora bolted forward toward them, Ren right behind her.

"Ruby, there's fire over the forest, up north." - Nora was out of breath. - "Grimm."

All the air escaped her lungs. Crescent Rose grew heavier in her hand once again as the harsh reality of her life came back, crashing like the waves.

Nora was saying something, but Ruby did not want to hear it. She stood in a swamp, earth swallowing her deeper if she did not move. The pretty words of hope faded, and death lingered, waiting for its turn.

Red, like Roses, painting her world.


January 7th, 797 E.A
Patch Island, Kingdom of Vale Territory

Yang quickened her steps, sullen.

The doctor recommended physical activity as part of recovery. The wounds were already healing, but there was more to it than that. Nothing was ever simple. She had to re-learn a lot of what would come to her naturally before. Doing chores, and taking these short walks to, and from, the village was one of the ways to do that. And it should have helped her take her mind off the things...

Are you surprised this did not work, you useless dumbass?

What happened through the last few months followed her with every step taken. Beacon in flames, the things she said to Ruby...It hasn't even sunk in yet, that Ruby just up and left. They never got to speak after, to clear up the air between them. As a result, there was a rift between them, and no matter what scenarios ran in her head, it wouldn't change a thing. Even now, if Ruby was in front of her, could she even do something, anything, differently? Would it end the same way?

You can't fix this. You can't fix anything. You only ever knew how to hide behind that smile.

"Damn it Yang. Are you that scary that everyone keeps running away from you?" - the blond woman joked to herself, out-loud. Little self-deprecating mockery would always come in handy for her.

Are you at the part where you laugh at your own jokes yet, Yang? It's fine, nobody else would laugh at them anyway.

Could she smile through it all, bottling up the anger and the hurt and, instead, being supportive? Should she have matched Ruby's desperate longing for hope and positivity? Entertain her naivety? Would Ruby not have left then? Would she have asked her to go with her? Would Yang do that? COULD she have done that back then or even now? Would Ruby refuse her help? Disgustingly shower her with pity? Strangle her with empathy?

There was no outcome where Yang wouldn't have been a burden. That thought haunted her every day now. All that her pain accomplished was hurting others, so she should stay out of their way…

On the flip side, Ruby never was the kind of person to know tact or when to shut up. A needy little brat so ignorant of the moments she'd hurt someone. So, who's to say it would have gone any differently had Yang done everything right? If Ruby could not see what it meant, then she really was an idiot and she has always been an idiot wasting her time with...

She clenched her teeth, her hand forming a fist. She really wanted to punch something.

Tiresome steps. Tiresome thoughts. Tiresome sights.

Tired.

Tired of always being okay just because she has to be. Tired of being the responsible one. Tired of being forced to set an example, to show others the right path, all while herself aimless, wandering through her life.

She has always been there for Ruby. She has always been there for her dad. She has been there for the team.

Always. Always. Always.

She opened her heart - she burned for them - a light in the distance. And then they left.

Is it too much to expect them, any of them, to be here for you now? To allow yourself to be selfish?

Yang did not want to feel guilty about being a useless wreck who can't ever do anything right and whose sole value has been to punch things when others asked her. A useless mess that could not even do that now. A complete nobody who can't even look in the mirror without breaking down in tears.

Yang stopped in her tracks.

The trees, the snow, the village rooftops up ahead. Cold winter winds. A moment of respite, a pause.

How ironic life can be. Vale crumbled down in flames and ash. Dozens of people she knew lost their homes or lives, the world hanging in the balance on the cusp of war.

Here she was. In Path. Like nothing had changed, wasting her time being useless. Same people were still going about their day. Houses stood beyond the hill, monuments and same trees, same forest to suffer through back and forth, same dirt and snow. This village, disconnected from the cruel reality that surrounded her, existed, continuing like nothing.

Just for a split second. If only she didn't think about it, it would be like always...

Too late. Well that didn't last long.

Good job on irritating even yourself, Yang. Real good job. You are an expert on this optimism thing, aren't you, real talented at driving everyone away with your nonsense.

She moved forward, just like Uncle Qrow told her to. But why? What was the point?

"That was Taiyang's little one? The one who…" - The elderly woman outside hurriedly folded her laundry, looking over to the side as she whispered to someone through the window. - "You know what she did."

The edge of the village in front of her, whispers came from the side. The first house on the left belonged to an older couple who used to come over back in the day and even gifted Ruby a sweater.

"She comes every day, poor girl. A tough one to get over. So young. fiery one too..." - old man's voice rang from inside the house, only interrupted by the newspaper being crumpled and folded.- "Must be hard on old Tai to have someone like..."

"Shh, dear, don't. She might hear us."

Yang increased her pace, hurrying along as fast as she could, past that stupid house, doing her best not to look at them.

Heavy morning air about to crush her, weighed her down to the ground. She forced a smile to appear on her face. Not for anyone around. For herself.

All of the gossiping idiots did not matter. Nor did the stares. Country folk always did that - before they would gossip about her fights or hair or about how she thrashed some bar or that time she and her team made a giant mech explode all over the highway. It's nothing new. Dozens of nicknames followed her infamy. It never mattered. It won't matter now. It's all fine, you are fine. Those idiots can burn for all you cares. Even you don't care about yourself, why should you care about what they think?

Just working on her bike or, at least, attempting to, was everything she wanted right now. A sense of normalcy. She can't drive it now, but she might one day and working on it calmed her. She could not do that without buying supplies at the village. And she couldn't get supplies without visiting the damn village and listening to all the idiotic assholes pompously insinuating that that she's worse than thrown away trash.

Take a deep breath. It's all fine. You are fine.

"Just think of this as training, Yang, Training to handle idiots." - She found herself thinking out-loud yet again. It was becoming a habit.

She did not get to speak with anyone much lately, in part because of her own emotions, in part because she was always alone. Ruby was gone. Weiss was gone. Blake was gone.

Good riddance, you don't need their pity.

Dad would come and go, moving back and forth between Vale and Patch, trying to help her, ignorant of the fact that she just wanted him to stay with her. Yang was desperate to hear her own voice. To reassure herself she still had it.

Getting close to the smithy, radio blared in the background. While the communication network was down, those old things were now the only source of news in Patch, with the signal from the Relay Station in Vale's Upper-Class District still reaching Patch. Nothing but government announcements, news bits, and pompous politicians discussing things.

The droning voice of some pompous asshole. Irritating. The last few weeks have been filled with everyone, including her father, speculating what the future holds for Remnant. Even if the Council kept reassuring the townsfolk that there was no need for panic and the forces of Vale stand stalwart and true, tensions still ran high among the relocated survivors. Meanwhile, the Grimm had overrun majority of the city, Beacon was still off-limits, and the dead were still dead...

She approached the smithy. She could hear the sound of someone hammering at metal inside. The sign in front said "Please ring the bell and wait."

And so she waited. The radio kept blabbering about the same topics and the necessity for old-fashioned messengers.

"Where has the complacency and broad-mindedness gotten us?! Can this great nation even handle possible threats, its very heart devastated by savagery? And the Kingdom of Atlas?! According to several eyewitness accounts, the fabled Atlas soldiers and machinery were participating in the terrifying defilement of the Beacon Academy - where our children, our future, come to learn! And as the Council of Vale stays silent! I say it is time for a change! In the next election, make your voices heard! Now, I have been no stranger to politics and governance, my dear citizens. The Upper-Class District stands undamaged by the assaulting Faunus hordes and the mechanical abominations, both, because of the vigilance and character of people like us!"

Egotists like that annoyed her the most. Using someone's tragedy for personal gai, using it to stir up hate. Yang could almost imagine Blake standing there fuming at the radio.

But she wasn't there.

Are you really surprised you are alone, Yang? When you have such a short fuse? Do you really think people would be attracted to all that baggage?

Impressions of rust and oil surrounded the smithy - the burning furnace inside emitted hellish heat. Yang kept stomping her leg, waiting, as if to a rhythm hidden behind that discomfort.

World shifts.

The chaotic melody around her fuses together, twisting itself.

She needs to touch her arm, even if for a second. Why can't she?

She watches herself in that burning hall.

Yang's terrified face looking at her, that mask hovering above.

Her arm.

Her arm. Her Arm. Her Arm. Her. Arm. Her Arm. Her Arm. Her Arm.

Everything in her life burns.

She needs to take a few steps back, run from what's about to happen.

She wants to scream.

She wants to hit something.

No sound can escape, before the shadow swings it's blade, cutting her in half.

She needs to breathe. Why can't she breathe? Why can't she breathe? Why can't she breathe?

The world is dark, the sun is gone, the snow is gone.

The Sun is the Snow is the World is the Dark.

A Gurgling deep sound interrupted her thoughts, annoying birds screeching in the sky, bringing her back. She focused on that sound, on people talking in the street, on the annoying radio, on anything else but that memory. She told herself a joke in her mind. And another. And another. And another.

Its not enough.

She ran.

She wouldn't dare to look back. Just a few more steps to her home. Her bike can wait another day - everything can wait another damn day. She needed to get back NOW. Before she knew it, she was already out of the village, running through the forest.

She slowed down.

Of course you couldn't talk to even a single person, Yang. How pathetic.

An empty family home stood ahead, lights out. Once a place of comfort, now it loomed alone and cold.

"They just…left...without saying a single word!"– she found herself screaming through gritted teeth.

You idiot, of course there's nobody here, THEY. ALL. LEFT. Get that into your dumb head. Everybody leaves you. They always will.

Memories of Weiss flashed through her mind.

Weiss had no choice - she was a victim, just like all of them. She got dragged back home, confused and startled. Yang remembered Weiss' last visit right before she left. Just over ten days after Yang had opened her eyes to to the changing world. Yang was still bedridden back then. She remembered Weiss, confused and lost, entering Ruby's room and then quickly exiting again, even more distraught. Weiss struggled to find the right words. Weiss said those words - "I have to leave", as they pierced Yang like a thousand daggers. The people she opened up her heart to? The entire team? All were gone.

For Ruby - being unconscious was out of Ruby's control. She did not choose to spend over a month unconscious. But her reckless decision to journey out who knows where without a moment's notice? Yeah, she's dumb.

But Blake? Blake did not have any excuses in Yang's mind. She left, she abandoned them, she abandoned her. Another person in her life who would rather be somewhere else than near her.

It was as if something had disappeared inside her.

Vanishing so fast that Yang still vividly feels the absence itself as she rots here, thrown away by the damn fools rushing ahead with zero care for what awaits them.

The forest began to warp and twist around her. Once again, she wanted to run, to be anywhere but here, but the ground moved beneath her feet as if to run away from her.

She struggled to push the feeling away, to calm down.

It's all fine. It's going to be fine. Everything is fine. It is going to be fine. It's going to be fine. You are fine. Aren't you fine? Everything's great.

She entered her home. Empty. Cold. Not a single sound around her. An awful tone of nothingness ringing in her ears, like an annoying thought she could not escape.

"I miss you guys..."- Not even an echo answered her.

Something missing. Part of her. The wounds one can't see always burn the worst...


January 7th, 797 E.A
Port City of Argus, Kingdom Of Mistral Territory

A lone man sat overlooking the sea.

A sense of poetry. Of repetition. In moments like this, he would always find himself facing the rushing waves.

Qrow knew it would be a while. Awareness of what his niece will face here lingered in his head. But it was better than the alternative.

Winter, nearly at the turn of the century. The sound of people filled the City of Argus. All of them were unaware and uncaring that the world had taken a step for worse almost overnight. He never liked cities crawling with people. And here, docks and the sea were the only way to get away from them all.

A cliff towered behind him, overlooking the pier. He had no interest in going up there. Gazing upon others all high and mighty was Oz's thing, not his. On that cliff above lay a basilica dedicated to Anima, watching over the ocean for centuries. And Qrow never cared for myths or religion.

So here he sat, a rotten vermin, staring blankly over the horizon that hung ever so above the screaming seawater.

A few miles down from here, about a day ago, a ship silently laid its anchor in an abandoned village. It held a peculiar crew on a journey thrown their way that he hoped would keep them busy. And now Qrow struggled to figure out how much time he had left before war drowned everything in the putrid stench of death.

Making decisions never came easy for him.

Even now, when everything fell apart.

If Oz were here, he would likely encourage him to view every desperate situation as a new window of opportunity - a way to turn things around. Life's a path that's full of open doors and all that.

Back then, all those years ago, to that pale kid, those lines Ozpin had said left such a strong impression. So strong that merely surviving wasn't enough anymore. Facing hunger and fear, ridden with thoughts of how it might not be enough. That kid didn't have the best life, even though he never complained about his fate. He just knew - he would die in a ditch somewhere. The world around him had no place for plans, hopes, goodwill, or anything but the promise of indulging yourself in the continuous ethereal decadence that comes with living one more day, even if others didn't.

To the kid, the realization that the world is like a parasite sucking his essence to feed itself just came naturally, like breathing.

Qrow's sister, on the other hand, always had this air of indifference around her - eternal fire intent to burn through any obstacles in her path. Of course, as with him, most of that was just a mask. His sister had her fair share of worries, doubts, aspirations, and despair. She hid it differently and channeled those conflicting emotions into different things than him.

Ozpin's words back then resonated with both of them.

The young kid acquired something he never had. For the first time, he experienced hope.

For once, he had a direction to move towards! An illusion that there was more to this than mere scraps he'd manage to grasp with all his might! This world had more to offer than just reaching for power, any means necessary, and using it to survive. A sense of right and wrong - tangible and real. Not something that you can bend to your will with merely having more power.

"Even if the doors in front of you keep closing, no matter how tough the road is, if you just keep moving forward, before you know it, more doors will open. And then more and more of them. Then, eventually, you will enter the one meant for you as your destination, the heavy journey left behind." - Ozpin's words would echo in his mind all his life.

Would that kid, if he saw his future, say that it was worth it?

Qrow had no answer to that question. He has long since outgrown the worries and aspirations inside that little pale kid. Even if he forced himself to, he likely couldn't even make himself think how his younger self did anymore. There was too much baggage.

Now? Now, all those doors in front of him were crashing shut one after another.

He stalled and hesitated and put it off for weeks now, but with everything in ruins, he ran out of options. Before long, he won't even have the bad options left. And then? Yet again, the pale-faced kid, now a grown man, will have arrived at an empty wasteland where the promise of indulging in decadence was the only replacement for hope he could find.

A cold shiver ran through his body as if to the depths of his soul.

The weight of emptiness in his every step, the meaningless worth of the footprints he left behind. Alcohol has dulled his senses far too long - while sweet vertigo could wash the guilt away, the names and faces would still be in front of him no matter what. He'd strangle them with the taste of whiskey in his mouth, he'd drown them in whispers of those who found him beautiful, and he'd stab their hearts all over again with the exhilarating feeling of another's blade this close to his throat. Only then could he see what was going on in his brain and put the right words to the thoughts that cursed him as a failure.

He has become a parasite himself, subsisting on nothing but violence - patiently waiting, rotting under the sun, longing for the only way to fill himself with something other than guilt and despair.

What could this worthless carrion say to his hopeful past self? To that bright kid that just found purpose and is approaching him, for once in his lifetime, smiling?

He would likely say that the promise of hope is like any other lie. The source of it always disappears into the fog. He would say that hope is a cruel yet sweet and addicting curse - even when it leaves you behind, you can't help but want to chase after it. Even if eventually you might be running after all the impossible plausible replacements for it that you can find. Running till all that you are left is nothingness in your heart. Not even remembering what it was that you were so desperately chasing after.

What would this insignificant speck of dust say to himself in the mirror now, in this exact moment?

Qrow would say that before it comes to that, if an opportunity presents itself, he shall take it, no matter how unclear. Even if he has to kick the damn doors open by force this time.

Slow, deliberate steps announced the presence of the uninvited guest.

Qrow tensed up, his paranoia bringing him back to reality. Just a bit above, in the shadow cast by the church and the cliff it stood upon, there lingered a figure of someone he didn't want to see.

"Now, now, I know I am not lucky enough for you to help me with Oz…" - he shouted, his expression souring. - "Or am I somehow wrong, Raven?"
"Sorry. Got places to be." - Raven narrowed her gaze. Qrow observed his wayward sister as she jumped down to the docks, approaching him. Still pale and thin, as if recovering from a terrible illness. For him, she appeared like that illness, slowly cutting through the damp seashore air. - "Not here to talk Ozpin, Qrow. Nothing we ever say will change how each of us sees the situation. That ship sailed long ago - the lines were drawn, and we both know where we stand"

"Even now, after Beacon... I am sorry, I still can't see any other way."

"Then, you've been watching over Summer's child, I take it?"

Condescending notes rang in his sister's voice. The sheer hypocrisy.

"You already know the answer," - He turned his gaze back at the sea as if Raven wasn't even there. - "Needed to make sure they cross the ocean safely. Even if it's The Shallows, you never know with some things that lurk below."

"Still playing the hero? I hope it works out better than it did for all the others."

"Did you grow even more condescending during the time we haven't seen each other? But no, I am not playing anything. Just doing what I can before I do what I need to. Not so full of myself as to view myself a savior, unlike some here."

"Now who's being condescending."

"Did you hear? The Council of Vale has officially given up taking back the city. For once, the death toll is too high. The news from Port Lagoon has them spooked, too, I guess. And then you have what's going on in Atlas and Mistral..."

"Once the illusion of peace shatters, things spiral out of control pretty fast, don't they? And lies tend to build a pretty fragile peace. And now part of you is thinking about whether you can truly fulfill your vow and protect her daughter now. And yet if you stay babysitting and do nothing, it will only get worse."

"You know me well. With the System down, there's only so much that I can do right now. And, unless I solve my problem, I'd better stay away from them, or it will only make things worse. People say I'm very talented at doing that. So I have got to believe that everything they went through has prepared them well enough."
"And yet you still don't have it in you to blame him. You'd rather send your niece on some wild goose chase and bear the burden alone... I, honestly, can't decide if you are pitiful or admirable, but you certainly are fascinating."

The woman in red studied Qrow. He knew full well what his sister thought right now.

"Yang and Ruby, both, are way older now than we were when we got thrown into all this chaos by that dreadful trickster." - For a split second, Raven was lost deep in thought, her gaze muddy and unfocused, her voice shaking. But before long, her eyes cleared up, and a slight grin appeared. - "And we turned out alright, don't you think?"

"Oh, we are model citizens, I'm sure! Society's finest and most heroic! Would we as children even believe it if someone were to tell them their future? You have got to admit that we don't have much in common with who we were back then."

"I wouldn't say that, my dear dear brother." - Not a tinge of condescension in her voice. The bond of two siblings, after all the hardships they went through, despite everything, was still there. - "Memory and Thought. Two things we can't ever be free of. No matter how much you claim otherwise, every single thing happening to us is etched into our hearts, seeds taking root inside, overcoming everything else, till they blossom and burn. We are what we lived through, Qrow."

"Have you become a poet, my dear sister? Will you write me a song next?" - Qrow said as he burst out laughing. The contradictory nature of her sister's tendency to trail off into metaphors and the way it clashed with her stoicism was still endearing to him. -"Seriously. What do you want?"

"Just delivering a warning to someone I care about. When things get confusing, those lines in the sand? They blur. Do follow your advice and stay away when they do. I will do what I think is right, whether you agree with it or not."

The fire burned in her eyes, vivid and powerful enough to melt the sea into ash. Despite all melancholic memories and friendliness, Raven's newfound purpose and convictions were all still there. Qrow stood still, his gaze locked with hers. Raven then unsheathed her sword.

"No matter how much we obsess over the past and everything with Ozpin, things here have long since gone beyond his ancient conflicts and lies…" - Raven swung her sword, opening a portal. - "Maybe he couldn't see it or, maybe, saw it too late, or maybe it is all part of his sick game... And as always, while he plots his schemes, it is everyone else who has to deal with it, pick up the pieces, clean up his mess."

"So, what now?"

"You know well what." - Raven responded without turning around. - "Pick up the pieces, solve some problems. What about you?"

"People keep asking us that, again and again, like a record endlessly looping it's annoying, you know? - Even if his heart got worn down by reality and years, he was still the same sarcastic yet confrontative man. - "You know me! I'll solve my problem, that's what."

"Oh? Do tell me, which one? You have so many I gave up counting long before you started drinking."

"Please. You know which one. A trip to make, down the memory lane."

Raven didn't reply.

She left without another single word said between them. Qrow's blood was boiling. He did not know what to do - he and Raven might be on different paths, but she was still his sister. And with just a few different choices, their positions could have switched back then.

Qrow turned his gaze towards the sea again as Raven disappeared in that red wretched portal. He never liked those things, even before discovering what they were. After? Even more so. That knowledge forced him to ask questions about his old friend that he never wanted to.

Still, he had no choice.

He had to trust what Ozpin told him. The steps he had to take. The intricate game at play that Qrow could not comprehend. But after? He did not know what he was going to do after that.

Every second he stood still, something was lost forever. Qrow had to do something, anything.

He took out Ozpin's cane. He knew well what it had in common with Raven's sword and his scythe. The secret, hidden from the world. The tapestry of repetition woven by all the lies. The truth behind it all, the meaning behind the conflict, behind Dust.

"Well, Oz... old buddy, I hope, luck willing, this works," - His expression soured as reality set in. - "Damn it, I am so screwed."


January 8th, 797 E.A
Patch Island, Kingdom of Vale Territory

Disgusting Mask.

A moment of disbelief.

Smell of burning flesh.

PAIN. NO. STOP.

She's falling through the void.

Her heart is pounding, beating faster and faster.

A hand is reaching for her neck.

She was back in her bed. The snowstorm was raging outside, wind and tree branches violently crashing at her window. A Dimly-lit lantern barely illuminated the room, giving it an abstract shape as if someone scribbled vague lines on a crumpled sheet of paper.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It's just a dream." - Yang repeated to herself, like a mantra. Hearing her voice would help her calm down as if reasserting reality around her.

This was her reality for a few weeks now. A thought rammed into her - did Ruby feel this way all those years ago as night terrors tormented her?

Yang sat up. Even the most basic actions - like getting up from her bed - would remind her of what happened, frustrate her, make her feel like a useless wreck.

The room was clearer now as the nightmare subsided. Instead of a vague shape of nothingness, as eyes got used to the light, she could make out details now. Her mind filled the empty square with a semblance of identity.

A semi torn curtain. When she first got out of bed few weeks back, she almost fell over, grabbing onto it, the fabric tearing. She asked her dad to leave it there. She needed that reminder, that fury, to get better.

Her bedside desk and a pile of books.

She won't admit it to others, but after she lost her arm, she has only slept peacefully once. She would go to bed in the evening, turn off the lights, and lay there as if waiting for the end. Then, either nightmares would come or insomnia would visit. In the morning, she would feign being asleep and get up as if nothing. She knew this couldn't go on. There were only so many nights she could bear to just lay there in the dark.

So she took up reading.

She used to read. To her sister. Fairy tales. She hasn't touched a book in a while as her life got consumed by the raging storm of impulsive everyday decisions. She'd chase leads, get into fights, and throw jokes to shield herself. Lots of good that did.

The books here aren't hers. Those were books left in their dorms alongside Blake's belongings - mostly just fictional stories, poetry, folk stuff - that kind of thing. Taiyang and Qrow didn't differentiate between what belongs to who in the team RWBY dorm room. They just grabbed everything they could. There was still a bunch of posters belonging to Ruby. They sat in her room in a box. Also, a pretty ugly stone bust that Weiss, for some reason, dragged into the dorm from the Tournament Fair, insisting it was high art, listing all the weird names and terms to describe it. Weiss would refuse to speak to her for a week after she called it an abomination.

Yang hadn't touched the crates for weeks before she gave up hope they'd come back. Now? Every night, to escape the ghosts taunting her, Yang turns to those books. Some of those Blake would read in the dorm. Some of them she never took out. Sometimes they are corny, sometimes they are profound, sometimes they are boring, and some? Should she burn them? Because, yeah, she won't be reading that. Sometimes, Yang barely gets through a few chapters. Sometimes, she consumes an entire book. But time still passes - giving a sort of comfort to Yang. She likes to imagine them still living in the dorms and that she just secretly borrowed Blake's books, planning to tease her about the weird stuff she reads.

There was a sense of voyeur satisfaction to all of this. After all, if your friends were to object to you going through their stuff, they should be there to do that. Oh, they aren't?! Too damn bad for them, then. She'll go through their stuff as much as she likes.

This now was the life of one Yang Xiao Long, a hot-headed warrior, devoted sister, and a noted party beast - the revered and feared huntsman in training.

Weary and still reeling from the nightmare, she grabbed the book closest to her. It's the one she started last night. It's a single item in this room, holding her hopes of driving away the terrors that gnaw at her once she closes her eyes.

It's a heavy book. Not physically, though - it feels pretty light, especially compared to the old Huntsman Compendium tomes at Beacon. It's heavy in a metaphorical sense.

It was a story about an aspiring musician who, chasing his dreams, travels to another continent but gets scammed and loses all his money. The musician writes home, asking for help, but receives no answer. Fed up and loathing his family, he takes up every job he can find and crosses every line. After a few months, the musician saves enough money for a boat ride and more. He comes home, his pockets lined with money and goods, ready to boast to his family how they abandoned him. Arriving home, he finds the war has broken out in his kingdom, and his town is no more. Flames have devoured his village whole, buildings and people and everything.

Yang has reached the part where he laments the loss of everyone he knows, regretting having left in the first place, as fire and war consume the familiar landscape around him.

Heavy book. Serves the idiot right.

The themes might not help her mood, but she found weird comfort in this sense of control over the character's life and ability. Being able to reread earlier parts helps.

You can't do that in real life. You can't go back to the pages where the protagonist hasn't even left the village in question. You are stuck here, useless and alone. A burden to them all. You are just an afterthought, Yang.

"I lament my murdered dreams, my lost light and the coming of the dark" – Yang read out loud the line that forced her to flashback to the night everything changed once again. - "I guess it's not the book I should have tried to get through now. Stupid book."

Then, a sound broke through the howling wind outside.

Tap Tap Tap.

Something or someone kept tapping on Yang's window from outside again - the same sound every day for days.

A Mask, nausea, the burning flesh.

Yang attempted to push those thoughts away again, but the sound beneath her window lattice kept interrupting her. She would reassure herself that it was just wind. Or maybe some weary traveler dumb enough to travel during a winter storm.

"Seriously...who would be dumb enough to wander around at night in the middle of a winter…" - Yang cracked a smile, entertaining a thought that maybe her sister decided to crawl back, but it quickly disappeared from her face. - "Who am I kidding - plenty of stupid people out there…"

Her mind wandered back to the day she woke without her arm and found out what had happened. Weiss, visiting and leaving. Blake, having vanished without a word. The moment Yang screamed at Ruby with all her might, unloading every thought, every emotion bottled up inside. That moment when she found out Ruby had left them.

Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap Tap.

Seriously. Enough of this. She had to do something about this.

Her head was ringing. Yang stumbled towards the window, building up courage.

"HEY. Whoever is out there - this is private property. Not a bar, not a hotel." - Yang screamed at the window, her voice cracking unevenly. - If you are lost, please follow the road to the nearby guard post for directions. Otherwise, don't bother the people here, or you'll be sorry!"

Silence, once again.

She wanted to peek through the window outside but to no avail. The window glass, painted shut in black by the night, separated her from the eerie winds outside.

Semi-content with the silence, Yang was about to go back to the dreadful book within the safe confines of the lantern and her bed when...

"...a…V...d.."

Blood ran cold through her spine as if millions of ants coursed through her limbs. Was that a human voice? A monster? Her imagination?

She rushed to the window. Opening it.

"Ruby? Weiss?… B-Blake? Is that you?"

Cold winter wind filled the room.

There was nobody outside in the darkness, the snowstorm howling at her.

Just some wind and nothing more.

Soon, as her eyes adjusted, she saw something.

A lone raven was holding on to a swinging tree branch in front of her window. The bird, unbothered by the storm, turned her head, questioning the noise coming from Yang's mouth.

All the thoughts or hopes she had just crashed into that storm.

Are you an idiot, Yang? Why would they ever come back? Don't you know how this goes?

People would leave and never come back. She should have known this already. This always happened to her.

The cold wind, like stab wounds - her memories piercing her heart.

She struggled to take a step forward, legs shaking, to close the window.

Then, the raven flew inside, ominously landing on top of the sat there, silent, turning her head, high-pitched cawing coming from her.

"Well, well, well -…" - Yang tried to crack a joke as if to recover, to push down the lump stuck in her throat. - "You certainly are an ominous visitor, birdie. I don't suppose you have a name?"

Silence. Wind howling.

The bird stared at her, its eyes dark as the abyss.

Yang's heart beat faster and faster. A feeling washed over her - a premonition of inviting something dangerous and otherworldly to her room. An invitation she did not have any power to rescind. Her mind wandered to the day Team RWBY first fought a Nevermore, but she quickly chased away those thoughts, realizing that she needed to get the bird out and close the window again, or she would freeze.

"Well, if I'm good at something, it's to drive things away anyway... Shoo shoo, go back outside, birdie. Fly back outside..."

The bird stared at her, its eyes dark as the abyss.

For a split second, the vision warped, the construct in front of her expressing emotion, the beak unnaturally bending, defying its owner's anatomy itself...

The bird smiled at her, its eyes dark as the abyss.

The sight made her tense up and stumble. As she regained her composure, heart racing, she turned to the bookshelf again.

The top of the bookshelf now stood empty. She lost sight of the damn bird.

"Yang." - A familiar yet also so distant voice rang behind her.

A sound of a window being closed.

"We need to talk." - said the woman with dark curly hair and a weird mask in her hand, her eyes fixated on Yang.

"Raven." - Yang said, gathering the courage to speak. The right words just wouldn't come out. - "You? Talk? About What?"

How laughable and surreal. Is this one of your pitiful dreams, Yang? Talk about wish fulfillment.

"About what happened at Beacon…" - Raven's eyes wandered through her, eventually fixating on her arm. - "About me. About you. About everything."

"You must be joking..." - Yang's head was pounding, her blood boiling. - "Now? Why Now? After all this time, after all the conflicting messages, NOW?"

"Not my fault that things keep changing." - Her mother looked around the room. - "And whether either of us likes it or not, you need to know the full truth."

"Okay. Whatever. Fine. Fine. TALK." - Yang caught herself shouting, voice erupting loudly from her like a volcano, reverberating through an empty house amidst the storm.


January 8th, 797 E.A
Wilderness near the coast of Anima, Kingdom of Mistral Territory

Ruby's red cloak felt heavier, weighing her down.

Part of her mind screamed at her that the slower she was, the more people would die. But the more rational part of her brain knew - she was moving as fast as she could, even if it was never fast enough.

"R...by...wh..." - The scroll came to life, crackling. Ruby still could not get used to how messy and confusing the scrolls are now. Unless you were close to a Relay Station, more than often, you would only hear static. And even when in range of Relay Station, the signal, for reasons unknown to Ruby, would sometimes come out gibberish.

In this case, this benefited her. She didn't want Nora and Ren grilling her for rushing ahead right now, sprinting away in the middle of an argument. She didn't know why she did that. The moment that disaster signal echoed through the short-range communications. The moment they saw fire lighting up the sky in the distance. An instinctual decision made in the heat of the moment. After all, isn't this what a Huntress should do? Help people? And help them as soon as possible, without waiting around and discussing things and having annoying arguments as they did till it's too late.

She didn't want to think about what would happen. She won't let it happen again. If it meant bolting through the woods mid-sentence, so be it.

As the village came into view, Ruby caught herself feeling disappointed.

Just five or six houses surrounded by shoddily made wooden walls and a stone tower in the middle - likely where villagers would store water and food as well as hide in case of a bandit or Grimm attacks. She read somewhere about towers like that and how they were everywhere before the Huntsman Academies became commonplace - both as a warning system and a place to hide. And rightfully, even now, all of the townspeople have gathered together near the stone tower, whatever resembling a weapon they could grab in their hands.

The fact that people would live there, out in the wilds, beyond the safety of the Kingdoms' main cities. Just lives left to fend for themselves. Even if the huntsmen were constantly wandering through the continents, following their calling to clean the lands, it was still a horrifying thought.

"Hello there, good people. Everything is going to be okay. I am a licensed huntress. Could you please tell me the situation so I can help?" - Ruby attempted to be as polite and as calm as she could manage to be. She raised her hands, keeping them away from her weapon.

Of course, she had no license - she hadn't even graduated yet. Thanks to Cinder.

But they did not need to know that. Among the usual training at Beacon were the courses on negotiation and dispute de-escalation, as the last thing a huntress would want is to have to fight terrified people she was to protect.

One of the villagers turned his head. It was an old balding man in a torn linen vest. He held an empty bucket. Ruby was about to ask if they planned to defend against Grimm with a bucket. Her gaze then wandered to one of the houses that wasn't a house anymore. A smoldering pile of wood and ash, likely having burned down, probably in the chaos of Grimm's onslaught. The townsfolk likely just finished putting out the fire, with the older man holding the only means. From how he held himself as the others gathered around him, Ruby assumed him to be the village Elder.

"Oh, High and Mighty Huntsman, what does our village owe to make you grace us with your presence after all this time?"

Ignoring the flippant tone, she let the sarcasm slide and attempted again.

"It's okay, I am here to help now. Please tell me what happened so we can figure this out."

As she spoke, she observed the villagers' faces - disappointment, fear, anger, confusion, sadness. These were scared, weary people, worn down by their everyday lives and fear of the unknown. Ruby never experienced the life they led, but she could imagine something like this wasn't uncommon in whatever villages remained further away from the Kingdoms.

"You are too late. It took two today, Gris and her child, both - we couldn't even get to her as she screamed, and then the house went up in flames. You Kingdoms folk and your bureaucracy are faster at handing out death certificates than sending actual help."

"Yes, you are all the same." - Shouted a woman from the crowd, encouraged by the elder's voice. - "Leaving us to die while you flaunt your fame and riches in big cities"

Those words shook her to her core.

This wasn't how it should go.

"It's not true. Huntsmen and Huntresses are there to protect you. We care. Not all might, but protecting people is our primary code. I am here now. Please tell me how I can help?" - The words stung. Ruby found herself desperate to defend herself.

The villagers erupted in a screech of accusations as paranoia and fear drove their words, each talking over the others. The incoherent, almost inhuman, melding of voices made Ruby's head spin.

"I didn't abandon anyone. I'd never do it. I only need information. Any information. Any clues about the nature of the threat? Please, please talk to me, we don't have much time. The last thing needed is more panic."

But with every word, nothing changed. Should I disappear? Shrink and vanish into the ground so I wouldn't have to listen to this or be here?

No use. The voices only grew louder, intermixed with cries and whimpering. Only a day on this continent - she was already thrown into a world different from the one she lived her entire life in. She rushed ahead into something alien to her.

She couldn't bear it any longer. Screams ringing like a discordant noise. Walls were closing in, the air grew heavy, and her blood wanted to escape out of her veins. She wished to find any way to make it stop.

This wasn't what a huntsman usually does.

"OKAY. I won't stand and be accused of things I never did! If you are not going to help me, I'll look for it myself. Just DON'T get in my way! - She shouted, her scythe transforming in her hands. And, with a burst of semblance, she was already on the rooftop of one of the nearby houses, its straw roof cracking under her boots.

Gasps. Shock. Screams.

From up high, as she observed them, she knew. They weren't going to help her in any way. It's obvious why. Back then, during the fall of Beacon, Vale was painted over by burning houses and torn-apart market stalls. People were running for their lives. Back then, Huntsmen and soldiers meant safety to people there. Even as her world crumbled, Ruby could attempt to make a difference.

These people here? They would be as likely to run away from huntsmen and soldiers as they were from the Grimm or the White Fang.

Fear.

To these people, the concept of a Huntsman seemed as alien and as terrifying as the Creatures of Grimm themselves. A powerful being capable of causing great harm if one were to stand in its way. An outside force with no regard for their well-being that sometimes would pass by. Not a disappointment that the huntsmen stopped doing something, no. Huntsmen and Huntresses always never were anything else to them. These people would be born, live, and die with that thought in their heads, probably reinforced by every Huntsman and Huntress they ever met.

There was essentially no difference between a creature of Grimm, a huntress, and a white fang member for them.

This has never crossed her mind before. The idea of the power someone like her would wield. The sheer scope of what could happen if it was in the wrong hands? In hindsight, it should have, considering people like that petty criminal differed little from Huntsmen in terms of their skill set.

This thought scared her more than any Grimm ever did. She did her best to get it out of her mind, put it away, and lock it away in a dark corner of her soul while frantically looking around for the threat.

If what villagers managed to say, along with all the accusations, is true - a woman and her child got ambushed in a house, now smoldering pile of ash and wood. The fact that the village chief still held an empty water bucket and the ruins still emitted smoke meant one thing - the tragedy just happened. It's not something old that had happened earlier in the day - the terrified villagers just experienced that. Ruby was too late to save someone. The house fire itself made little sense, but, more importantly for now - whatever killed them had to be nearby and needed to be stopped.

Her eyes darted through the nearby houses till her sight fixated on a dark shadow up the top of the tower villagers gathered nearby.

A shadow?

That's not a shadow. Shadows don't move that way.

An improbably long dark hand held on onto the tower's top, keeping the thing secure and safe. Dark robes, or something resembling robes, covered a grotesque emptiness, donning a mask reminiscent of a human skull, or, maybe, a snake, or a human skull with a snake tongue - Ruby couldn't tell.

As she locked her gaze onto it, the thing shifted slightly, its motions making it look out of place with the world around it, like an out-of-focus camera lens chasing a moving shadow. The twisted presence turned its head in a way no human could have and emitted a low-pitched screech.

The sound reverberated through her, a worm slowly burrowing inside her skull, gnawing at her brain, like guilt or a misplaced thought or a misunderstanding causing a rift the size of a bottomless abyss. Like the sense of something stolen, something one would fight to take back no matter what.

"A Wraith." - She said, hoping for the words to break the hold that vision had on her. Desperation. The warped shadow of its form seared in her brain, disgust welling inside. The world turned inside out, painting everything red and green. She felt like vomiting.

She heard of creatures of Grimm like that back at Beacon. They were rare enough in Vale. A Wraith was an Instigator lifeform - a creature of Grimm whose sole purpose is to elicit and feed on negative emotions. Some Instigator types instill fear, some panic, some paranoia. Some do it through sight, some - through smell or sound, cogitwhatevers or something, as teachers called them. A Wraith would emit low-pitched sounds and instill paranoia and terror in people. This one likely intended to play around with the village for weeks, picking them off, one by one, and feasting on the resulting panic. An Instigator type is usually pretty weak. Even the villagers, had they banded together, could kill one. The issue lies in its ability to hide and avoid detection - Instigator types instinctively avoid confrontation and shelter themselves from human sight. By the time it would make itself known to the remaining survivors, the place would be crawling with Grimm already.

It's a miracle she even managed to detect this one, but that didn't matter right now.

Blood boiling in her veins, rushing to her head, she shot up towards it, rose petals falling behind her.

Good and Evil held no meaning here. Anger and desperation drove this confrontation. Genuine hatred for this sadistic parasite of a creature coursed through her. What kind of sick, twisted force could think up something like this? There's enough suffering and death in the world as is, and here was - this weak, pathetic creature doing something Ruby could only describe as savoring the moment, drinking in the suffering of others. Even if it was logical, even if it's just how the world works. Why should I accept this?

The creature, genuinely surprised by her rush, noticed her far too late and barely had time to fight back or run.

A swing and then another one.

Again and again. Yelling followed those motions. Who was the person screaming? She hacked away with the scythe.

Realization washed over that it was her who was screaming as loud as she could.

Even as the Wraith, its long, veiny, black arm holding onto the stone - severed from its body, fell from the tower to the ground below, the scythe still hacked away. She fell after it.

The same motion, again and again, till it dissolved into nothingness. She did not stop, hacking away at the ground below her, till she could recognize the creature was gone and convince herself that it wouldn't hurt anyone anymore.

This isn't how I should fight!

Her sister was the one usually getting into brawls because of her temper. She shouldn't use her weapon, Crescent Rose, this way - it was not a hammer or a pair of gauntlets.

Below her was an empty void eating away at the colors of her world. No matter how much she'd grasp at them as they'd fall through her fingers. Nothing I did mattered. Nothing that I am doing matters. Nothing I do will matter. She was drowning, pulled downwards by the weight of her weapon, which, too, one day, would chip and fall apart.

Her eyes locked onto the villagers. They were staring at her weapon. The silence lasted for what might have been forever or maybe a few seconds. Then they screamed, falling over themselves backward, running inside the tower, and locking up the doors behind them.

This wasn't how I'd usually save people.

Were they scared of the Grimm, the terrifying sounds in the night? Or was it her? She couldn't tell. The sound of hissing closed in on the village from all around beyond the falling apart wooden palisade walls. The night's terror finally attracted the other things roaming the area, slithering through the ground.

She did not know how many there were. By the loud hissing, at least ten, maybe more.

These weren't Beowulves. They wouldn't hiss. Possibly some of the serpentine ones, considering they are close to the coast.

Scroll in her hands came to life with a scratching nose. The Wraith's growl still rang in her ears, mixed with the discordant melody of human anger thrown at her like a dagger.

"Guys, you might have to hurry up." - She said, sending the message to others, as calm and collected as she could force herself to be.

As the answer crackled through the scroll, She positioned herself between the sound and the tower door and waited...

The night was just beginning.