The Vault of the Fall Maiden

Pyrrha had reached the drop.

She stood where Amber had brought them, before the Vytal Festival, before — Pyrrha didn't know for sure but could only assume, because it would have been very foolish on her part to have shown them this place otherwise — she had decided to betray them and give the Relic up to Salem.

She stood looking down upon the narrow ledge, about fifteen below her, from whence and only from whence could be accessed the Vault of the Fall Maiden and the Relic of Choice.

The last time she had been here, Sunset, Ruby, and Penny had all been with her — along with Amber, of course.

Now, she was alone. She had allowed Sunset to be sent away, she had left Ruby behind on the battlefield … she had turned her back on Penny.

And Amber was already within the Vault, waiting for her.

That was the best case scenario, that her friend, that someone whom Pyrrha at least had considered a friend, was waiting for her, now an enemy, and that Pyrrha would have to…

To stop her. Put it like that. Put it like that because to put it more strongly … Pyrrha did not wish to take that step, not with Amber, and especially not having never taken that step before.

But she must take another step now.

The step down.

Pyrrha stood looking down on the ledge. Beside her, the stream that cut across the school grounds thundered down the cliffs, the waterfall splashing on the ledge below, adding another layer of concealment to the Vault and its entrance.

She would not be alone for long, once Jaune caught up with her, but right now, she was alone, and she would have to go alone because she could not wait for Jaune.

Amber's plans, the need to protect the Relic, the need to honour Professor Ozpin's memory, none of it would wait for Jaune.

Pyrrha would have to go now, though her heart…

This was not the battle that she would have chosen.

It was the battle that fate had chosen for her.

She had hoped to choose her own destiny, but instead, an inescapable fate reached out its hand towards her, and its wings beat to gust upon her back and drive her on.

Not of her choosing, not in her gift to refuse.

Pyrrha leapt down, gripping Miló in spear mode with both hands, ready to jam the spearpoint down into the rock of the ledge if need be to assist with the landing.

She hoped Jaune would be alright getting down here; it was not the easiest place to get to. She hoped that he would think to use Crocea Mors to help him.

She was sure he'd be alright; what he still lacked in a degree of skill, he made up for in wit.

For her own part, Pyrrha landed heavily, her knees bending beneath her, but she landed, and she didn't slip on the rock. The water from the waterfall splashed into her face and dripped down her bangs to gently touch her nose, but it didn't threaten her footing.

Now, Amber had held out her hand, into the water, and spoken the words.

Pyrrha took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling.

"Friend of my soul," she whispered. "If, being away from this war, we might live unchanging all our days, I would not send you forth into the battle, nor venture upon the hazards of the field myself. But, as it is, ten thousand fates of death surround us, which no man may escape or avoid. Therefore, let us go, and either die yielding glory to another, or else winning glory for ourselves."

They were not the words that would open the vault, Pyrrha knew that, but they were words, Mistralian words, some of the most ancient Mistralian words, that sat close by the heart of what it meant to be Mistralian, and in this time, in this night, they gave her comfort.

She must go; that was theme and truth.

She held out her arm, feeling the water splash upon her glove, upon her gilded vambrace, and even reach as far as her honour band above her elbow.

Pyrrha began to speak the words.

"Valour."

"Valour," Amber said. Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. "A huntsman is sworn to valour. His heart knows only virtue. His blade defends the helpless. His word speaks only truth. His wrath undoes the wicked."

Amber shivered, and not from the chill of the water that was dropping onto her hand and arm, splashing up her skin, even flicking into her face at times.

It was cold, a little cooler than the autumn night around them, but that was not why she shivered.

She shivered because … these were not her friends. They meant nothing to her; they did not stir her heart or soul. But they were Ozpin's words — they had meant something to him, at least — and she had…

I did what I had to do. I did what he gave me no choice but to do. I did what my safety and my happiness required of me.

And yet … and yet … and yet, and yet, and yet…

And yet, there was blood on her hands that all the water of this waterfall could not wash away.

Ozpin's blood, yes, but not just Ozpin's. Lyra's blood, also. Amber hadn't seen her die, but Lightning Dust had gone away to 'handle her' as Tempest had commanded, and then she had come back a little while later with a grin on her face that was too self-satisfied — and too much like a shark — for Amber's liking.

There was blood on her hands too: actual blood, real blood, red blood staining the black of her heavy gloves. There were times when the dark of the night concealed the blood and Amber could almost forget that it was there, and then there were other times when the moonlight would shine down and reveal the drying red stains on the black synthetic material that Lightning wore.

And when Amber saw it, as well as her dislike of Lightning Dust, she could not forget that she had blood on her hands too, Lyra's blood, which pained her more than Ozpin's blood, though both were intermingled on her palms.

Ozpin had … if he had not gotten what he deserved, then he could not call himself an innocent in all of this. He had gotten Amber into this, as he had gotten so many others into this; he had caused Amber to come to harm; he had sent Ruby's mother to her death; he had ordered people out to die and despatched them to die and encompassed their deaths as part of his machinations. How could he do all of that and complain that he, too, should die?

But Lyra was — Lyra had been — different. Lyra had been no part in this until Amber made her a part of this, Amber and Bon Bon, who had as much blood on her hands as Amber did, though it be just as invisible.

Lyra had been no killer, no sender of others to their deaths, no old spider sitting atop his tower and spinning his webs that would trap the brave and the fearful in equal measure and suck the life out of them. Lyra had been kind and gentle. Lyra had been so kind, and so brave in heart, that she had volunteered to help Amber, hardly knowing the cause, only believing that it was the right thing to do.

Because she had been Dove's friend.

She had been Dove's friend, and for their friendship and out of her good heart, she had agreed to help Dove and help Amber too, and that willingness to help had cost her her life.

And the blood was upon Amber's hands. There was no little water that could quit her of the deed, no, not even all the water in the waterfall that fell down the side of the cliff and past the vault could wash it away.

Not least because, at Amber's words, at Amber having spoken Ozpin's words, the waterfall had parted, the water diverted away by some invisible force, the ancient magic set upon the place, and revealed the entrance that would have been hidden otherwise, though they had plunged into the water in search of it.

Tempest Shadow let out a wordless crowing sound, an exclamation that was all the more remarkable for coming from her, who had not sounded so jubilant all night.

It was as well that someone felt some glee at what they were doing, Amber supposed, but she did not like the sound as she did not like her who made the sound.

But, if she was going to set Amber free, then … then Amber supposed that she could make all the annoying sounds she wished to.

Amber looked at them, at all of them, all that remained now that Lyra was dead.

It didn't seem so very long ago that she had brought Sunset, Pyrrha, Penny, and Ruby here, and yet, at the same time, it seemed an age ago, a very long time. Such a very long time she had stood here with them, having just opened the waterfall and exposed the vault.

Now, she stood here with some very different companions, and there was no danger of Ozpin coming to catch them in the act.

Dove stood closest to her; Amber had helped him down, and he had stood at her side as she had opened the Vault. He hadn't said anything, they hadn't spoken about Lyra, there hadn't been time. Whatever he felt about it, and Amber thought it could be nothing good, he hadn't left or turned on her as he might have done. If he had, then Amber might not even have been able to call it betrayal. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were hooded, and those were just the most visible signs of the discomfort that he must be feeling, but he was by her side yet, and Amber hoped that he would remain.

We will … I will … I don't know if there's any way that I can make this right, but I will try.

I'll do anything.

Tempest Shadow stood behind him, smiling, looking over Amber's head and past her to the water that had parted like a curtain, to the gaping hole in the cliff that had now been revealed to them, to the Vault of the Fall Maiden that lay open before them. Her opal eyes were wide and bright, and equally bright was the smile that played upon her face. She, at least, was enjoying herself, or if not enjoying herself, then at least … she had gotten everything she wanted out of tonight so far. Lyra's death troubled her not at all; it was not near her conscience. Her mind and heart were united in their focus on the prize that lay ahead.

Lightning Dust was behind her, and mostly seemed to look surprised at what Amber had done, glance shifting between the open Vault and the Fall Maiden as though she couldn't quite believe the connection between the two. She didn't seem to notice the blood on her hands; she rested one hand on the rock face, though the blood had dried too much to stain it. She wasn't even trying to wash it off in the water falling down the cliff.

Bon Bon was the last of all; her helmet was on, so that Amber couldn't see her face, but it seemed to Amber that covering her face was itself a sign of Bon Bon's shame. She didn't want her face to be seen, by Amber or by anyone else, and she was looking away so that she couldn't see their faces either. She stood with her back to the cliff and her side to the waterfall, so that Amber wasn't even sure if she'd noticed that the waters had parted and the way was open to them or not. She looked … she looked as though she might be thinking of jumping from the cliff, down towards Vale spread out beneath them.

Amber hoped she wouldn't — there had been too much death already — but … but how would she even begin to persuade Bon Bon so, and in front of these people too?

"Come!" Tempest cried enthusiastically. "Come, let us move! Amber, lead us in. Bon Bon!"

Bon Bon started, and Amber was worried that she might fall off the cliff whether she wanted to or not.

"Come on!" Tempest said. Her gaze found Amber's eyes once again. "Lead on."

Amber nodded silently and stepped forward, treading upon the wet stone stained with the parted waters of the waterfall, even as her arms, her hair, her scarred face became drier as she passed out of reach of the water.

The Vault of the Fall Maiden lay before her, a hole in the side of the cliff and steps leading down into the earth and into the darkness. The tunnel was illuminated, to an extent, with green mosses that gave off light as they colonised the rocky walls, glowing like fire dust crystals in their sconces, save that they glowed green instead of a dull red. But green or red, they served to illuminate the steps carved unnaturally into the stone, the steps down which Amber walked.

Amber's footfalls were light, but nonetheless, they echoed in this chamber and were swiftly joined by other, heavier footsteps: Dove, Tempest, Lightning Dust, and then, finally, Bon Bon, bringing up the rear.

"The waterfall is closing up," Bon Bon said, her voice dull, muffled by her helmet but also, Amber thought, by her mood.

Lightning's voice was a little more vigorous as she said, "And the entrance is closing too!"

"It will reopen when we come back," Amber told them, looking back over her shoulder, looking at Tempest. "It closes to stop anyone from following us down here."

Tempest nodded. "Makes sense."

"Does it?" Lightning asked.

"Yes," Tempest said. "It does. What would be the point in trapping the Fall Maiden herself down here? This works in our favour; we don't want to be disturbed."

The entrance to the cavern had been narrow, and it shutting up after them scarcely reduced the light, which in any case came mostly from the moss that grew on the walls. Amber could see the steps beneath her quite clearly as she walked downwards towards the inner sanctum, the Reliquary where the Relic itself was stored.

She led the way, and the others followed, until they reached the point where the tunnel and its steps opened up into a broader, flat cavern, no longer going down but moving straight along, wide and expansive — certainly compared to the tunnel staircase that they'd just descended — with a high ceiling and graven statues carved into the rock. Statues of kings with stern looks, the eye of every king seeming to be fixed on Amber in stern judgement.

Traitor, said their eyes. Trespasser. Murderer. Unworthy Maiden.

I did not ask for this! cried Amber in her mind and in her heart. I did not seek this power! I never wanted to be a Fall Maiden and bear the secrets of this place! All I wanted was a peaceful life, and yet, such burdens were laid upon my shoulders that it is only with treachery and death that I may buy the humble wishes of my heart!

The stone kings seemed unmoved; their gaze seemed no less hostile, their judgement no less stern and unyielding. They hated her, Amber thought; they would strike her down if only they could.

The sooner she was out of their sight, the better. Amber knew that they were only stone, that they could not move, that they would not rise up out of their places on the wall to attack her, but nevertheless, their looks alone were enough to … to remind her of all that she had done.

Lyra… they seemed to whisper to her. Lyra … Lyra.

She almost fancied that, in this still underground, she could hear as if from far away the sound of a harp playing.

Amber took a step forward, and then another, turning her face away from the old kings in their crowns and looking towards the statue in the centre of the chamber, the statue of the first Fall Maiden, with her kerchief around her neck and her short hair, similar to Amber's own.

Do you judge me too? Do you hate me also? Do you hold me in contempt, unworthy of my inheritance?

Or do you … do you understand?

"Do you think…?" Amber whispered. "Do you think that she was surprised, when she offered a few kind words to an old man, when she and her sisters did a few favours to a recluse in the woods … do you think they had any idea what he was about to do to them?"

"'Do to them'?" Tempest repeated, as she walked up behind Amber. "You make it sound as though they were mistreated. He gave them gifts."

"He gave them power," Lightning added.

"Power they never asked for," Amber replied, looking at them over her shoulder. "All they wanted was to help someone whom they saw in need, and he repaid their generosity by making them targets, weapons. Do you think, if they had known, would they still have helped him? Would Winter have encouraged his meditation, Spring have cleaned up his garden, Summer dragged him out of the house, Fall taught him contentment? Or would they have turned away and let him rot inside his cabin for all eternity if that was what he wanted?"

"No," Dove said, his voice so soft that Amber had to prick up her ears to hear it. "No, they wouldn't have done that."

Amber looked at him. "No?"

"No," Dove repeated. "I think … I think even if they'd known, even if the heavens had opened and shown them everything that was to happen to the Maidens in the centuries to come, they would still choose to help the old man. Because that was the sort of people they were."

Amber felt there was a criticism of her there, if subtly couched; she didn't respond to it, partly because she deserved to be criticised, and if this subtle critique was all Dove threw her way, then she should count her blessings, but also because … maybe he was right, but that said little flattering about the first Maidens to Amber's mind, that they would condemn their successors to be hunted, murdered, to be forced into hiding, torn from their lives. That did not sound like the actions of four supremely kind, thoughtful, helpful girls.

So perhaps Dove was wrong about them, even if he was right about her.

Amber once more looked up into the face of the Fall Maiden whose statue loomed above her, looking in that face for grace, for understanding, for absolution if such a thing were possible.

There was compassion there, upon that stone face, more than there had been in the eyes of the stone kings. At least, Amber thought she found it there, hoped she did, flattered herself that she did.

Compassion, yes, but not absolution. Of course there was no absolution. No stone statue could absolve her of Lyra's death.

No one living could, either.

"They all wear the same crown," Tempest murmured. "Amber, is it through there?"

Amber looked away from the statue, first at Tempest herself and then following the line of Tempest's outstretched hand towards the door, like glass or crystal as red as fire dust, as red as the most brilliant autumn leaves that fall from the trees, that barred the way at the far end of the cavern.

This had been the point at which Ozpin had appeared to interrupt them, when she had been here with Sunset, Pyrrha, and the others; he would not interrupt them now.

"Yes," Amber said softly. "Yes, that's it."

"The Relic is through that door?" Tempest confirmed.

"Yes, it is," said Amber.

"So … this is it?" Lightning asked. "No tricks, no traps?"

"Only … only the Fall Maiden can open the door," Amber reminded her. "And only someone who knows the secret can enter the Vault in the first place. That is meant to be protection enough."

"That worked well," Lightning muttered.

"Open the door, then," Tempest ordered. "Let's get the Relic and get out of here before anyone decides to come back to school and wait for us."

"Right," Amber murmured, walking around the statue of the Fall Maiden — walking behind her, so that face could no longer look down on her either in judgement or benevolence — and towards the vivid red door set in the rock.

It hardly resembled a door at all, more an opaque wall of glass or crystal, stretching across the stone, concealing what lay behind.

"What's on the other side?" asked Dove.

"I … don't know," Amber admitted, glancing at him as he walked beside and just behind her. "I've never actually opened it before."

"But you can?" asked Tempest, a slight touch of anxiety creeping into her face.

"Yes," Amber said as she walked towards the door. "I can."

Her steps were soft, slow; they barely made a sound, and that sound barely echoed off the stone walls. The others down here with her were either still or else making very slight movements themselves; even their footfalls did not echo much. Their movements as they closed in behind her were gradual, as if they were afraid that if they all came too close to the door, it would not recognise that they were not all Fall Maidens and refuse to open for them.

They were all behind Amber, even Dove who was the closest to her.

They were all behind her as Amber stood before the door and reached out her hand.

The golden bangles on her arm gleamed red in the light from the door as Amber laid her hand, palm flat, upon the crystal.

It was cold, as cold as ice beneath her palm and fingertips. For a moment, nothing happened; the Vault was quiet — silent even — and perfectly still. Everyone was waiting.

And then, as they waited quietly, there was a hum, like a tuning fork being struck upon a surface, and then the wall of red crystal glass dissolved as though it had never been, simply disappearing from sight right before their eyes.

The stone archway was clear, open before them, and in front of them was the Reliquary itself, the resting place of the Crown of Choice.

In front of them, through the archway, was a courtyard of stone; a courtyard under a grey overcast sky. A sky? A sky, here? A sky, underground? It couldn't be, it was impossible, and yet, when Amber looked up, when she stepped forward over threshold, there was no mistake. She hadn't confused a lighter shade of the stonework with the sky; it really was sky: a sky covered in clouds, a sky that looked like it portended rain, but a sky nonetheless.

"My God," Dove murmured, as he followed Amber inside. "What is this place? How is this place?"

"It's not possible," Lightning whispered.

"And yet, here we are," Tempest said casually, or at least she was trying to sound casual. "Much of what we are about would seem impossible, to outsiders, why not this?"

"I guess," Lightning agreed. "But even so, it's weird."

"Weird is not something I have a problem with," Tempest replied. "My problem is more the absence of any Relic before us."

Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong. Amber brought her eyes down from the sky and looked around. The stone courtyard was not so large; it reminded her a little of the courtyard at Beacon, except instead of the statue of the huntsman and huntress at the centre of it, there was a tree, a dead tree, its branches devoid of any hint of leaves, its silver bark peeling away in places to expose the brown beneath. It was dead, but it was tall nevertheless, its trunk rising upwards towards the cloudy sky, its branches twisting and turning this way and that as they reached out across the Reliquary.

The Reliquary that was devoid of a Relic itself, for Amber could see no sign of the Crown.

Tempest's nostrils flared as she stalked around the tree, her footsteps pounding upon the stone of the courtyard even as she disappeared from view for a moment behind the great trunk. When she reappeared, her opal eyes flashed with anger.

"Where is it?" she demanded, striding up to Amber. "Where is it?"

Dove stepped between Tempest and Amber. She loved him for that. She loved him for much, but the fact that he was still willing to do that, for her, in spite of everything … it gave her hope, even amongst the disappointment that was the lack of Relic.

"I don't know," Amber admitted. "I told you, I've never been into this part of the Vault before."

"Maybe it's not here," Lightning suggested. "Maybe the Relic is held somewhere else and this is all just a trick to fool the old man's enemies?"

"No," Amber said quickly. "No, Ozpin told me this is where the Relic was."

"Then why can't we see it?" Tempest snapped.

"I don't know!" Amber cried.

Tempest growled with frustration. "Spread out and search!" she ordered.

"Search where?" asked Lightning.

"Everywhere!" Tempest roared, her hands clenching into fists as she rounded on Lightning.

Lightning's question was a fair one, because there wasn't a huge amount of ground to search. This place did not appear to be hemmed in — there was sky above instead of a stony ceiling, and there were no visible walls to encompass them — but at the same time, there was … it was hard to describe. The courtyard stretched on, but at the same time, the courtyard had limits. Limits that could not be seen but which clearly existed nonetheless. They sensed them, rather than saw them; when Amber got too close, she felt that she was reaching the limit, that she could go no further. If she tried, if she even thought about it, she was hit with a painful headache, a needling pain driven through her forehead, and she had to retreat back a step into the acceptable limits of the courtyard.

Within those limits, they found nothing. The courtyard was not all grey stone, there were hedgerows at the corners, and flowerbeds surrounding them where pink and chrysanthemums and autumn glories grew, but they didn't find the crown hidden in the hedges or buried in the soil of the flowerbeds. Their hands became covered with dirt — better that than blood — and they were no closer to finding the relic.

Tempest let out a wordless snarl of frustration. "It must be hidden beneath the tree; we'll have to root it up."

"And how long is that going to take?" asked Lightning.

"Do you have a better idea?" snapped Tempest.

"Amber," Dove said. "Why don't you ask for it?"

Amber blinked. "Ask for it?"

"I'm not sure that this thing, this Relic, would be hidden in this way," Dove explained. "Buried under the soil. This place … it's strange; we're underground, but there's a sky and no walls. It's … it's magic. Maybe the reason we can't see the Relic is because of magic, as well. But if you're the Fall Maiden, if you're the one who is supposed to come in here, then maybe if you ask for the Relic, then you'll be given it."

What Dove said made a certain amount of sense — as much sense, at least, as tearing down a tree — so Amber nodded. She gently reached out towards him with one hand.

With equal if not surpassing gentleness, Dove took her hand. The very fact that he had, that he held her hand, that she could feel his rough skin upon hers, made Amber feel better, stronger, perhaps even a little braver.

It kept her voice from trembling as she raised it to the magical sky of the Reliquary. "I am the Fall Maiden," she declared. "And I have come to retrieve the Relic of Choice."

Again, there was a silence, no response. Again, it lasted for a moment, perhaps two, before three stone pillars, plain and unadorned, shimmered into view before the dead tree, three pillars all in a row. And on top of each pillar, there sat a casket, a large, squarish box, each one big enough to hold a crown within. One box was glittering gold, ornately patterned with images of kings like the ones engraved in stone upon the wall behind; another was plain iron, undecorated, unadorned, just cold metal, sitting there square and solid with corners sharp enough to cut; the last of the three caskets was made of wood, a rich, dark wood, varnished, and engraved with ivy patterns tracing their looping paths all around the casket.

"What's this?" Tempest asked.

"I don't—" Amber began.

"It's the Relic of Choice," Bon Bon said, her voice echoing out of her helmet. "We have to choose."

Everyone looked at her.

"You're saying the Relic is in one of these boxes?" asked Lightning.

"I think so," Bon Bon murmured.

Lightning shrugged. "Then let's just open all of them and pick the Relic out of the one we find it in." She strode up to the first casket — the golden casket — and grasped at the lid to lift it.

To try to lift it. Lightning Dust grunted and tugged at the lid, but it did not budge. She let out another, longer grunt, bloody hands scrabbling for purchase upon the ornate golden surface, but despite all that she did, she could not lift the lid.

"Having trouble?" Tempest asked archly.

Lightning glared at her and tried to lift the casket up off its plinth, only to find that she couldn't do that either.

She took a step back and punched the casket with one fist. There was a booming sound, like the ringing of a gong, and Lightning stepped back, clutching one hand.

She winced in my aura. "That dropped my aura!" she said. "What is this?"

"It's a fairy tale," Dove said. "And in a fairy tale, nobody cheats like that. It isn't possible."

Lightning cradled her hand. "I don't know if you've noticed, lover boy, but this isn't no fairy tale."

"I know," Dove said, softly, wearily. "But … that's where these things belong, isn't it? I think we have to choose — or Amber has to choose — properly, as if in a story."

"And if we choose wrong?" Tempest asked.

"Then the Relic will be out of our grasp," Amber murmured.

Tempest was silent for a moment, then she bowed her head and crouched down to the ground, clutching at the sides of her face with both hands, running her fingertips onto the top of her head, brushing against her tall mohawk.

A wordless sobbing sound escaped her.

"I just wanted to get the Relic," she moaned. "I just wanted to come down here, pluck a crown from off the floor or wherever else it might be, and then leave. In and out and gone before anyone realised. All I wanted was for this to be simple, was that really so much to ask?" She sighed. "Why me?"

She fell silent. They all fell silent, silent and watchful, waiting to see what Tempest would say or do next, to find out what they all would say or do next.

Tempest leapt to her feet, clapping her hands together. "Right!" she cried. "If we must choose, then we must choose; what other choice do we have? Not to go back to Salem empty-handed without even trying." She looked at Amber. "You must choose. But we must choose wisely, since it may be that we will only get one choice, so we cannot choose until we are absolutely certain." She paused. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

No one spoke.

Tempest rolled her eyes. "Don't everyone jump in at once," she muttered.

It was some time later. Amber wasn't entirely sure how long they'd been down here — with no real sky, no way or looking at the moon or looking east towards the potential rising of the sun, there was no natural way of telling what time of day or night it was, and their scrolls weren't working down in the Reliquary; something was blocking them, perhaps even the magic of this ethereal place — but it felt as though it had been a not insubstantial amount of time.

They had not chosen. She had not chosen. The three caskets of gold, iron, and wood still sat there, waiting, seeming almost to mock Amber and her confederates in their inability to make a choice.

Indecision had frozen them up like the Indecisive King, unable to act for fear of the consequences of his actions. Fear of losing the Crown of Choice made them unable to choose a casket that might contain it.

Amber included herself in that; in fact, for her, the fear might be greater than any of them. She had staked everything upon her ability to deliver the Relic of Choice up into Salem's hands; that ability, the unique ability as the Fall Maiden, as the custodian of the Vault, had purchased from Salem the guarantee of her freedom. To do this, she had betrayed Sunset and Pyrrha, she had killed Ozpin, she had gotten Lyra killed, what was worse; she had covered her hands with blood, precipitated a battle; everything that had unfolded or was unfolding was predicated upon her ability to deliver the Relic, and she couldn't do it. If she chose and chose wrongly, and the Relic slipped out of Salem's grasp, what chance that she would be merciful? None, as far as Amber could tell; she would leave her to Cinder, or else Tempest would kill her and try to take the other half of the powers; either way, Amber would die, and Salem would take the knowledge of the Vault and the powers of the Fall Maiden and wait for another opportunity to choose again at some later date. And it would be too late to go crawling back to her old friends, to cry their pardon, beg forgiveness. Amber had seen the fate of Sunset and remembered it still, how they had turned on her despite her tears and her regrets. Even Pyrrha, who had claimed to love Sunset best, had turned her back on her in the end, and Ruby…

It had been bad enough to think of them finding out last night, when Amber hadn't done anything yet. Now, Amber had caused the deaths of two people — a third as many as Sunset — they'd kill for sure. There would be no mercy in that direction. She was between the fire and the flood, and her only hope was to choose wisely and well and pluck the crown from out of the correct casket.

Whichever that was.

Gold, iron, or wood. How was she supposed to choose?

Nobody seemed to know. Tempest stood in front of the caskets, glowering down at them as if she could intimidate them into giving up their secrets — or better yet, the Relic itself. Lightning Dust paced up and down. Bon Bon stood, impassive, by the entrance into the Reliquary, her face still concealed beneath her helmet.

Dove sat beside Amber, his shoulder touching hers.

Amber glanced at him. "Dove," she whispered.

Dove glanced at her, his head shifting a little, his eyes moving more. "Do you have the answer?"

"No," Amber said quickly, shaking her head. "No, this is something … something else. Dove … I'm sorry, about Lyra, I—"

"I know," Dove said quickly, before she could say anything else. "You didn't mean for that. I know you didn't. You're not the one I blame for that."

Amber frowned. "I'm not … but then…" She followed his gaze towards Bon Bon. She looked back at him. "Bon Bon?"

"She should never have gotten Lyra involved in this," Dove said. "Just like she shouldn't have led Sky down to the Breach. You weren't the one who approached Lyra; Bon Bon did that. She didn't have to, but she did, and Lyra's dead because of it." His jaw clenched for a moment. "I should like to make her pay for it, but—"

"Dove, no!" Amber hissed. "If you do that, then—"

"I know," Dove said, sighing. "I know; that's why I said I'd like to, but I won't. Don't worry, I won't." He reached out for her, his fingertips gently brushing against her scarred cheek. "I won't do anything to jeopardise your arrangement. Anything that would put you in danger."

"I hope you two are whispering about these boxes," Tempest said sharply. "Have you any ideas?"

"N-no," Amber said quickly. "No, I don't. We don't." She looked at Dove. "Do we?"

"I…" Dove trailed off, but he didn't say that he hadn't a clue.

"Dove?" Amber repeated.

"Ugh, at least give us a hint!" Lightning roared up the cloudy sky. "What are we even supposed to be deciding on? Which box would be the best to hit someone with?"

"It's a fairy tale," Dove said softly.

Tempest looked at him. "What did you say?"

Dove climbed to his feet. "I said, it's a fairy tale. That's the logic that we're meant to be deciding on. If this were a story, and the heroine were confronted with three chests, one of which held the object they were looking for, which would they choose?"

"You tell us; you're the one who keeps bringing up fairy tales," Lightning muttered. She paused for a moment. "It's iron," she said, louder and more firmly. "You say that this is about stories, okay, fine, in stories, it's always the cheap and tatty option to teach kids not to judge by appearances; the gold box and the wooden box both look too nice, the iron box looks like something you might buy from an SDC subsidiary; it's that one."

"Let's not be too hasty," Tempest said. "We don't know for certain that … I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

"Dove."

"We don't know for certain that Dove is correct," Tempest went on. "It may not be fairy tale logic. What if it is as simple as the gold chest because… look at it. Look at how it shines, look at how ornately decorated it is, look at the way that it's clearly meant to be looked at with awe and wonder. It is the chest for a crown! What king would put his crown in a plain iron casket, or even in a well-carved, I admit, wooden one, when he could put it inside this, which is almost as much a treasure as the treasure within?"

"That's the logic of the unworthy elder sibling," Amber murmured. "Who attempts the quest but fails at it."

Tempest's eyes narrowed. "Did you just call me unworthy?"

"No," Amber said. "I said that you were talking like such a person just then, that's all."

Tempest inhaled through her nose. "Wasn't a king more likely to put their crown in a gold chest than in one of iron or wood, can anyone dispute that?"

"Did a king put this particular crown in here?" asked Bon Bon.

Tempest didn't reply to that. "Alright then, if you're all determined that it's not the gold … iron or wood, which is it?"

"Iron," Lightning insisted. "It's cheap, it's ugly looking, but it's strong too. Wood is weak, and so is gold, for that matter; they're both vulnerable; they can both be destroyed … usually. But iron is strong and hard; iron is what you'd put something precious in to keep it safe."

Tempest reached out and rapped upon the iron casket with her knuckles. "I think you might have a point," she conceded. "We don't build ships out of wood anymore, after all, and we don't make them out of gold either." She paused. "Any thoughts, Bon Bon?"

"No," Bon Bon said, shaking her helmeted head. "No, I don't know. Lyra … I don't know."

Amber got up and took a step forward towards the caskets. To Dove, she asked, "Are you sure this is how we're meant to decide, are you sure that it's fairy tale logic?"

"Sure, as in certain?" Dove asked. "No. No, I'm not. But it makes sense to me. As much sense as anything else. I mean, without something to reference for making the choice, how is anyone supposed to get it right?"

"Maybe that's the idea," Amber suggested. "That no one can guess right and get the Relic."

"Maybe," Dove admitted. "But if the point was to make sure no one can ever get the Relic, why have a test at all? It feels like it has to be winnable, and it has to play fair, somehow, once you figure out the rules."

Amber thought. It wasn't proof, but at the same time, what Dove was saying did make some sense.

And it wasn't as though they had any other ideas.

Amber took another step towards the caskets, and then another.

Between fire and flood.

She would only get one choice, one chance to get this right, or all would be lost for her; she was hazarding a lot on Dove being right about this, but at the same time … it felt right.

If this was a fairy tale, or if it worked like a fairy tale, then trusting the wisdom of the boy she loved couldn't lead her wrong, could it?

Amber brushed past Tempest and came to stand beside her, facing the caskets.

The gold casket she dismissed at once; it was so obviously wrong, it was hardly even worth thinking about. It was, as Amber had said, the choice that one of the failed would-be heroes to come before the real heroine would have made, one of her vain, spoiled sisters favoured by their father and sent off to prove themselves and win the great reward. No, the Relic was not within the gold casket; that was transparently the wrong choice. But the iron casket, or the wood? Tempest and Lightning both favoured iron, and Amber could see why: it had a certain appeal; she didn't dismiss it out of hand. But was it the right choice, or would she choose it only to find it empty and her one chance of securing the Relic slipped away from her?

Amber bit her lip and thought, as her eyes flickered between the plain iron chest and the decorated wood.

Lightning said that it would be the iron chest, because the iron casket looked cheap and unappealing. She had a point, but not as much of one as she seemed to think. 'Don't judge by appearances' was a moral, true, but what was Lightning doing if not judging by appearances? Only, instead of judging by the appearance of finery and luxury, she was doing the exact opposite and judging by the appearance of ugliness.

If this were a fairy tale, and if said tale was intending to preach such a moral, then Amber thought — Amber could not help but think — that the wooden casket would be the correct choice. She could see it now, in her mind's eye. She could imagine it in a big book, being read to her by her mother at bedtime, or … sharing it with Ozpin, during one of his visits.

She could hear the old man's voice, soft, gentle, and gently amused, as he sat before the fire with a book on his lap, the firelight glinting off his spectacles.

He would tell her of three sisters: one vain, one strong, and both proud of their respective gifts; and a third sister who seemed to have nothing remarkable about her and was disregarded by both her father and her sisters.

He would tell her of how, one by one, the three siblings each tried their luck obtaining some great treasure that would save the family fortunes — no, save the kingdom, the whole kingdom from … something. Amber couldn't think what.

The first sister, the beautiful but vain one, would choose the gold casket, because it was gold, rich, beautiful, luxurious, all the things that she was or hoped to be or have in her life. But it would be empty.

The second sister, the mighty but proud one, would choose the iron casket, because it was strong, tough, resilient. But it would be empty.

And the third sister, the disregarded one, would choose the wooden casket, because she could perceive what her eldest sister could not, the beauty in the carved wood, the intricate pattern that adorned it and the craftsmanship required to make it so. She would be able to look beyond the simplicity of the materials to comprehend the beauty, the wonder that could be found in small and simple things: a well made wooden box, a cottage with a garden, a sweet young man with a good heart.

It was with an untrembling hand that Amber reached out and placed her palm down upon the wooden casket. "This is my choice," she declared.

Tempest's eyes bulged. "What?" she snapped. "You can't just—"

All three caskets, and the pillars of stone that supported them, disappeared. The dead tree groaned as a crevice opened up in its trunk, growing wider and wider, the wood rending itself apart as the crevice became large enough to stick a hand into and then large enough to behold, in full, the Relic of Choice resting there, gleaming despite the shadow of the trunk, waiting to be picked up.

Tempest gasped, a ragged gasp borne of relief. "You … you did it!" she cried. "You … well done!" She smiled a smile which almost seemed genuine. "Well done."

More gratifying to Amber, as Tempest turned her back and strode quickly to the tree, was Dove's embrace as he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, planting a kiss upon her cheek.

"Congratulations," he said. "You did it."

Amber leaned upon him, resting her body against his chest as she looked ever so slightly down upon him. "With your help."

Dove let out a dismissive chuckle. "You're free now, aren't you?"

"We're free," Amber said. "Together." She hesitated, because now would be the moment when he would reveal that he had changed his mind — if, indeed, he had changed his mind.

Instead, he wrapped his other arm around her, enfolding her within his embrace. "Together," he agreed. "The two of us."

Tempest reached into the trunk of the dead tree and pulled out the Crown of Choice in both hands. She held the Relic reverently, as if she were both afraid to drop it and at the same time afraid to hold it too tightly, lest it shatter. She held it out to them as she turned around.

The Crown of Choice was a crown of gold, a simple golden band for the most part, with but three jewels set in it: a large, diamond shaped ruby that burned brightly like a single eye piercing the soul that fell under its gaze, and two small rubies flanking it like sentinels. Long shafts rose atop the crown, but so, too, did teeth descend diagonally downwards from the golden circle; Amber imagined it was not a comfortable crown to wear.

Fortunately, she did not have to wear it. She had done her part. It was as Dove had said: she was free now.

They were free now.

"Let's go," she said. "Quickly, before … let's go." She didn't know how long they'd been down here; perhaps people had started returning to Beacon already. They had lingered here long enough.

"Quite right," Tempest said, as she lowered the crown. "Well done, Amber. You have the thanks of our cause. We really couldn't have done it without you."

Amber didn't respond to that. She was grateful that she and Tempest would soon be parting ways as Dove released her, and the two of them joined Tempest, Lightning, and Bon Bon in heading back the way they'd come.

They had just left the reliquary and reentered the cavern when Pyrrha came bounding down the steps with Miló in hand.

Pyrrha's hair and sash alike streamed out behind her as she dashed down the tunnel steps, taking them two, three at a time, stepping so swiftly that her footfalls made no sound at all upon the stone.

The last time she had been here, they had taken the steps cautiously, but now, she had no time for caution, even in the dim light provided by luminescent moss; she had no time to do anything but plunge, headlong and heedless as any of her ancestors far-famed for their boldness — or their rashness — down the steps as she hoped she was not too late.

She reached the bottom, descending from the steps into the great cavern below, where the images of graven kings lined the walls and a great statue of the Fall Maiden dominated the expansive space.

The crystal door, as red as autumn leaves, as red as her hair or the sash she wore around her waist, was gone. From around the statue, Pyrrha could see into a courtyard of stone, and what looked like a dead tree, trunk concealed but immense branches growing out past the Fall Maiden statue into view.

She could also see Amber, and Dove, and Amber's other confederates: Bon Bon, Lightning Dust, and a young woman with a deep magenta mohawk who must have been Tempest Shadow. Lyra was not there, which seemed to confirm Rainbow's fears for her after she had warned them what was going on.

In her hands, Tempest — the girl who must have been Tempest for she was the only one that Pyrrha didn't recognise — held a crown. A golden crown that seemed to Pyrrha's eyes to be somewhat angular in shape, with solid columns rising and falling at angles above and below the golden circle, and a blue sapphire like an eye set in the very centre of the crown like an eye.

So, they had recovered the Relic.

She was too late to prevent that.

She was just in time to prevent them carrying it away to Salem.

"Pyrrha," Amber gasped, gripping her wooden staff with both hands. "What are you doing here?"

"I think that's obvious, isn't it?" drawled Tempest.

Pyrrha ignored her. She remained where she was, blocking the route back up the stairs and out of the Vault. Miló was in her right hand, in spear mode, the tip currently pointed downwards towards the ground but able to be raised again in short order; Akoúo̱ was on her left arm, raised to cover her chest as she stood side on to her … enemies.

If they were all her enemies.

It was that hope, that they were not all so, that kept her eyes fixed on Amber. "Amber," she said softly. "I don't want to fight you."

Amber swallowed. "I don't want to fight you either, Pyrrha," she said, almost as quietly as Pyrrha herself, their voices barely carrying across the subterranean cavern. "So let me go."

"I can't do that," Pyrrha said. "Not with the Relic. I can't let you give it to Salem."

"Why not?" Amber demanded, taking a step forward. "Ozpin—"

"Is dead," Pyrrha interrupted her. "I know. I … I saw his body in the courtyard."

Amber flinched, but said, "Why shouldn't he die? He was willing to send others to their deaths, why shouldn't he die himself, what right did he have to stay safe in his tower while putting everyone else in danger?" She paused for a moment. "What do you owe him? You don't owe a dead man anything, Pyrrha, so why risk your life standing in my way?"

"Because I would be shamed," Pyrrha replied, her voice rising a little from its initial quiet. "Before the long line of my ancestors, before Jaune, before the great-hearted Mistralians and the huntsmen of Beacon."

"They wouldn't know," Amber said.

"Some would," Pyrrha pointed out. "And I would know, and I would feel the sting of the comparison."

Amber blinked. "So … what then? What would you have me do?"

"Stand aside," Pyrrha told her. "You and Dove. Let your weapons rest and let me deal with these servants of Salem. Return the Relic to its rightful resting place."

"If you do that, your deal is done," Tempest said sharply. "There will be nowhere you can feel safe from Salem's wrath."

"You can be protected, Amber," Pyrrha said.

"By who? By you? The way that you protected Sunset?" Amber snapped.

It took all Pyrrha's strength not to recoil from the sudden strength in Amber's voice. "Sunset?"

"I was going to tell you all!" Amber cried. "I was going to confess everything to you, to all of you! After the way that you fought for me, against Cinder, I thought … I thought that I'd gotten everything so wrong. I was going to tell you the truth because I thought that you, my friends, my good friends, my dear friends who had fought for me, would understand. Would show charity." She shook her head and let out a laugh in which Pyrrha could not help but hear a touch of mockery. "And then … and then I saw what you did to Sunset. How Ruby spoke to her, what Ruby did to her and how the rest of you just stood there. I saw what you would do to me then, what would you do to me now?" Again that little laugh, that little mocking laugh. "I'm sure you would cry very pretty tears for me as Ruby put me to death, wouldn't you Pyrrha, friend of my soul?"

Pyrrha flinched; she did recoil, as she had had to resist doing before, but she was unable to resist now. Amber's words pierced her aura and cut her like knives, just as Mother's words had wounded her before, when she had spoken with her in her box.

She cut her to the quick, and all the more so for there being no response that Pyrrha could make, no answer that she could offer, no excuse, no explanation. The only thing that she could have possibly said rested on a judgement of Sunset's conduct, but how would that help considering what Amber had done tonight?

It cut her. It cut her in part because Amber spoke true, she had not acted as befit a friend, she ought to have taken Sunset under her protection as Turnus had taken the former Lord Agylla and his son beneath the mantle of his power after their disgrace; it cut also in part to know that if she had done that, if she had done right by Sunset last night, then Amber would have … then so much might have been avoided. Professor Ozpin would still live, this battle might not have come to pass, Tempest and Bon Bon…

So much ill I might have averted, had I played a generous part.

This is all my fault.

"I stand dishonoured," Pyrrha murmured. "And I am sorry, Amber, sorry that I did not give you cause to have faith in me — in us; sorry, too, that by my fault I pushed you to … all of this. To stain your hands with Professor Ozpin's blood."

Now, it was Amber's turn to flinch, her eyes glancing down towards her hands, although she said nothing.

"Is there anything that I can say that would convince you that … that I will do better by you than I did by Sunset?" asked Pyrrha, less in hope than in a sense, that if she did not ask, she would regret it hereafter.

Amber shook her head. "Nothing," she said, her voice as sharp as glass but just as fragile sounding too. "What I'm doing will guarantee my safety. I'll be free, Pyrrha, free of all of this, of wars and factions and Relics and all their plans and schemes and all who get caught between them. That's all I want, is to be free. So step aside, Pyrrha, and let me go, because I…" She paused for a moment. "I don't want to fight you, but I won't let you stand in my way."

Pyrrha's response was to level Miló, raising her spear so that it was poised above her shield, ready to strike. That was her only answer because they had reached the end of words, the moment at which there was nothing left for it but to speak with Miló instead of with her own faltering tongue.

So be it. If it be now, then let it come. Pyrrha felt … the misery that she had felt when speaking with Amber, when Amber had with justice accused her and heaped the blame upon her, all of that would return in time no doubt but at this moment, as she raised her spear and flowed into a fighting stance, Akoúo̱ held before her, then it fell from her like a coat that she was casting off, lest it hinder her movements.

She was in the little world now, the world that she had told Jaune she preferred to the wide world above in all its complexities. The kings of stone, carved into the walls, the Fall Maiden statue watching from above, they were her audience; this was her arena, and Amber's cohort were her many foes in these, Professor Ozpin's funeral games.

Amber, who had taken a step towards Pyrrha, now shuffled a step away from her once more.

She took one hand off her wooden staff, and motes of golden light began to rise lazily from out of her palm into the air.

Her semblance!

Pyrrha needed to act swiftly if she was to avoid the fate of Ruby, but unlike Ruby, she wasn't confused as to why Amber would want to put her to sleep, and so as soon as she saw the golden motes appear, she acted. She gave thanks that Amber's semblance was so slow to work, and trusted that it wouldn't work if Amber couldn't concentrate, as she leapt forward, spinning on her toe, sash whirling around her as she hurled Akoúo̱ through the air straight for Amber's head.

Dove appeared in front of her; no, not the real Dove as Pyrrha thought for a moment — he remained in his place at Amber's side — but his body glowed brightly for a moment, and a second Dove, a shining Dove like a statue in thinly-painted alabaster appeared in front of Amber. Statue-like in looks, statue-like, too, in its lack of movement as this second Dove was struck by Akoúo̱ straight in the face, shattering into pieces as Pyrrha's shield bounced off the Dove that had been and flew back towards Pyrrha.

Pyrrha's left hand glowed with the black outline of her semblance as she guided her shield through the air, curving around the cavern to come at Amber from the side. Amber turned, the golden motes of light fading away as she whirled in place, but before Akoúo̱ could strike or she could attempt to defend herself from it, another shining Dove had appeared between Amber and onrushing Akoúo̱ and taken the blow, sending Pyrrha's shield flying off and away.

That is Dove's semblance, it must be, Pyrrha thought, though she had never seen it before. It lets him project a copy of himself, like one of Blake's clones, only it doesn't protect him but—

Pyrrha had no more time to consider the mechanics of Dove's semblance as Salem's agents hurled themselves upon her like ravening wolves.

Not quite. Wolves would have been more coordinated in their assault upon her, but these servants of Salem were not united in their onslaught. Pyrrha guessed that they had no experience of fighting as a group. Bon Bon was the first to reach her, simply by virtue of being the closest; she had stood off from the others and had the shortest distance to cover as she charged at Pyrrha silently, her face concealed beneath her helmet, swinging her morningstar Sirius above her head.

She moved a little faster than Pyrrha remembered her doing in combat class, and with a little more grace, but if she had been holding back, it wasn't enough to worry Pyrrha.

Bon Bon swung Sirius at her, the spiked metal ball flying out on its chain towards Pyrrha's face. Pyrrha swayed like a willow tree buffeted by a breeze, not needing Polarity to let the morningstar ball fly past her head. As it did so, Pyrrha struck, thrusting down with Miló into the chain that connected ball and shaft. She did not break the chain — Bon Bon's aura ran through it, protecting it just as Pyrrha's aura protected Miló — but she did wedge the tip of her spear into the chain and drive it down until she had buried Miló's point into the stone floor of the cavern and pinned Sirius in place with it.

Pyrrha left Bon Bon no time to react as she used upright Miló, lodged in the ground, as a pole, hauling herself up on it at a ninety-degree angle to kick Bon Bon in the armoured belly with both feet. How much her suit of armour meant that Bon Bon did not feel the blow, how much it protected her aura, Pyrrha could not say, but she could say with the confidence of seeing that it did not stop Bon Bon from being launched backwards through the air, out of the cavern and into the stone courtyard that lay beyond the door that Amber had opened for Salem's creatures. Bon Bon landed with a crash under the twisted branches of the great dead tree.

Pyrrha had just enough time to land her feet once more upon the ground and recover Miló before Lightning Dust became the next to strike. Lightning descended on Pyrrha like a thunderbolt, dropping from a leap that had carried her through the air, fist drawn back, her whole body wreathed in lightning that snapped and crackled and stood out brightly against the black of her bodysuit. Lightning's face was set in an angry grimace, and a wordless growl passed her lips as she fell on Pyrrha.

Pyrrha backflipped away before she landed; Lightning slammed her fist down into the cavern floor, splintering the stone and leaving a crater even as lightning briefly rippled up and down abandoned Sirius. Pyrrha landed, still facing Lightning Dust, able to see her as she charged, fists swinging.

Pyrrha fell back. Letting an enemy touch her was never a thing to be desired, but especially not when that enemy was surrounded by lightning as she was; Rainbow had told them about her own fight with Lightning Dust, how Lightning had crippled Penny and injured Ciel and how Rainbow herself had eventually had to endure the hit to her own aura in order to put Lightning out of the fight. That was all well and good, and perhaps it would even become necessary, but with the odds against her as they were and a Fall Maiden to contend with, Pyrrha was somewhat loath to burn aura in close quarters with Lightning Dust if she could avoid it. So she fell back at first, letting Lightning's punches, so widely telegraphed that she might have been using the CCT to announce them, swipe through the empty air.

Pyrrha wasn't sure what Lightning's bodysuit was made of, but she was fairly certain that that bulky tank full of dust on her back was metal. The black outline returned to Pyrrha's left hand; she might not be able to destroy the device with Lightning's aura protecting it, but perhaps she could—

No; the lightning that enfolded Lightning Dust, the lightning that she wore like chains, disrupted Pyrrha's magnetism; it was like … like trying to grab something slippery from oil or water, the way that Sunset described trying to use telekinesis on aura. Pyrrha could find no purchase with her semblance; the lightning would not allow it.

The way that Lightning's expression became ever so slightly smug suggested that she knew it too.

Or perhaps it was just what she was planning that made her look smug, as she stopped charging after the retreating Pyrrha and held out her hands in front of her, streams of lightning erupting from her fingertips, snapping like dogs on the hunt — and Pyrrha the deer whose scent they had.

Pyrrha leapt aside as the lightning ripped through the space where she had stood, slamming into the wall, sending stone splintering and shards flying across the floor around the tunnel mouth. Pyrrha rolled across the stone ground, Miló switching from spear to rifle in her hands as she brought the weapon to her shoulder and fired a single shot at Lightning Dust.

She didn't know if it would work, or if Lightning would be able to use her lightning to simply deflect or stop the bullet in its tracks. Either Pyrrha caught her by surprise or the bullet was moving too fast for such a trick, but Lightning staggered, clutching at her side. Pyrrha rose to her feet, Miló switching fluidly from rifle into spear once more as Pyrrha rushed two steps forward and then hurled Miló through the air, hoping that her thrown spear, too, would be too quick for Lightning to react.

It was, at least with Lightning already distracted by the earlier impact. Miló struck her on the breast and hurled her into the wall between two carved kings, Pyrrha's enemy disappearing in the cloud of dust thrown up by the impact.

Tempest roared as she became the last to join the fray; Pyrrha thought she might have held back to see how the others did, for she had been very slow otherwise, and yet, she did not seem slow as Pyrrha gave her her attention. Rather, she seemed fast, faster than either Bon Bon or Lightning Dust. She, too, wore a bodysuit all black, and in her hands, she wielded a metal quarterstaff, a staff which must have had hard light dust set in it because two beams of pale blue, like the beam that Trixie had projected from her wand during her match with Pyrrha and Sunset, rose from both ends of the staff, scoring marks in the floor of the cavern — they were not quite long enough to reach the ceiling — as Tempest wove the staff in circles past and around and before her as she attacked.

Once more, Pyrrha gave ground at first; she had paid Tempest Shadow no attention before now, and she wanted to get a feel for her, for how fast she was, for how she moved, before she counterattacked. Considering that she had not even known the Atlas student's face until now, it was likely that she was better known to her opponent than her opponent was to her.

Although, if not, that would also explain why she did not rush in to confront me.

She was fast, quick on her feet and quick with her hands too, and the beams of hard-light coming out of her the ends of her staff gave her an impressively long reach. She was at Pyrrha's heels like the pursuing cavalry that will not let the foe retire in good order from the field, and at times, her hard light beams passed very close to Pyrrha indeed, and only her honed reflexes prevented her aura being sliced off like ham off the bone.

But Pyrrha was avoiding her, if only by a hair's breadth, and if she could get inside the guard of her ponderously long—

Pyrrha's eyes widened as Miló was flung back at her; no, not thrown, shot back at her, shot by Lightning Dust, who was back on her feet between the statues of the kings, standing in front of the dent she had made in the wall. The lightning that wreathed her now surrounded Pyrrha's spear, lending it speed and force as she launched it at Pyrrha like one of Seraphis' thunderbolts hurled by the angry master of the heavens.

Pyrrha leapt aside, her body twisting in the air, her hair flying about her; Miló was moving so fast, and yet at the same time so slowly, just as she was moving slowly too, or seemed to be, slow enough that she could see her red and gold spear fly past, nicking her aura in the process it came so close, before burying itself halfway down the shaft in the belly of a stone king.

Lightning had missed — just — but Tempest struck while Pyrrha was still suspended in midair from her leap, slamming her hardlight beam into Pyrrha's narrow strip of bare midriff.

Pyrrha winced in pain, the sound torn her lips, a momentary wish that she had stood firm against the insistence of that PR consultant as she was swept aside as by a wave rushing in from shore, her aura flaring in pain, swept almost a half-circle before being slammed sideways into the statue of the Fall Maiden. The stone cracked beneath her impact, but the statue did not break.

Pyrrha fell to her hands and knees at the Maiden's feet, before the stone plinth on which the statue stood. Lightning was closing on her, and Tempest was swinging her long — oversized — weapon at Pyrrha once again. Pyrrha reached out with Polarity, gripping the metal shaft of Tempest's staff and shifting it upwards so that it passed over her head, the beam of hard light slicing through the feet of the Maiden statue at the ankles. Pyrrha rose off her knees, still using Polarity, this time to grab Akoúo̱ send it flying into the back of the Maiden statue hard enough to send it toppling forwards, forcing Lightning Dust to scrabble backwards out of the way lest she find out how well her lightning could protect her against falling stone. The Maiden's face remained as benevolent as ever as she fell forwards to shatter on the ground into a million pieces of stone from which could never be discerned just what she had been before.

And while the statue fell, Pyrrha charged, rising up from beneath Tempest's weapon to slam her right fist into Tempest's gut. Tempest let out a winded 'oof' as she half doubled over before Pyrrha hit her in the face with her left hand. Tempest tried to roll with the punch, but not enough to stop her head from snapping round as the blow struck her with an audible smack that made her wince in pain. Pyrrha kicked her next, a spinning kick that knocked her sideways and off her feet.

Lightning Dust was on her now, a distraction from Tempest as she was already closer than Pyrrha would have liked, her punches sharper now, short jabs at waist height. Conscious that those jabs could become bolts of lightning at any moment, Pyrrha fell back once more, leaping head over heels once, twice, to open up some distance between Lightning and herself. She grasped at Miló, though she needed the help of her semblance to free it from the place it had been lodged by Lightning's attack.

Over Lightning's shoulder, she could see Bon Bon also moving to return to the fray, all clad in her armour.

The black outline that surrounded her matched that around Pyrrha's hand as she yanked Bon Bon into the air and through the cavern, over the plinth on which no statue stood no more and straight towards Lightning Dust. Despite Bon Bon's squawks of alarm, Lightning did not realise what was happening until too late, and Pyrrha slammed Bon Bon into her. As Lightning's lightning rippled up and down Bon Bon's armour, tearing at her aura, producing cries of pain from Pyrrha's classmate, Pyrrha's grip upon her slipped, disrupted by the lightning, but no matter; momentum was sufficient to carry them both into the wall, destroying one of the watching kings in the process as lightning continued to snap and tear at Bon Bon like a hunting pack.

Pyrrha charged, anticipating that Lightning would have to drop her lightning for Bon Bon's sake and give her an opening, but Tempest leapt over her two fallen comrades and hurled herself at Pyrrha once again. She had discarded her staff and assailed Pyrrha with fists and feet alone, which reduced the opportunity for interference from Pyrrha's semblance but, as Arslan had found, at the cost of a reduced reach. Pyrrha traced red-gold patterns in the air with Miló as she spun it before her, using it to block a couple of Tempest's blows — not only fast but strong too; the impacts sent vibrations down her arms — before opening up a little distance and switching from spear to rifle mode.

She fired a shot, but Tempest dodged, leaping away and rolling upright as the bullet whipped over Dove's shoulder and made him flinch.

Tempest sprang at Pyrrha from off the ground like a black panther, hands outstretched. Pyrrha sidestepped, switching Miló back into spear mode as she swept it upwards towards Tempest's midriff. Tempest twisted in mid-air, her body contorting gymnastically as Miló's point swept harmlessly by her. Tempest threw a punch at Pyrrha, but Pyrrha dodged in turn, her bending back and sideways as Tempest's fist passed by.

Tempest landed on the ground between Pyrrha and the tunnel entrance through which they had all entered this place. If she had had the Relic, then she could have tried to make a run for it, but she did not have the Relic; though she had held it before, Pyrrha couldn't see it on her now; she must have put it down when she joined the battle.

Pyrrha summoned Akoúo̱ back onto her arm — for all of a moment before she threw it at Tempest. Tempest caught the shield in one hand, stopping it dead, but Pyrrha was already charging in, Miló shifting from spear into sword mode in her hand, hoping that the shield would have distracted Tempest enough to let her get close.

It did not. Pyrrha slashed rapidly, aiming blows low and high, first a sideways slash across the midriff, then she turned in place for a more powerful stroke; she slashed at Tempest's face, at her legs. Tempest was able to keep up with her, her body twisting, blocking Pyrrha's high blows with her forearms, turning so that the blows to her legs were taken on the knees or simply did not impact so hard. She was losing aura — you couldn't take a blow on the arm or wrist and not suffer a little — but she wasn't enduring the sort of damage Pyrrha would have hoped to dish out to her; she was too quick to respond. Not quick enough to counterattack, mind — all her own blows went sailing past Pyrrha without impact — but Pyrrha wasn't able to break through her guard and start carving up her aura.

And she didn't have time to get caught in a prolonged struggle, even one in her favour, taking bits and pieces off Tempest's aura a little at a time. That was fine in a one-on-one fight, if not always particularly entertaining for the crowd, but at some point, Lightning Dust and Bon Bon would get back up, and at some point, they might even start coordinating their attacks properly, and then Pyrrha might find herself in some difficulty.

All the more so if Amber, or even Dove, decided to join the fray.

No, this was no time for a long fight; she needed to create an opening.

Akoúo̱ was lying on the ground where Tempest had dropped it. Pyrrha flipped it upright with her foot and kicked it upwards towards Tempest's face. Tempest swayed aside, even as Pyrrha had so often done, before aiming a punch straight for Pyrrha's face which Pyrrha dodged in turn.

Pyrrha slashed, once, twice at Tempest's face; Tempest blocked the strokes with her forearms; Pyrrha aimed a kick at her side, but Tempest turned on one toe and brought up her other leg so the kick only struck her knee. Then she drove Pyrrha back a step with a one-two punch.

Pyrrha switched Miló from sword into spear, gripping the weapon in both hands before she drove forward, extending the spear out another foot with a bang as she discharged the dust stored in the shaft.

Tempest caught the spearpoint in both hands, slamming her palms together to trap the metal between them.

Pyrrha let go of Miló as she charged on, head bowed, shoulder to her enemy.

There was a rumbling sound, and Tempest's opal eyes widened.

Pyrrha pressed on, heedless, shoulder-barging into Tempest and bearing her backwards, even as Pyrrha wrapped her arms around Tempest's waist. She expected some response, like the beating of fists upon her back, as she reared up, hoisting Tempest over her shoulder as she did so, but there was none. No response as she slammed Tempest down headfirst onto the ground behind her. Pyrrha turned, sash flying all around her, snatching Miló up off the ground where Tempest had dropped it.

Tempest was still looking upwards, and the rumbling above was growing louder.

Pyrrha looked up too, and it was the turn of her own eyes to widen as she saw the clouds gather above them in the cavern, dark and stormy clouds that rumbled with approaching thunder.

It would have seemed bizarre, had Pyrrha not seen this before, under the mountains, when Cinder had saved them from Merlot's grimm.

Pyrrha looked down. One of Amber's eyes blazed with fire, the corona of the Fall Maiden burning golden, and she had her hands — one of them holding her staff, the other holding the Relic of Choice — out on either side of her.

There were white flashes in the clouds as the thunder sounded louder still.

Lightning burst from the clouds in jagged spears, lancing down to strike the stone floor of the Vault. Pyrrha leapt from place to place, flashes of lightning all around her, slamming into the stone, making little craters like miniature missiles, each crack of lightning followed by a roar of thunder as though some angry beast prowled, hidden, amongst the black clouds, seeking her out and frustrated that its hunt continued. Certainly, it seemed as though the lightning was seeking Pyrrha out, though it fell like rain all across the upper half of the cavern. Out of the corner of her eye, Pyrrha was certain that she saw Bon Bon struck at least once — she wasn't moving, for whatever that was worth — she saw Lightning Dust trying to fight lightning with lightning, staving off the bolts from above with that which danced around her body; she saw Tempest scrambling across the ground like an insect to try and avoid an impact, but the bulk of the lightning was reserved for Pyrrha herself. The bolts burst around her, forcing her to keep moving lest, in stopping, she offer herself up to Amber as a simple target.

Of course, what Amber might not have realised is that Pyrrha was left with only one place to go: towards Amber herself.

If Amber was the source of this attack, and if Pyrrha could not stop for fear of this attack, then the only safety was in assailing the source of this attack, or at least getting so close that Amber dared not unleash the lightning for fear of striking herself — or Dove.

Pyrrha had Miló in hand, but Akoúo̱ was buried in the tunnel roof, and Amber's lightning would no doubt interfere with Polarity as much as Lightning's had if Pyrrha tried to retrieve it. No matter; Miló would be sufficient for this quarrel between them.

Pyrrha switched from spear to rifle mode as she danced through the lightning, spears from the sky lancing into the stone all around her striking her not, not even once. Pyrrha vaulted over the plinth of the fallen statue and snapped off a half-aimed shot. Dove took the bullet using his semblance, throwing up another shining statue to absorb the shot.

Pyrrha switched back to spear as she charged for Amber, noting the lightning die down behind her. As she had suspected, Amber wasn't willing to risk herself or Dove in the ways she was willing to chance a strike on Bon Bon, Lightning Dust, or Tempest.

Amber dropped the crown from one hand as she retreated backwards, away from Pyrrha. Dove stepped forwards, drawing his sword in a fluid motion and aiming at her as best he could with the gun within. He fired three shots, all of which Pyrrha parried away from her as she twirled her spear in front of her, tracing golden patterns through the air.

Another shining Dove appeared in front of Amber, though Pyrrha had levelled no fresh attack on her; nevertheless, it stood a still and silent guardian as Pyrrha came on.

Dove charged before she could even reach his semblance copy, never mind Amber herself. He fired another shot as he attacked, to make sure he had Pyrrha's attention, then closed the distance with a diagonal slash from shoulder to hip.

Pyrrha parried with the shaft of Miló, countering with the spearbutt, which Dove parried in turn as he retreated a pace. He countered with two swift slashes, both of which Pyrrha blocked before swiping at his feet with Miló's point. Dove leapt over the tip of the spear but failed in his attempt to put his foot on it; Pyrrha snatched it away before he could and drew back for a thrust straight at his chest. He parried, turning her thrust aside with his blade then seeking to counter with a slash just below her neck; Pyrrha recoiled, feet skidding along the stone.

She had no desire to hurt Dove, any more than she had any desire to hurt Amber; however, Amber had amply demonstrated that this was not a battle where they were going to be holding back.

Pyrrha lunged at him. A touch of Polarity turned his parry awry, and Miló slashed across his chest, scoring his aura, before Pyrrha whirled the spear in her hands and clubbed him across the side of the head so hard that he was knocked aside.

"Dove!" Amber shrieked.

A cone of fire burst from her hands, consuming the shining Dove that had been placed before her as it rushed like a river bursting from a dam straight towards Pyrrha. It was moving too fast for even Pyrrha to dodge it; it struck her in the side and bore her backwards as though she had fallen into that same burning river, and Pyrrha could feel the heat stripping away her aura as the flames flickered up and down her body before she slammed with a crunch into the cavern wall.

Pyrrha was dumped upon the ground. She looked up, leapt up; Cinder would have attacked at once, hurling herself upon Pyrrha in a fury, her eye burning. But Amber was more cautious; she hung back, her eye still burning, flames burning, too, upon the top and bottom of her wooden staff.

Slowly, Amber placed herself between Pyrrha and the crown.

"Leave Dove alone," Amber declared, her voice trembling. "Everything … everything that's happened was me; I did it. Dove never wanted any of this."

"Jaune thought as much," Pyrrha told her. "He acted for love of you."

Amber nodded. "That's right. It's all for me."

Pyrrha took a step forward. "I've no desire to hurt Dove. All he has to do is stay down and not interfere."

Amber swallowed. Her breathing sounded ragged and loud within the cave, though she had scarcely begun to fight.

She gripped her staff tightly in both hands.

Sapphire. Its name is Sapphire.

The very name a reminder of broken bonds, and of my failures.

Pyrrha charged forth, almost as much because she needed the universe of battle as a distraction from such thoughts as because she wanted to end this battle as swiftly as she could. She whirled her spear, and as she whirled it, she unleashed an aura attack — she would lose as much aura if Amber decided to unleash her magic at close range, if not more — a red vertical way tracing the spear's path even as it flew outwards towards Amber.

Another of Dove's statue-like clones took the blow, even as Dove himself staggered to his feet, heedless of Pyrrha's words.

Pyrrha gripped Akoúo̱ in the hands of her semblance — there was no more lightning to obstruct or disrupt it — and slammed it into the side of Dove's head, knocking him to the ground once more.

Amber roared in wordless anger and sprang at Pyrrha. The two clashed like plains lions, the one who rules over his domain and the ambitious outcast who has wandered into his territory. Just so did Pyrrha and Amber come together. Miló clashed with Sapphire, the metal slamming into the wood with solid thumping sounds. Flames leapt from the tip and tail of Sapphire, jumping out at Pyrrha whenever Sapphire turned that way, bursting towards her face or towards her feet. Pyrrha twisted and wriggled like an eel, feeling the heat lap over her skin at times, but never consuming her, never shrivelling her aura in the flames. Amber did not call upon any more cones of fire as she had done; she certainly did not call down lancing lightning upon herself as well as Pyrrha. She fought with the staff, mainly, or with her feet, and the flame was simply an addition to the staff, something that would hurt Pyrrha that little more if she could only land a heavy blow with it.

Pyrrha wondered if perhaps Amber was worried that, so close, the time to use her magic might leave her vulnerable, if only for a brief moment.

Pyrrha would only need a brief moment, after all.

And so, it was as a simple warrior, and not a Maiden, that she fought Pyrrha, the wooden staff clashing with the metal spear as they both beat at the other's guard like waves beating upon the shore — or like waves beating upon a great sea wall for all that either of them breached the defences of the other.

Pyrrha had not seen Amber fight, only seen her experiment with this staff in the shop where they had bought it from, and she had seemed swift then, and far from without skill. So it was; she was almost matching Pyrrha's movements, matching her speed too. She was not as strong as Pyrrha was — Pyrrha could see her blows jarring the other girl where Miló clashed with Sapphire, while Amber's blows in return didn't feel so hard on her — but she was holding Pyrrha off, and unlike Tempest, she wasn't having to use her own body to do it with. Amber would be losing no aura as she parried with Sapphire again and again.

Professor Ozpin taught you well, I see. I daresay, had you been of a different temperament, we could have put on quite a show in the arena when we visited Mistral.

Had you been of a different temperament? Had I been of a different temperament.

Had things been different.

But she wasn't breaking through either; Pyrrha was fending her off, just as Amber was fending Pyrrha off. Amber was no more able to break through, no more able to land a blow on Pyrrha, than Pyrrha was to land a blow on her.

Pyrrha kept her eyes fixed on Amber, even though she knew Dove was back on his feet again and prowling around, waiting for his moment to strike. She could and would deal with him, but she kept her eyes fixed on Amber because she was waiting for a sign that Amber was growing as impatient as Pyrrha — or hopefully even more — with this clash of spear on staff, of attack and counter; impatient enough to make a mistake.

Or perhaps she could provoke Amber into such an error.

She picked up her shield with her semblance and threw it at the back of Amber's head. Again, Dove took the blow for her with his semblance. Pyrrha rounded on Dove — or seemed to, acted as though she was; she turned, presenting her back to Amber.

Amber thrust out the palm of one hand, fire gathering there.

She was right: there was a slight delay.

Pyrrha thrust Miló into the ground, using it as a pole to spin around to kick Amber in the side with both feet and knock her flying. Amber cried out as she was tossed aside. Pyrrha followed up, wrenching Miló out of the ground and using it as the conduit for another aura attack — yes, it was an expense of aura, but she had to keep Amber off balance before she used magic at a distance Pyrrha struggled to respond to — that soared in a vertical line along the ground like a shark's fin cutting through the water. It struck Amber as she tried to get up, lifting her up into the air, then tossing her down again as she cried out once more, louder now.

Dove came to her aid, charging towards Pyrrha from behind, sword raised and drawn back.

Pyrrha turned swiftly, turning his stroke with her semblance even as she thrust with Miló straight for him, striking him squarely on the breast.

His aura broke. A rippling white light spread across his body as Miló pierced his cuirass and drove inexorably into his chest.

Pyrrha's eyes widened. Her lips trembled as a gasp escaped them.

There was blood. Blood coming from Dove's chest, from the rent in his breastplate, blood upon Miló, staining the gold and mingling with the red.

Blood, too, coming from Dove's mouth. He stared at her, his face already seeming pale, so pale, a d— a pallor that made his eyes stand out all the more. Such blue eyes.

He looked at Pyrrha. He stared straight at her, but … but Pyrrha saw no anger in those eyes, no hatred. There was only sadness there. He looked sad. He was dying, and he looked sad.

It was … Pyrrha would have said that it was unexpected, but she hadn't really known what to expect. She hadn't expected this to happen.

Dove was dying because she had killed him. She had killed someone, and that someone was someone she had gone to school with, someone she had known slightly, someone who had been Jaune's friend, someone who had been, for a time, a part of their circle, if only on the periphery of it.

And she had killed him.

"I … I…" Pyrrha began, her words failing because what could she say, that she hadn't meant to do it? That she hadn't known how low his aura was? That she wished he had not chosen to fight? All true, but all so utterly inadequate at the same time. How could she say them to the man she had killed while he was dying?

Dove looked away from her, looked towards … towards Amber. Pyrrha turned, letting go of Miló as she turned, to see Amber staring, silent, eyes as wide or wider than Pyrrha's own and tears gathering beneath her eyes.

"Dove?" Amber took a step forward, half reaching out for him. Her voice was small, childlike. "Dove?"

Dove opened his bleeding mouth, and for a moment, it looked as though he was trying to speak. He sank to his knees, blue eyes still fixed on Amber. He stopped trying to speak, perhaps recognising that no words would come, or else that no words would suffice.

Instead, he smiled. He smiled at her, at such a time, in such a place. Why? How could he smile? What did he have to smile about?

How could die in such good spirits, all things being as they were?

He did not answer the question Pyrrha did not voice. He could not have answered them even if Pyrrha had asked. He toppled over, hands, arms, all his limbs going limp, the light vanishing from his eyes. The smile remained on his face, but with the light gone, it seemed an almost unwholesome thing, almost mocking, a false smile that cast scorn upon all who saw it, and especially on Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha looked down at her hands, her hands as stained with blood as Amber's own. Literally stained; she could see some of Dove's blood upon the brown leather of her long gloves.

Would any water clear her of this deed?

She turned to Amber.

Tears were streaming down the Fall Maiden's face, running from both eyes, running into the maze of scars that Cinder had left upon one side of her face.

"Amber," Pyrrha said. "I'm so—"

Amber screamed, a harsh and wordless scream of rage and sadness intermingled, and as she screamed, the corona around her eye blazed larger and brighter than before, even as flames leapt from both of Amber's hands. And not just her hands; they engulfed her arms and spread all down her back too, consuming her cloak so that it seemed as though she were wearing a cloak of flames that blazed more brilliantly than ever Sunset's jacket had. Amber's cloak covered her from the shoulders down to the ground, it gathered at her feet, it swirled around her.

It filled the cavern with the crackling of flame.

Amber stared at Pyrrha with nothing but hatred in her tearful eyes now. She bared her teeth in a snarl.

Pyrrha laid her hand on Miló, beginning to retrieve it from … from Dove.

The act drew forth from Amber another shout, "DON'T TOUCH HIM!" she bellowed as she unleashed a firestorm. Flames burst from her hands sufficient to cover the whole Vault, or at least the whole cavern, as though Amber didn't care about Bon Bon or Lightning Dust or Tempest Shadow and whether she might catch any or all of them in her mass of flames. The flames covered Dove in a wave of fire, consuming his body, turning it to ashes where it lay.

And the flames struck Pyrrha; they caught her in their embrace as though she had fallen into water and was being borne by the swift currents onwards, unable to swim against their strength to reach the shore. She was lifted up into the air, borne aloft, borne backwards, and all the while, her aura withered in the flames that burned all around her. Pyrrha could feel them, on her chest, on her legs, on her arms, on her face; she was half blinded by the flames, she wanted to flinch from the heat that was all around her, she could feel her honour band heating as though it would sear the flesh of her arm beneath it, she could feel her aura protesting to every part of her body as it drained away.

Pyrrha cried out as the currents that bore her slammed her into the cavern wall.

The flames died down, and Pyrrha could see Amber flying towards her, flying as Cinder had last night, shooting flames from her hands and feet to drive herself forward.

Pyrrha had Miló in hand; she had kept hold of it when Amber's fire had lifted her up. The flames had burned the blood away so only Pyrrha could see it now.

Pyrrha kicked off the wall with all the strength in her legs, so that she collided with Amber in mid-air instead of waiting to let Amber slam into her and throw her back against the wall once again. She thrust Miló out like a fisherman skewering a fat fish for the cooking pot, but though she struck home, she did not halt Amber's onward rush. Amber herself did that as she grabbed Pyrrha, her burning arms enfolding her, burning at Pyrrha's aura as the two of them grappled in mid-air. Pyrrha switched Miló from spear into sword, slashing at Amber even as Amber's flames leapt up all round her, burning, blinding, stinging Pyrrha's eyes with their heat.

The two turned as they fell, each trying to drive the other down into the ground and bear the brunt of the impact.

Amber succeeded, slamming Pyrrha down into the earth, making a crater in the cavern floor, cracks spreading all around beneath her. Pyrrha groaned in pain, but grunted with effort too as she pushed with all her strength in arms and legs and to throw Amber off of her, hurling her back towards the inner chamber of the Vault.

Amber landed and lay on her back for a moment, and for a moment, Pyrrha hoped that her aura was broken, that her strength was at an end, that she lacked the energy to rise again.

Then Amber did rise again, rising with a sureness that she had not displayed when Pyrrha had put her on the ground before. The tears were gone from her face, but the hate in her eyes remained.

Pyrrha, too, rose; she got to her feet as swiftly as she could, though she did not feel quite so swift or so sure-footed in the rising as she had been. How much aura did she have left? She wasn't sure, but she felt — and feared — it was not much. Not enough to abuse her semblance or take a chance on flashy aura attacks, that was for certain.

She gripped Miló tightly as she switched from sword mode back to spear.

Amber's hair began to tremble, then it began to wave, her short strands of soft brown hair bouncing up and down in a wind that Pyrrha felt as it blew down the cavern into her face, pushing her own hair behind her, beating at her skin, pushing her back so that she almost had to lean forwards to resist it.

The wind tore the leaves off the bushes that surrounded the stone courtyard, tearing them from the hedges themselves and making them dance around Amber, almost hiding her from view at times. At first, Pyrrha thought that might be the point, to conceal her behind the vortex of green. Then she saw the leaves growing colder, ice beginning to spread across their tips so that they looked almost like knives.

The wind lessened for a moment as Amber brought the leaves to rest, all aiming at Pyrrha.

She loosed them, a great storm of leafy blades surging down the cavern. Pyrrha summoned Akoúo̱ — she had little choice, use of aura or not — and brought it up to cover her chest; she spun Miló before her, parrying as many of the leaves as she could, but she could not parry all of them, and Akoúo̱ could not protect her from all of them, and the frozen leaves were all around her, slicing, stabbing, and like the small pack hunters that bring down prey vastly greater than themselves, they tore her aura apart.

The red light rippled up and down Pyrrha's body as her protection was stripped away. She winced as she was cut on the thigh above the cuisses; she cried out as she was sliced on the cheek, up from the jawline; still, she tried to parry the leaves, but she was weaker now, so much weaker, so much slower.

Another leaf slashed across her shoulder. Pyrrha could feel the blood trickling down her arm.

And then the storm of leaves parted as Amber advanced upon her. The fire still blazed around her eye, but she did not burn Pyrrha in a cone of flame, she didn't send down a lightning bolt to strike her dead on the spot. She walked forward as the leaves were blown backwards away from Pyrrha and from Amber by a great gust of wind.

She said nothing as she bore down on Pyrrha.

Pyrrha said nothing either. There was nothing she could say.

She had said all she could with Miló, and it seemed that it was not enough.

Nevertheless, she drew back her spear and held Akoúo̱ before her as she thrust forwards.

Amber grabbed Miló with one hand and casually wrenched it out of Pyrrha's hands, hands that were weakened by the loss of her aura. She stared at the spear for a moment with a hatred equal to that with which she glared at Pyrrha, before she slammed the spearshaft into Pyrrha's ankle.

There was a crack, in spite of the strip of metal around her boot that was supposed to help mitigate that sort of blow; nevertheless, Pyrrha could not restrain the cry of pain that rose from her lips as her leg gave way beneath her. She fell to her knees, gasping, eyes watering with the pain that shot up from her leg, that throbbed and pulsed like some sort of inverted heartbeat that pumped pain around her body instead of life-giving blood.

Amber hit her in the face, hard enough to knock Pyrrha onto her hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, Pyrrha could see that Tempest Shadow was on her feet, though she couldn't see if that was true of Lightning Dust or Bon Bon.

Tempest said nothing and did nothing, but she watched Amber and Pyrrha with hungry eyes.

The tears threatened to return to Amber's face. "I loved him," she whispered.

Pyrrha said nothing. What could she possibly have said?

Amber's lips twisted, and for a moment, she bared her teeth. "I should … I should let you live," she murmured. "I should let you live, and find Jaune, and kill him so that you will feel what I am feeling."

Now Pyrrha spoke. "No," she whispered, pleadingly, imploringly, desperately. "No, Amber, please." Not, Jaune, no. You can't. You mustn't.

"'Please'?" Amber repeated. "'Please'? You…" She let out a sound that was half-shriek, half roar as she hit Pyrrha across the face again.

"Jaune is no part of this," Pyrrha said.

"Dove was no part of this!" Amber roared.

"I… I beg you," Pyrrha whispered.

Amber stared at her, looking down on her from above like one of the old gods of Mistral, or perhaps like one of the furies about to render judgement for trespass on the ancient laws. She swallowed. "Alright," she said softly. "Alright, Pyrrha, my … my dear friend. Friend of my soul. I'll be kind to you." She swallowed. "I'll kill you, and make Jaune feel the way I'm feeling as he spends the rest of his life with a part of him missing."

A fireball flew over Pyrrha's head and slammed into Amber's chest, tossing her backwards.

Pyrrha and Tempest both looked around, Pyrrha twisting her neck as far as she could since she couldn't turn.

But she could turn her head enough to see Cinder, arm outstretched, descend from the tunnel and step into the Vault.

Cinder had been drawn back to Beacon.

She had unfinished business there, after all.

She didn't know exactly where the Vault of the Fall Maiden was, more's the pity … or was it? Was it a pity at all? If Cinder had known where the Vault was, where Ozpin was hiding the Relic, then she would have been of much more value to Salem, who would have had … not no cause, considering some of the ways in which Cinder had trampled upon Salem's patience in the days and weeks leading up to her betrayal, but certainly less cause to cast her off, to spurn her, to choose Amber and Tempest Shadow over her.

Certainly, it would no longer have been the straightforward choice for her erstwhile mistress that it had been, between a Maiden who didn't know where the Relic was — and had proved herself somewhat unreliable to boot — and a Maiden who did know and who was willing to do as she was told.

Cinder thought that Amber would be inclined to obedience, at least; although someone who could betray her friends and allies could not be accused of lacking independence of mind.

In any event, if Cinder had known where the Vault was, in the specifics, then she might not have been rejected in favour of Amber and Tempest. She might still be Salem's right hand, with no cause to get herself captured by Sunset and Pyrrha and the rest, no opportunity as it were to become a slave of Sonata, still less to kill her. No cause to … ruminate upon certain things, her conduct, herself.

No cause, perhaps, to do other than to continue as she was, or as she had been.

Was that a pity? No. No, it was not. To be sure, her experiences of late had not always been pleasant, far from it, but nevertheless … nevertheless, if Cinder had to choose…

I would not wish to know. For in the knowing, I would remain ignorant.

If she had known where the Vault was, then she would have been of use to Salem, and being of use to Salem, she would not have been betrayed, and being betrayed … being betrayed had been the best thing that had happened to her since Ashley's father died.

I am myself. Cinder Fall. Not Salem's creature, not her servant, not her tame Maiden. I am nought but Cinder Fall once more.

Whoever Cinder Fall might be.

Whoever — or whatever — Cinder Fall was or might be, she remained a creature of her passions, and as much as she might appreciate the severance of bonds between her and Salem, that didn't mean that she was inclined to thank those who had arranged it for her behind her back. They might deserve her thanks, in a manner of speaking, but she meant to give something rather different, something sharper by far.

They had given her to Sonata. Well, not exactly; it had been Sunset and Pyrrha who had done that … again, to an extent; Sonata's own agents amongst the Valish Defence Force had certainly played their part also.

A lot of people were responsible for what she had endured over the last day and night, but Cinder could hardly be bothered to care about General Blackthorn and the like, still less could she bestir herself to contemplate vengeance against him.

If she judged right, then General Blackthorn was going to be taking revenge against himself within his own head and heart for some time to come.

As for Sunset and Pyrrha…

It was Tempest that Cinder really wanted. Sweetie Drops and Lightning Dust also, but Tempest most of all. Amber, too, but … less so, by far, than those who had been Cinder's … not allies, never really that, but her confederates, her fellow servants of Salem, those whom Cinder had recruited and she who had been foisted on her by others. Perhaps she ought to have held more malice against Lightning Dust, whom she had found skulking about the outskirts of Crystal City committing armed robberies, but Tempest annoyed her more. Her smug manner, her contemptuous attitude, Cinder hated the ways in which Tempest reminded her of herself, and all the more, she hated the ways in which she was different from Cinder, casting scorn on those parts of Cinder which Cinder considered to be her better qualities: the high Mistralian warrior values, derived from The Mistraliad, which Tempest dismissed as mere flummery, antique nonsense.

To be stabbed in the back was one thing, but to be stabbed in the front by someone wearing a sneer like Tempest's was something even worse.

And Amber. Amber for whom Cinder felt almost as little malice as she did towards General Blackthorn. In the past, Cinder had regarded Amber, the Fall Maiden, rather as the wolf regards the lamb. Now, she regarded Amber with more pity than wrath.

They hadn't wanted to believe her, Sunset and Pyrrha. They hadn't wanted to believe that Amber could — or had — betrayed them. They hadn't wanted to think her capable of it. Yes, Cinder hadn't offered any proof for the simple reason that she didn't possess any, but there was more to it than that, more than just reasoned scepticism in their reactions. Sunset hadn't yelled irately into Cinder's face because she found her logic unsound. Their reactions had been more visceral, more emotional.

They hadn't wanted to believe that Amber was capable of such things as Cinder accused her of because they liked her. Because they cared about her.

And Amber had thrown all that away. Little fool. Did she have any idea just what a treasure she had cast aside?

In any case, Cinder was drawn back to Beacon because, although she didn't know exactly where the Vault of the Fall Maiden was, she knew that it was somewhere in Beacon. That was what Salem had known, before Amber's offer of service had reached her. Lionheart could tell no more than that; he only knew for certain the location of the Vault of the Spring Maiden under Haven; of Beacon, Atlas, and Shade, he was ignorant. The only people who knew where the Vault of the Fall Maiden was precisely were Ozpin himself, Glynda Goodwitch, and the Fall Maiden who alone could open the Vault and retrieve the Relic.

And so, with the battle in full swing and all the power of Atlas bent on holding back the grimm from Vale, Cinder knew that that smug and sneering Tempest would have gone with Amber and Lightning Dust and Sweetie Drops to get the Relic out of the Vault, then escape in all the confusion.

Except that when they tried to escape in all the confusion, they would find Cinder waiting for them.

She didn't know where the Vault was, but she had known enough to come to Beacon.

The journey had not been difficult for her. She may not have been one of Salem's servants any longer, but she remained sufficiently bound to her that the grimm had presented no obstacle to her passage. In fact, reaching the grimm — getting out of Vale without being stopped, and then evading the Atlesian troops — had been the harder part, but by the time that Cinder had gotten out of Vale — it was a large city, after all; she'd had to steal a child's bicycle just to reach the Red Line before daybreak — the troops defending the walls had been — or had seemed to Cinder to be — few in number, and even more reduced in spirit. They had hardly been paying attention at all, and Cinder had noted more and more of them fleeing from the walls in fear of something.

In fear, she had soon seen, of the great grimm in the sky that was busily tearing through the defending forces in the field beyond.

Something else that Salem had been keeping from her, it seemed.

In any case, with the defenders of Vale either distracted or in flight, it had been child's play for Cinder to slip over an unguarded stretch of the Vale wall and land in the Valish suburbs beyond. And after that, the great grimm with its leather wings had done Cinder good service, breaking the Atlesian and forcing a withdrawal that, for all the Atlesian efforts to maintain order had nevertheless left gaps between units, gaps which, in the dark, she had made use of to slip through undetected.

And so, she had made her way to Beacon, which had seen better days for sure. The tower, in particular. The tower was gone, destroyed, and destroyed along with it, the CCT network that bound the kingdoms together.

There was no chance of her getting on TV now.

That had been her plan, at one point; when she had planted the virus in the CCT on the night of the dance, she had been thinking not only of taking control of General Ironwood's robots but also of taking over the televisions as well. She would have been on all the channels, nobody able to switch away, only to turn off the TV completely.

Not very old-fashioned, admittedly, but fitting for her purpose; she had intended to duel Pyrrha on live television, in the arena, before the sight of the world, and show the world who the real champion was. She had told Salem that this would demoralise the people of Remnant, and perhaps it would have; certainly, it would have had some effect in Mistral, Cinder was sure. But the truth was that she had been driven less by strategy than by self-indulgence. She had wanted to do it, she had wanted to do it with an audience, and so she had contrived a reason that Salem would believe that would enable her to get away with it.

And then Pyrrha had challenged Cinder to a different sort of duel, using language that pricked Cinder's honour and ensured that, like the Mistralians in the Great War faced with Valish insolence, she could not pass the challenge by.

And thus, as you might say, had Cinder's troubles began, the stone rolling down the hill gathering such moss as had led her to this pass, if far from entirely for ill.

And now, the CCT was down. There was no television; certainly, there were no live broadcasts to the world. No one would see her, no one would hear her, and all the business of this night, well, it rather knocked the Breach into a cocked hat, did it not? If anyone recalled that there had been a first attack on Vale earlier this year, it would probably be bigots looking for something they could attack the faunus over. For everyone else, it would be quite overshadowed by the madness of this night.

They might not even remember Cinder Fall, who had played no part in this event. What was she now? Old news, insignificant, a bit player who had misleadingly seemed important only to be unceremoniously shuffled off the stage before the climax. Why should they recall her at all?

A part of Cinder — a strange, rather unnerving part — felt as though it might not be the worst thing in the world to be forgotten; another part of her was horrified and rather saddened by the thought.

All for nought. All, all for nought.

While Cinder had been contemplating where to wait for her prey to appear or reappear, whether she should assume that they had already reached the Vault and she would be intercepting them on the way back or whether she should rather presume that she had beaten them to it and look to get them as they came back to school, she had been drawn to the sound of fighting from the dormitory. It wasn't the only battle going on — Cinder could hear that Atlesian girl shooting her rifle off somewhere in the direction of the Emerald Forest — but Cinder was more interested in what might be going on around the dormitory building.

She found Ozpin lying dead on the ground in the courtyard outside; there were no visible wounds on him, but he was quite unmistakably dead all the same.

The day shall come when Mistral shall fall; the slaughter of Polites and his people.

The slaughter of Polites, in any event; there seem to be few enough of his people around.

Indeed, the only one of his people that Cinder saw was Jaune Arc, whom she found within the building — visible through a hole in the wall — buried under rubble and about to be savaged by a griffon.

Jaune Arc of all people, all on his own — or so it seemed. The others of his team might be nearby; in fact, they surely must be nearby; there was no way they would have left this hapless oaf on his own, would they?

Cinder raised her hand, and a great cone of fire burst from her palm to race through the hole in the wall and into the common room beyond. The griffon's startled shriek of pain was soon cut off as the magical fire consumed it, turning pale bone and black flesh alike to ashes.

Some of the rubble under which Jaune was buried had caught fire a little bit, smouldering gently on top of him; he didn't seem to notice; his attention was fixed on Cinder.

He looked very surprised to see her, eyes agog, mouth open; it was rather amusing.

"You?!" he cried.

Cinder stepped through the hole in the wall. She rather theatrically — might as well make the most of an audience while she had one — blew the wisps of smoke away from her hand.

"You're welcome," she said, a smirk on her face. She looked around, and still beheld no sign of anyone else. "Have you been abandoned?"

"No," Jaune said quickly. "I—" He stopped and closed his mouth as a scowl crossed his face.

Cinder knelt down beside him. "I'm not your enemy," she said.

"You could have fooled me!"

Cinder rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I was your enemy, but I did just save your life mere moments ago, so you might give me just a little consideration."

Jaune looked at her but didn't immediately respond. When he did respond, it was to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"For the same reasons I'd guess you are," Cinder replied. "You're here because Pyrrha and Sunset have accepted that I was telling the truth about Amber, and she's gone to get the Relic, and you've come to stop her. I'm guessing that she killed the old man outside along the way." She smiled. "I've come to stop her, too."

"And take the Relic to Salem yourself?"

"By my heel, I care not for Salem or the Relic," Cinder declared. "But there are some people around here who took me lightly, and I mean to show them that was a mistake."

Jaune kept on looking at her. He looked into her eyes; he stared right into them as though he could divine the heart of her mystery. Cinder thought — hoped — that he could not; it would be a terrible thing to be understood by the likes of Jaune Arc.

She stared into his eyes in turn, trying to fathom what was so attractive about them — and about him.

It was a struggle, to say the least. Yes, they were very blue eyes, but blue was not her favourite colour.

For a moment, she thought that he would hold his silence, that the memory of her misdeeds would grab his tongue and hold it fast, but then he spoke. His voice was quick and desperate as he said, "Pyrrha's down there all alone. Alone with them."

Cinder cocked her head to one side a little. "In the Vault? With Amber and the others?"

Jaune nodded. "Pyrrha told me to call for help and then catch up with her, but I got jumped, and … can you help her?"

His voice trembled, not with fear of Cinder but fear for Pyrrha. Cinder guessed that he had been afraid before she arrived, and that her presence was providing him with a release for it. She surmised — she assumed, because it made little sense otherwise — that he and Pyrrha had arrived with more companions, but that they had had to leave them behind to stave off or draw off the grimm to get this far. Until only Jaune and Pyrrha remained, and Pyrrha had bid Jaune delay, perhaps because she didn't want him involved in the battle.

More likely because they really did need the help, or feared they might.

Either way, Jaune himself had fallen behind, and Pyrrha had been left alone.

Ten thousand fates of death surround us, which no man may escape or avoid.

Cinder opened her mouth to say something mildly mocking — "You didn't call, but help has come regardless. Lucky you." — but she did not say it because … because his earnestness, in this instance, defied mockery. He was afraid for her, and in his fear, he was willing to extend his trust to a villain like Cinder.

It was too sweet for mockery.

What a lucky girl you are, Pyrrha.

"I can," she said, in a solemn tone. "I will. Have I not kept faith with you, in our past dealings? Did I not hold to our alliance when last we joined forces?" For all you gave me cause to do otherwise. "Now, where are they, where is the Vault?"

Cinder?

Pyrrha stared at her, unable to wrench her eyes away as Cinder descended the staircase. One palm was out, the palm that she had just used to hit Amber with that fireball. In her other hand, she held her glass bow. The black obsidian glistened in the light of the glowing moss that illuminated the vault.

Cinder is here? But how? How could she know where this place was? She didn't know! And… Pyrrha's thoughts trailed off, replaced with a hundred horrible imaginings of what Cinder might have done to Jaune before she got here, explaining how she was here and he was not.

No. Please, no. Let her have broken his aura and no more than that. Let him live. Let him feel no pain but a passing heartbreak.

Cinder's smouldering amber eyes swept across the chamber, taking in Tempest Shadow and Lightning Dust — who had began to scramble onto all fours as blood dripped out of her mouth — Bon Bon where she lay upon the ground; Amber, of course; and Pyrrha herself, who thought that she saw Cinder's lips tug into the slightest smirk as their gazes met.

Tempest took a step backwards. "Cinder," she said softly. "What a surprise."

"Indeed," Cinder murmured. "You did not think to see me back, did you?"

Tempest might have replied, or she might not, but at that moment, Amber regained her feet and growled, "You!" The fire surrounded her eyes yet, and the flames rose up around her as they had before, cloaking her, enveloping her. "This is all your fault! You ruined everything!"

Cinder looked at her. "I have ruined much," Cinder conceded. "But some, you have ruined yourself."

Amber snarled wordlessly. "I'll kill you both!" she shrieked, gesturing first at Pyrrha and then at Cinder herself. "Her for Dove … and you for me."

Cinder said nothing, but though the fire burned around her eye, she did not use the Maidens' magic; rather, she nocked an arrow to her obsidian bow and braced herself.

Neither Tempest nor Lightning Dust moved.

Instead, it was Amber that attacked, flying forwards as she had done before, and as Cinder had done before, propelling herself by the fire from her hands and feet, her flaming cloak trailing behind her even as it continued to swathe her all around.

Cinder buckled her legs and leapt forward, keeping her grip on her bow, using only the fire from her feet to drive her on, yet flying through the air all the same. As she flew, Cinder fired, glass arrows flying from her black bow to cross the shortening distance between Amber and herself. With the flames surrounding Amber as they did, it was impossible to see if the shafts were striking home or not; if they did strike, then they didn't hinder Amber's forward flight one bit.

The two collided, and it seemed to Pyrrha as if Amber's flames, which she thought would have engulfed Cinder, instead made way for her, parting to let her pass like a fortress gate opening for travellers.

Her semblance. She's manipulating the air currents to redirect the flames.

Thus empowered, Cinder passed through the fire in which Amber armoured herself and bodily slammed into her, driving her backwards through the air as Cinder grappled with her. Amber's eyes widened, the rage within them replaced by a touch of panic, as her flames seemed to slide off Cinder's body even as other fires sprouted from the palms of Cinder's hands as she grasped at Amber. Amber tried to push Cinder off her, but Cinder's grip seemed iron for now as her burning feet drove Amber across the chamber and slammed her into a carved king, destroying the stone image on the wall.

Pyrrha caught Tempest looking at her, without aura as she was, helpless as she was, but then Tempest's eyes turned to the Relic of Choice, the golden crown which lay upon the ground, the object of their struggle and yet lying there for the moment, unremarked, unnoticed.

Unclaimed.

Tempest ran towards it. Pyrrha tried to get up, but the moment she put any weight on it at all, her ankle screamed in such pain that it was all Pyrrha could do not to scream herself as she collapsed to her knees again.

"Cinder!" she cried.

Cinder looked her way, a moment of distraction that allowed Amber to pry her off, kicking Cinder across the chamber with both feet so that it was Cinder who slammed into the opposite wall.

Tempest reached the Relic, bending down to scoop it up and skidding a little upon the stone floor as she turned away. She swiftly began to race back up the way that she had come.

"Cinder," Pyrrha shouted again. "You have to stop her!"

Don't worry about me, leave me to Amber, you can't let them get the Relic.

Cinder hesitated for a moment, then another half a moment longer as Tempest sprinted down the cavern towards the stairs that would lead her out of the Vault.

"Cinder!" Pyrrha urged.

Cinder nocked an arrow to her glass bow and aimed it at Tempest's retreating back.

Amber stepped forward, hand raised in Pyrrha's direction.

Cinder switched her target, loosing her arrow on Amber instead of Tempest. Amber flicked the arrow aside, shattering the glass into fragments — fragments that began to dance around Amber, nipping and nicking at her aura as Amber winced, flicking her hands and arms all around like someone trying to stave off an annoying bee or wasp that buzzed around them.

Cinder loosed more arrows, aiming not at Amber but for the ground at her feet. Amber was not so distracted by the shards of glass that she didn't notice this, or guess what it portended; she began to run, darting back down the Vault towards the courtyard of stone and the dead tree, running ahead of Cinder's arrows even as they thudded into the ground where she had been standing, even as she was pursued by the shards of glass that nibbled incessantly at her remaining aura.

Cinder loosed an arrow ahead of Amber, slamming into the floor ahead of her progress. Amber skidded to a halt as the buried shaft began to glow, bright orange waves pulsing out from it; the nearest arrow behind her began to glow also. Amber leapt aside, not quite fast enough to avoid the explosion, swift enough to avoid the whole of it; the blast lifted her up and tossed her towards Cinder, but she rolled to her feet and charged at her adversary, heedless, fearless.

She isn't afraid anymore, Pyrrha thought as she watched Amber hurl herself upon the figure of her nightmares. Because she has nothing to lose.

Cinder had not been trained in arms; Pyrrha had seen that for herself in their own duel. She was naturally gifted, but her technique was sloppy and lacked finesse, and she was fortunate that most of her opponents were not physically capable of taking advantage of that. Amber, by contrast, had been excellently trained, and Pyrrha thought — worried; worried about Cinder, worried that Amber would defeat her, was that not absurd? — that Amber's superior technique would sweep Cinder's defences aside. But Amber's technique had sloughed off her, so it seemed, and all that was left was fury as she hurled herself against Cinder like a storm, fists flying, legs lashing out.

Cinder met her with twin scimitars and with flames burning brightly upon the black glass, hacking and slicing at Amber and her aura. Amber's blows struck home; she struck Cinder on the shoulder, in the face, on the thigh with her armoured knee, but Cinder rolled with the blows, converting them into spinning counters, or else seeming to bear the blows without flinching as she attacked on her own account. Amber's defences were nonexistent: she didn't try to block, to bat Cinder's blows aside; rather, she endured them as though they were the price she would gladly pay for the opportunity to strike at Cinder, to hurt her, to pay her back for all that she had done.

And then her aura broke, the golden outline rippling over her as Amber staggered backwards. The fire of the Maiden's magic, not tied to aura, continued to burn around her eye, even as Amber's posture became hunched, even as her legs began to tremble.

"That's enough," Pyrrha murmured, and could not have said whether she was speaking to Amber or Cinder as she said it.

Amber glared at her. Flames flickered at her fingertips. Amber turned towards her, hand rising.

A glass arrow slammed into her side. Amber gasped, her breath escaping her as she staggered sideways. She looked at Cinder.

Cinder stared back at her, eyes cold and unfeeling.

Amber fell down onto her knees, as Pyrrha had fallen, clutching at her side as blood stained the brown leather of her cuirass. Her chest rose and fell, and Pyrrha could hear her breathing, or fancied that she could.

Amber toppled onto her side; she looked at Pyrrha for a moment and then turned away, rolling over so that she was on her back, looking up at the stone ceiling of the cavern above.

"Dove," she whispered. "I … I'm…"

She never finished. Whatever last words she had intended — I'm sorry? I'm coming? Something else altogether? — they would go unsaid, for Amber had breathed her last. The light was out of her eyes, and as Pyrrha watched, she saw a yellow light— no, not yellow but gold, golden like fall leaves; ribbons of golden light rose from her vacant eyes, out of her mouth, out of her chest, and wafted through the air towards Cinder.

Cinder's own eyes widened as the golden light touched them, passed into her mouth, moved through her chest as though she, too, had been stripped of aura. For a moment, Cinder was still, as more golden light danced around her, flying in circles like the glass shards with which she had assailed Amber. For a moment, the flaming corona burned around both Cinder's eyes.

Then the light faded, and Cinder gasped for breath as she staggered a step forwards.

She was the Fall Maiden in truth now, the only Fall Maiden. All the powers were once more united in her person, as it had ever been 'til she had sundered them.

Cinder looked at her, and Pyrrha became aware that Amber might not be the only one in need of last words soon.

Cinder advanced upon her, her black bow at her side. She looked around the cavern, prompting Pyrrha to do the same. Tempest Shadow and Lightning Dust were gone, fled, and they had taken the Relic of Choice with them.

It was all for nothing. Salem has won.

Bon Bon still lay upon the ground, which by now must surely mean that she was dead too, along with Amber and Dove. It must have been Amber's lightning that struck the fatal blow.

Would she have cared, if she had known?

Perhaps she did know, and didn't care.

"It seems that we are all alone down here," Cinder observed.

Pyrrha swallowed. "So it would appear," she replied, in what she hoped was a calm tone.

She would not beg. Cinder would not hear her beg.

Cinder stared down at her. Pyrrha could not help but keep flickering her gaze towards the bow in Cinder's hand. "Your face looks awful; so does much of the rest of you besides."

Pyrrha didn't reply to that, though she had no doubt it was true. Of the main pains that wracked her body, second only to the immense throbbing hurt of her ankle was that of her face; she didn't dare touch it to be sure, but she could feel her cheek swelling up where Amber had struck her. Certainly, her left eye was closing up, there was no doubt about that; she could see less well out of it than on the right, Cinder was less visible to her on the one side, and when she tried to widen her eye, she was balked, and painfully so at that. It felt like pushing against a door when your foot was jammed in the doorway — only worse.

Cinder … Cinder smiled. And it was a smile, not a smirk, not a smug expression of knowing something that Pyrrha didn't; it certainly was no look of triumph. There was something almost nervous about it, timorous, as though she were testing the waters that she feared might conceal monsters within.

She smiled, and she held out her hand to Pyrrha. "Come," she said. "Let's get you out of here; this is no place to linger."

Pyrrha stared up at her. Her eyes would no doubt have widened if she'd been capable of it, but as it was, she could only stare with one normal eye and one half-closed from the swelling of her face. But she stared regardless.

"You … you…"

The smile remained on Cinder's face. "This cannot be so unexpected to you. I did just save your life, after all."

"I thought you did that for the Maiden's magic," Pyrrha said.

Cinder let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, well … what would I do with that now? What shall I do now, having got it? It is … you know, I used to hate you."

"I'd never have guessed," Pyrrha murmured dryly.

"For all that you had," Cinder went on, as though Pyrrha hadn't spoken. "For all that you were. For all that you had and were and didn't seem to appreciate. You took it all for granted, and that … I couldn't abide that; it was detestable. But there are things … the things that really matter, things that I didn't understand before, and those things … those things, you understand very well, I think, and appreciate."

"Not as much as I might have liked to think," Pyrrha admitted.

"No?" asked Cinder.

"No," Pyrrha said, without offering any more than that.

Cinder shrugged. "Well," she said. "I'm sure that whatever it is you did, whoever it is you did it to will forgive you. After all, though you may not be as loving as you might or ought to be, you are still beloved. Jaune is waiting for you up above. Unless he hasn't managed to dig himself out of that rubble yet; he might still be trapped up there."

"He's alive?" Pyrrha gasped.

"Of course he's alive," Cinder replied. "Why wouldn't he be? Do you think I would kill him, then come down here and save your life? Why? To pain you? Am I so monstrous in your eyes? Don't answer that. Just take my hand and let me bring you up to him. There … there is nothing worse than outliving the one you love. I would spare him that, especially so young."

Pyrrha gently, tentatively, reached out and placed her hand in Cinder's palm.

Cinder's smile returned as her fingers closed around Pyrrha's hand. She pulled Pyrrha up, draping Pyrrha's right arm across her shoulder like a feather boa and taking the bulk of Pyrrha's weight as she helped Pyrrha up onto her good foot. Cinder wrapped one hand around Pyrrha's waist, pulling her close as she began to walk slowly towards the tunnel and the steps leading out of here. Pyrrha limped along beside her, leaning heavily upon Cinder, grateful that her … her rescuer had aura; otherwise, she might have struggled.

"So … Jaune told you where this place was?" Pyrrha asked.

Cinder nodded. "He was very anxious about you, down here all alone. With good reason, it must be said."

"Yes, well … I'd rather you'd gone after the Relic."

Cinder glanced at her. "If I'd done that, Amber would have killed you."

"I know," Pyrrha conceded. "But Salem would not have the Relic. It's on its way to her even now, isn't it? Unless Jaune can stop them."

"Let's not put any weight on that," Cinder muttered.

"He's stronger than you think," Pyrrha replied, although in truth, she didn't want Jaune to encounter Tempest and Lightning Dust together when he was all alone. She had withstood them, but Jaune might not be so fortunate. "But you should have—"

"Left you to die?" Cinder asked. "I'm beginning to think you didn't deserve to have me save your life; you clearly have no appreciation for it whatsoever. Do you have any idea what it would have done to Jaune if you had perished down here? At best, he'd have spent years, his entire life, broken-hearted, mourning for you, grieving for all that you might have had together if things had been different." A sigh escaped her. "At worst, he would have married some ghastly harridan not fit to kiss your feet, who would have made him so miserable that he dropped dead a few years later from the sheer awfulness of it all." She shook her head. "I didn't come here to save the Relic of Choice, I didn't come here to stop Salem, I … I came here to be revenged upon my enemies, principally Tempest Shadow—"

"Then why—?"

"Because there are people who would rather have you alive to take into their arms than have a crown of cold gold and ancient magic in their possession," said Cinder. "And those people are very wise, if you ask me."

Pyrrha did not reply for a moment. Then she said, "Thank you, for saving my life."

Cinder chuckled. "My lady's gracious gratitude is most humbly accepted; it is more than a humble fellow such as myself could dare hope to receive from a princess. I only regret that the many confidential circumstances surrounding this place, its contents and all around it will prevent my deed from being properly recorded and taking their proper part in your legend. How I rescued you most gallantly—"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

A touch of smugness returned to Cinder's face. "However could you tell?" Her smile faltered. "I have had little enough to take joy in these past … for some time now, Pyrrha Nikos, Princess Without a Crown. You must allow me to savour this moment."

Pyrrha supposed that Cinder was owed that much, at least, in spite of everything. She managed a slight smile of her own, slight being all that she could manage before her face started to ache. "You're right, of course. Please, go on."

"No, I don't think I will," Cinder replied. "You've ruined it now."

She helped Pyrrha up the stone steps; getting up them with only one good ankle was a little difficult, but with Cinder's assistance — and at times, it felt almost as though Cinder was carrying her — she, they, made it up the steps and out past the waterfall so that they were once more standing upon the ledge, looking out across Vale.

There were some dark patches amidst the city, with no lights shining, but even as Pyrrha watched, one of those dark patches disappeared, lights flickering on across the streets. Then another disappeared too, the darkness growing smaller by the moment.

Admittedly, they were very far away, but there was no sign of grimm in the streets, nor even at the wall, for all that the wall itself looked to have been broken in one place. Nevertheless, Vale seemed to be still standing.

It's as well that someone succeeded, at least.

"Hold on," Cinder said, and she clasped Pyrrha even tighter to her waist as the fire burned at the soles of her feet to lift them both up over the waterfall and deposit them upon the clifftop.

"Pyrrha!"

The voice was Jaune's; he wasn't there, waiting for them, but he was running towards them, running from the courtyard and the dormitory building, running as fast as he could, Crocea Mors flapping at his hip, banging into his leg as he ran.

He's fine. It's as Cinder said. Pyrrha hadn't realised that there was a part of her which hadn't quite trusted Cinder, hadn't quite believed her, until that part of her was proven wrong. Now, as Jaune drew near, Pyrrha stepped away from Cinder and towards him — only for the pain that shot up her ankle to remind her why that was a bad idea as she toppled ungracefully forwards.

Jaune caught her before she could fall, taking her in his arms. "Pyrrha!" he cried, pulling her towards him. His hands felt strong upon her, stronger than usual, firmer; Pyrrha half-wondered if that was because her aura was broken or if concern made him less gentle. "Are you okay?" He winced as soon as he said, as if aware that the answer was obvious.

"No," Pyrrha admitted, because there was little point denying it when she had just almost fallen and was having to lean on him for support, one hand upon his shoulder to steady herself as she balanced on one leg. "No, not entirely." She reached up and put one hand on his face, stroking his cheek, brushing at it with her knuckles. "But I'm alive, and I'm here with you."

"Yes," Jaune said, relief making his voice ragged. "Yeah, you are." He reached for her face in turn, pressing his gloved palm against her swollen cheek.

Pyrrha winced somewhat loudly.

Jaune yanked his hand away. "Ah! Sorry."

"It's fine," Pyrrha assured him.

"You didn't sound fine," Jaune pointed out.

Pyrrha shifted her hands, resting her right hand upon his shoulder to support herself, while with her left hand, she took his hand and — gently — brushed it lightly against her injured cheek. Light as his touch was, unable to press firmer though she was, though it was the lightest contact between hand and cheek, nevertheless, it brought to her face as much smile as her swollen face could manage.

"What happened down there?" Jaune asked. "You look…"

"Terrible?" Pyrrha suggested.

Jaune didn't agree or disagree. "What happened?"

Pyrrha looked away from him. "Can we talk about it later? Soon, very soon, but … not right now. I … not right now."

"Of course," Jaune said. "When you're ready." He leaned forwards, resting his head against her forehead, closing his eyes.

Pyrrha closed her eyes in turn, and then opened them again because no sooner had she closed her eyes than she saw Dove's face, his bloody cuirass, his chest impaled by Miló.

She had left Miló and Akoúo̱ down in the Vault, Pyrrha realised; she would have to go back for them. And for Amber's body.

But for now, she opened her eyes because she didn't want to see Dove's final moments, or Amber's. She wanted to see Jaune, though his expression be pained.

"I'm sorry for going on without you," she said. "I should have waited."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't catch up," Jaune replied.

"You sent help," Pyrrha told him. "You told Cinder where to go, and I … I wouldn't have made it out without her. In a way … you saved me."

"I did not agree to share credit," Cinder declared.

Both Pyrrha and Jaune looked at her. She was watching them; perhaps she had been watching them since Pyrrha had almost fallen over; there was no indication that she had ever been looking anywhere else.

Her mouth was turned downwards, and there was, or at least there seemed to be, a sadness in her eyes as she looked at them.

"Thank you," Jaune said. "I won't—"

Cinder waved her hand as though she were discouraging a fly. "I don't want your gratitude," she said softly.

"Then what do you want?" asked Pyrrha.

Cinder blinked but didn't answer. She didn't say anything at all.

Pyrrha began to hear a rumbling sound approaching, a sound that, as it drew closer, became more and more recognisably a motorcycle, Sunset's motorcycle, heading their way.