The Amber Castle was, at once, many things. A few decades ago, it was founded as a cultural centre of the growing residential district of the city of Vale, a space where its inhabitants, needing to worry less and less about the immediate danger of the Grimm, could study, dance, meet and attend a variety of events. The large, yellow-toned, sharp-edged and geometrically pleasing building, surrounded by a small park, accepted everyone and its halls were a break from the monotony of life. Soon, the scope of the house's activities expanded - politicians, even members of the Council of Vale, met in its rooms to dine and discuss the kingdom's politics, and a multimedia program was established to keep the public of Vale acquainted with the latest hits in music, fashion, and, of course, the daily news.
Its mistress, Jurata Glaesa, was never satisfied and always fostered exciting new ideas to draw people to the beating heart of Valean culture. Most open and proudly publicized, others... not so much.
Silva sat in an empty room inside the Amber Castle, a quaint lounge with a fireplace installed into the wall, shedding a comfortable warmth upon the snake Faunus sitting on a cushion in the centre. Shelves full of books, most of them donated to the cultural centre's foundation by Miss Glaesa herself, adorned the walls, as well as a few paintings and framed pictures. A pungi was in her right hand - it was a wooden instrument, built from a hollowed gourd with two pipes made from bamboo jutting forth from it. Her left, on the other hand, held a pen, with which she was writing down a few notes on a piece of paper.
It was, seemingly, a simple process. Silva would try a few different notes, trying to find which of them fits most to the tune that had popped into her mind - then, once she settled on something that satisfied her, she'd write it down.
She knew she was terrible at it, like she was at everything else, but whenever she was beset by intrusive thoughts too much and tried to find a way to relax, music usually-
Why did those Rangers bother to rescue me?
The intrusive thoughts won.
Of course, the Prince and his little team had a sob story about wanting to help everyone - even Faunus like herself, in spite of being human - but Silva was not buying it. Her thoughts jumped back to her previous experiences with the species. What, like humans in Mantle? Who sold my parents and me for scraps and threw us all to the nearest Dust mine? This is the race whose members I'm supposed to have gotten sympathy from?
She accidentally blew too hard at the pungi from the frustration, it releasing a loud screech that briefly got her to recoil.
And don't even tell me that Vale's humans are any better. Half the places won't let me in and the other half would rather people like me sit in the corner and not bother the folk they actually care about. What about being able to afford a home, or work for more than scraps? That's not a part of Vale's freedom.
It was getting difficult to focus. Silva's thoughts paused, and she let out a defeated breath. Whatever. She briefly shook her head, trying to drive the unwanted thoughts away, then tried to play the tune that she had just written down. As is expected of the pungi, it was high-pitched and energetic, yet something sounded just a little bit off. So, it was probably terrible and will never work.
It was probably just a publicity stunt. Silva's lips retreated from the pungi, and she twirled it in her fingertips. Well- miss Jurata would probably have mentioned it on the radio, but, well... Maybe it was for the kingdom's press, or something. Yeah, that makes sense.
So, once more to the breach. Silva tried playing another tune she had written down. Again, it just...
Why did they even bother to do such a convoluted publicity stunt? And with someone who wasn't even willing? Wouldn't that make it really easy for everything to go off-script?
With a frustrated grunt, Silva pulled the pungi away again. Again, the tune wasn't right. Again, she was failing at something as pathetically simple as playing an instrument.
Why would they come up with something so ridiculous? What was up with them?
She shook her head one more time. Yet again, she can't concentrate. Every time she attempted to cleanse her head of everything and simply focus on playing her instrument, a troubled thought about what happened back there would begin to scratch at the back of her skull and force her to pay attention once more. Why? She couldn't really understand it. She couldn't understand what happened. The profit motive must have been something not immediately obvious.
Before Silva could fully indulge in speculation, the door to the lounge opened with an unexpected click that briefly got her to tense up. Two high heels stepped down a short set of stairs before stopping on the rug on the other side of the room from the fireplace.
Jurata, the mistress of the Amber Castle, did not even offer a glance to the Faunus sitting on the cushions at first. Instead, now that she departed from the studio and was in the safety of the living rooms of the building complex, she carefully rolled down the high collar of her dress and brushed her blonde hair a bit to allow two knife-like, chopped ears to stick out from hiding. Gill filaments on the back of her neck, now exposed to air, opened up. Ah, that's much better. The smirk on her face widened.
"Miss Glaesa..." Silva mumbled, placed her instrument down on the ground and jumped up to her feet. "I apologize, I was late. When I was getting back here, I was found by a team of slave catchers, and I had to run away. They managed to-"
Jurata interrupted her before she could finish. "Did you keep your Semblance on the down low? Did not get unwanted attention?"
"I-no..."
"Then it's all good."
The tone in Jurata's voice was less caring for the incident that happened to one of her pupils and more expressing her disinterest beyond that question – which deflated Silva somewhat. Still, she couldn't help but brighten up a little in the audience of the mistress of the Amber Castle. Had it not been for her wish to rescue a fellow Faunus from slavery and then take her on the treacherous journey to a land of opportunity, Silva might be wasting away somewhere in Solitus to this day.
Here, Miss Glaesa gave her a roof over her head, a place to belong, and a quest to follow. The most ambitious agenda of the Amber Castle was unknown to all but a handful, and she was set to play a crucial role in it.
"Let's not waste any more time. Follow me."
"Right!"
With Silva jumping forward and following after her, the older Faunus woman walked past the lounge and took a spiral staircase upwards. Several different doors lead from the stairs to bedrooms, halls, and a small library, but Jurata made her way to the very top, the building's supply cache. Where else would you store spare musical instruments, replacement electronics, old books, and everything else necessary to keep a culture house going?
The entrance, once opened, revealed just as much. A messy top floor, full of boxes, shelves and items scattered across the ground, was before her eyes. Five Faunus were waiting for them, each one bored out of their minds - one, with an elephant trunk and ears, tried to spend the time by reading a book on old legends, but the rest were just sitting around, on boxes or simply on the ground. The approaching sound of high heels instantly got the group to tense up and jump to their feet to the last.
The grin on Jurata's face let out a confident giggle, louder as she arrived at the centre of the group and stopped with a screech at the floor.
It was hard to control herself, and for good reason. Everything is proceeding exactly as she wants. No, even better. Everything is going to the direction she wants without us lifting a finger.
"What's up now, miss?" one of the Faunus, with a lion's mane, asked after a polite nod. To his question, after folding her hands behind her back and glancing at the ceiling, Jurata said:
"It is almost shocking how much of the work I had set out to do is already being done for us. Did you catch today's news? Even more escalation in the Frontier. More and more yelling between Mantle, Mistral and our kingdom. Mobilisations of military units... Could you imagine? A war breaking out tomorrow?"
For an average citizen of Vale, even those who were overtaken by the war fever and decided that Mantle and Mistral are hives of evil who should be destroyed, such a message would bring shock and horror - but to the handful of Faunus warriors who were listening to her, the declaration brought sparks of hope. Each one, freed from slavery beyond the seas or uplifted from starvation in the streets of the Residential District, were promised one thing and one thing only by the Mistress - that if the despised human kingdoms go to war, Faunus would finally be free.
Jurata did not give them a picture of how exactly this freedom could be achieved - if anything, she was surprisingly vague about what she meant, all the time. Yet, each of them, including Silva, had already formed an idea in their mind of what to expect - a rebellion against overstretched human security forces, that would allow a handful of well-armed and well-equipped Faunus to rally the impoverished and oppressed masses to revolt, escape and form their own kingdom. Or a violent bloodbath which would give righteous justice to the kings and generals who have perpetuated this tyrannical system to this day.
A revolution can have many forms, after all.
Jurata let out a devilish giggle again, slowly pacing around the room, and rested her head on a nearby staff while turning her eyes back towards her followers.
"But it's not actually over, of course. This kingdom needs a little additional push to truly enter war footing. For this, I turn to you all. It pains my heart to ask this," her hand began making theatrical gestures, placing itself on her large chest as if her heart was truly about to break - even though the beating hadn't hastened even a little. "but I have to request your aid for a mission that may, if the situation calls for it, bring you harm. Even death, if you-"
"I accept!"
Jurata didn't even need to finish her articulate call for aid – Silva yelled across the room to proclaim her loyalty regardless. Showing surprise at first, the blonde-haired mistress smiled and nodded. In truth, she anticipated her to be the first to come out for anything she proposed – the other, older Faunus showed a bit more agency, but Silva was a full loyalist wherever she went.
"Oh, please, calm down, I haven't even explained what help I need," Jurata gestured with her hand and then rummaged through the shelf next to her for a map of Vale – whipping up a small cloud of gathered dust as she pulled it out. Most people switched to using Parchments whenever they needed to check the map of the city, but the heart ached to touch trusted old paper sometimes. "Mantle has been growing increasingly hostile towards our quaint little kingdom as of late. They wish to spill our blood, expel our countrymen from the Frontier, they despise everything we stand for, from our freedom to our individuality," she continued while unfolding the map in her hands, and then placed it down on the floor, getting her underlings to lean closer to look it over.
"It would thus be entirely believable – yet horrifying – to hear that Mantle decided to... blow up a major infrastructure artery to try to force us to bend."
Her heel suddenly pressed onto the map – specifically, the mountains and forests to the south of Vale.
When her parents' generation drew this map, that gap was no more than wilderness. Aside for a handful of bandit camps and stubborn villages reliant on aid from the metropole, all you could find there was Grimm, Grimm, and more Grimm. Yet, times change, and so does the map. First, reserves of Dust were found in the mountains to the south, groups of ambitious miners hungry for fame and wealth followed, establishing the first small outposts. Officials from Vale followed, a deployment of Rangers to keep these settlers safe until a perimeter defence could be established – then, more settlers, higher buildings, an underground connection between it and the metropole and, finally...
Mountain Glenn. For some, a second Vale, for others, more dismissive, an abode for everyone who found the kingdom too restrictive.
One of the Faunus underlings, upon realisation, said:
"The railroad..."
"That's right," Jurata answered and removed her foot off the map. "Trains run between Vale and Mountain Glenn over an underground tunnel every day, keeping Vale supplied and Mountain Glenn alive. It is well protected, and the trains are always guarded – but hundreds pass that tunnel every day as well. If at least a fraction of them were to, say, end up dead at the hands of what Vale perceives as a Mantlean attack."
It all depends on how the media presents it to the hundreds of thousands who hear about the attack for the first time – and, thankfully, Jurata knew exactly which radio service most of them would hear the news from.
One of the Faunus raised his hand and spoke once Jurata stopped and turned her face to him. "We'll... have to fight Ranger guards...?"
"Oh, not necessarily. If you do everything as I say, none of us will have to fight anyone at all to make this work."
"Ugh..."
Though they were called "barracks", as expected of a facility which trained soldiers and officers for Vale's defences, the living quarters of Lantern Academy were rather comfy. Three beds were placed in a somewhat spacious room, in a U shape that surrounding a door on the other side from the window. Ashen, of course, claimed the bed right below the window as soon as she first moved into the barracks - how could she not take the chance to be able to sneak in and out whenever she wanted?
Now, however, she was lying on her bed and groaning from frustration. Her eyes, a light yellow, were wistfully staring at the ceiling. Her hand dropped a notebook full of indecipherable scribbles onto the floor. The same words repeated themselves in her mind. Next week... Next week... Next week...
"You know, you will never get ready for the exams if you're going to just groan and beg for mercy," Reza said and flicked away a golden lock to the side. She was sitting with her Parchment at hand by a table in the corner - the three women managed to smuggle it into the barracks, and the team's bookworm has used it since.
"I'm done. It's over. Please finish me off..." she responded with a melancholic act, then turned onto her side to stare at Reza's back. "Come on, it's less than a week. Do you think anyone's going to be able to drill all the theory they need to pass into their skulls in that time?"
"Yes - in fact, if you had actually studied for the past few months and read all the texts instead of asking me for the summaries, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation."
"I tried... I tried... I tried..." Ashen answered, her voice whimpering - her blonde-haired teammate could tell immediately that it was insincere, however. It's just her teasing yet again.
"Honestly... we would have had more time to read up on our textbooks if we hadn't spent so many of our evenings patrolling the streets," Yche suddenly chimed in to the conversation. She was sitting on her bed and casually spinning a pen in between her fingertips. Her side of the room was (going against the barracks code) completely plastered with posters, while a shelf she installed above her pillow was full of magazines. All the latest news, at least at their corresponding time, on weapon design and Grimm research. In a pop culture format, of course, and somewhat bombastic to draw the attention of overenthusiastic geeks who yearned for something more than the old swords, spears and muskets.
"Hey, don't go pinning the blame on me! I didn't force y'all to join me when I offered you to team up with Firre!" Ashen bounced the claim back with a raised voice and a pointed finger - her head then dropped back to the pillow with a sigh. "And... besides... wasting school time on heroism is worth it."
Reza returned her eyes back to her Parchment with a snort.
"When you can't manage your time to do both, yeah..."
That said, though she had her reservations - quite a lot of them, actually - about vigilante policing of Vale streets when Ashen suddenly tackled her while overtaken with the idea, it was certainly... an interesting experience. Back in Mantle, just using our powers without explicit orders from our commanding officer would have probably gotten us executed by now. Well... I guess teaming up with a royal might reduce it just to expulsion and hard labour.
"Alright, alright, I'll stop moping," Ashen said and pulled her notebook off the ground, raising it above herself and looking through the pages. A silence once again set in the room, at least for a few seconds. A faint crack and thud sound reached the room from the outside, but none of the three women paid any attention to it until they suddenly noticed the trunk of a tree blocking their view from the window. A sequoia grew out of the ground in a matter of seconds, carrying Firre with it - and, once it reached the third floor, allowing him to push the window open.
He was back in his casual jacket and trousers, ready for another night at the city.
"Hey, you three, I need you to-"
"FIRRE!"
Ashen suddenly jumped off her feet and stood in front of the open window, a small gust of wind from the outside brushing past her black hair almost instantly, and, ignoring Firre's confused stare, raised her notebook and began pacing around the room.
"Tell me, which of these Grimm types has a higher body mass - Beowolfs or Nevermores?"
"Oh, uh..." Firre stammered for a second, caught by surprise. "Well, Nevermores, obviously."
"What Ranger officer rank is immediately above Colonel?"
"Uh, General? Serapion is Perun's direct commander, right?"
"He is, yeah. Assuming a standard issue Mantlean Dust Rifle, optimal weather conditions and no obstacles, at what range would you be recommended to take cover?"
It wasn't just Ashen who was staring at Firre - both Reza and Yche had put down their own work and turned their eyes towards him. The prince blinked in confusion, again, then lightly shook his head and answered:
"I... don't know."
"Two hundred steps," Ashen announced, smirking, then snapped her notebook to a close with a gesture of her hand and placed her other palm on her hip. "These are all exam questions from last year. I was told that the easiest way to learn something is to be teaching it to someone else."
"...Right."
"Don't worry about her, she's just planning to fail her final exam next week," Yche dropped a remark, which got Ashen to briefly fume with her fists folded - Firre, hearing that, stood up on the sequoia branch he had been sitting on and answered:
"Right, the exams... I won't force you all to drop your studying, then - but, if you're able, I could use your help. I think I'm very close to finding a lead on the whole slave hunting campaign, and I'd rather not go at it alone."
The branch beneath Firre's feet began moving downwards with a loud cracking sound, as if it was surfing the trunk of the sequoia.
"Alright, I'm going," Ashen announced and hopped on the windowsill, which immediately got Reza to call out:
"Didn't we just talk about how this is eating your study time?"
"Yeah, but we also agreed that wasting school time on heroism is worth it."
Ashen turned around, facing the room, then made a faux salute with her hand and dropped down.
"Damn it, wait for me!" Yche yelled, hopping off her bed and jumping out the window, sliding down the trunk of the tree to the bottom. Reza sighed and turned off her Parchment, then settled it on the table. Yeah. Okay. Sure. We can just do that instead of studying. That's fine too.
She had something to ask, anyway.
Every Ranger's deployment location depended on what task had been given to them by the high command of Vale's defence forces. Those who were assigned to protect the peace and the livelihood of the people in distant villages and colonies lived there as well, obviously, whereas military camps near Lantern and just outside of the kingdom's borders were staffed by the forces prepared for war. The Rangers who struggled to maintain the peace in Vale itself, on the other hand - against everything from stray Grimm to organised crime - staffed the Internal Affairs Corps. Aided by civilian police volunteers, they were tasked with enforcing the law and keeping the kingdom's many citizens safe.
The headquarters of the Internal Affairs Corps were a tall and imposing skyscraper established in the wealthiest district of town, in between beautiful and ornate villas on one side and other high-rise buildings on the other. Built from stainless steel and finishing with a spire-like rooftop of repeating half-circles with steel-framed windows and with a gargoyle on each corner, it incorporated the latest gasps of modern architectural style. After the King explained the situation to him, General Serapion gave some time for a visit where the Crown Prince would be allowed to take a look at the information which the Rangers have collected about the slave catching rings thus far.
Yet, it was not Firre who was at the front of the group making their way towards the headquarters - Ashen and Yche were, while he trailed somewhat behind. The sun had already set and a veil of darkness had set upon the streets, so he made sure to not lose sight of the two women, just in case anyone-
"Firre?"
The voice from the side briefly got him to pause. It was Reza, and she was walking next to him.
"Yeah?"
"Do you know why our final exams were hastened by three months?"
Firre wasn't expecting this question, so he didn't answer Reza's question at first, merely turning his eyes towards her. Memories of what he heard from the General in his father's assembly of advisors bounced back into his mind - Serapion had made it clear as day why Reza's class had to be turned to commissioned Rangers as soon as possible. It was an uncomfortable truth, but... why hide it?
With an unenthusiastic tone, Firre answered:
"The kingdom's worried about Mistral and Mantle, and they don't think that there's enough Rangers in the army to deter an attack - so, your class needs to be enrolled as soon as possible to fill the ranks."
"So... preparations for war, then," Reza bluntly summarized, more to herself than to the prince. A faint, pained frown briefly settled on her face, before she continued again. "Do you think... all these tensions, all these threats of war and violence - that they're a little bit our team fault, too?"
Firre stopped with a stomp so sudden that his boot almost screeched against the pavement - which got Reza to stop as well.
"What do you mean?" he asked - getting confronted about her worries briefly forced Reza to look away in shame, but she collected herself back together and answered:
"This whole conflict in our streets over slavery, Mantle and Mistral wishing to keep their "property" where they belong, their desire to stomp on our wish of freedom so they can keep their oppressive system going, and us, out here, taking the fight to them... it's just another drop in the glass that's inching closer and closer to overflowing. All that the news talks about these days is what the newest confrontation in the Frontier is... it's as if the likelihood of war is the only thing that's on everyone's mind."
An uncomfortable silence settled below the dim, flickering Dust street lamp.
There were a few answers swirling in Firre's mind. He could assert that what they were doing is, ultimately, righteous, and if Mantlean slavers have an issue with that, then it was only their problem, not his or hers; he could try to assure her that they had nothing to fear. That each kingdom depended too much on one another today to ever consider starting a war. Neither of them was satisfying, however, and the silence was hardly any comforting, either. Eventually, receiving no reprieve, Reza continued:
"I'm asking, Firre, because... if a war happens, I know that it will not be over quickly. I've seen what Mantle is like from inside out. When push comes to shove, they will always choose to sacrifice more lives, even innocent ones, rather than surrender - and Mistral will follow wherever they lead. It would take five, ten, twenty years for a war to end - and what's the chance that any of us will survive that? If not physically, then emotionally?"
Her voice, generally collected and professional, began to crack and shake. "All four of us would have to spend the best years of our lives getting scarred and broken, with nothing to return to back home even if we survive. No support, no futures. I want to know if your father has already resigned to sending us to this fate, or if you two still see a way out."
"I..."
What could he say to that? It was such an obvious fear, yet one Firre had never fully internalised, even if he hated how royals like himself were expected to play and direct lives like it was nothing. His father's advisors didn't display any hope that an agreement could be reached with the northern kingdom - everything circled around the possibility of war and how Valean society would react to it. Was it really inevitable?
Was anything?
"...There won't be a war." he answered, finally. It was an answer that didn't satisfy even him, but if he didn't know, then he could at least express what he hoped for. "And if there is, we won't be the ones at fault."
If it didn't even convince him, how could it have possibly convinced Reza? Her narrowed eyes told Firre as much. The conversation had to be put to the side, however, as the two fighters had to hasten their pace to catch up to their teammates - who had already reached the entrance to the Internal Affairs Corps headquarters. Two uniformed, muscular Rangers stood by the wide entrance, but stepped to the side to allow the quartet to enter the ground floor, a wide hall with dozens of staircases leading to different directions - where they were immediately greeted by a voice.
"Prince Firre, you have finally- What is this you are wearing, sir?" It was General Serapion, dressed in his medal-dotted uniform as always. Firre stepped past his teammates and looked down at his jacket and trousers, then answered:
"There's nothing wrong with my clothes, General."
Serapion raised an eyebrow, but did not question it any further. "Let's go," he called with a gesture to get the four to follow him. Thus, they ascended up one of the staircases, to the fifth floor, then moved to one of the rooms past the corridor. A Ranger was standing guard by the door, but stepped to the side with a brief salute to allow the General to turn the wheel handle and open it.
"We have confiscated over two dozen weapons, some of them brought in by you, over the past month. The King said that you wanted to figure something out from them?" Serapion asked, curious as to what the team was planning himself. Ozymandias kept assuring him that they had both a plan and the potential to execute it, even though none of them had even graduated from Lantern yet. I can understand giving an easier hand to his son, but... what does he see in him?
Firre picked up one of the weapons - from what he could tell, the same powder-operated revolver that he had seen being fired at Silva during the confrontation. "I've already told this to my father, General. Have your men considered analysing where these weapons were manufactured?"
"We... just assumed they were a Mantlean construction, sir."
"Maybe, but I find that unlikely," the prince answered, putting the revolver down after a quick inspection. The three women were looking around themselves - not just to overview the selection of spears, crossbows, swords and guns, but also just because they had never been in the skyscraper before. "Now that all movement between Vale and Mantle has been restricted, smuggling in a weapon from Mantle would be a pain. It would be much easier to gain access to the weapons needed in Vale itself - which would mean that there is someone, or some group, who is-"
"...Wait," Ashen interrupted their conversation, approaching Firre and then snatching the revolver off the table from behind him, getting him to briefly jolt in surprise.
"Wait for what?"
"I've seen this weapon before."
While Ashen was holding the revolver in her hands, Reza poked out from behind Yche to drop some snark. "Yeah, we were all in that fight, Ashen, it's the gun that the guy used to shoot-"
"Shut up, Rezzy, that's not what I'm talking about," Ashen shot back. "No, no, I've seen this type of gun on the streets before. It's... Well, since you can load a few shots in advance, it's useful for a criminal who's expecting to need to draw their gun immediately, and then fire..."
"Uh, Ashen, what are you talking about?" Yche jumped in to the discussion this time.
"I know who makes these gun types. Those swords, too," Ashen pointed at a few near-identical copies, each one with ornate grips, hanging off the wall. "This somewhat artistic look is his specialty. He's hard to find, if you don't know where to look, but I've used his guns a few times before."
"Wait, who? Where? You know him?"
"Well, I knew him before. A fairly infamous gun-maker, for the less... polite classes of Vale. Now, I believe he lives in... Mountain Glenn."