Chapter Twenty-Three

"I'm sorry," I replied, my voice still raspy from the amount of Fire Dust enhanced flames I'd poured through my throat the previous day, "what?" I glanced at Glynda for confirmation, and while her expression was still as unreadable as stone, there was the faintest hint of exasperation in her eyes.

"Fairy tales, stories from your childhood. Everyone has a favorite, so what is yours?" The immortal reincarnating wizard asked me, after having shown that I upset Grimm with my very presence, and that I could also sense them. A flaming bull Grimm, of a type I'd never even heard of, continued, in vain, to try smash through the glass a dozen feet away from us.

Blinking, not sure which story to choose, knowing I'd be judged, I hesitated. I'd studied quite a few of the local stories, yet another subject Jaune had been unsurprisingly ignorant of, and there were hundreds in the land of Remnant. I'd even found one I could use myself, when the month was up, but that was not one I wanted to mention to Ozpin.

However there was one that had, in its own way, struck an odd chord with me. It was stupid, to be sure, but something about it pulled at me. I knew it was a risk, given that it was, in some small part, true, and I was almost certain it was one that Ozpin had personally played a role in, but he had asked, and so I answered.

"The Tale of the Four Seasonal Maidens."

The headmaster froze, only for a moment, but it was enough. "That's an unusual favorite," he commented, voice carefully neutral. "I though you'd prefer The Hidden Flame, or the Tale of the Two Brothers."

"I don't know the first," I shrugged, still working my way through them, "And the second. . . that's one of the creation myths, right?"

Ozpin glanced over at me, watching me carefully, though he was feigning nonchalance. "Yes. Two brother gods, one of Creation, one of Destruction. The first, the older brother, would create plants and animals in the morning, and the younger, jealous of his brother's achievements, created fire and the Grimm to destroy them in the evening, only for his work to be undone by the older the next day. Eventually they compromised, creating humanity, who could both create and destroy, and both retreated from the world to see which force, Creation or Destruction, would ultimately triumph."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "Yeah that one. Not a fan."

Ozpin, the disbelief clear on his visage, turned fully to face me. "You're. . . young man, how can you not be 'a fan'?"

Frowning, I wondered why he was objecting. From what I could remember, the only myth that was actually true was the tale of the Maidens, one of whom rested beneath our feet. I vaguely remembered something about 'relics' that Salem eventually wanted being mentioned online, and, not for the first time, cursed the fact that I stopped watching after the go-nowhere snoozefest of Volume two.

The Headmaster wanted an answer, and while it didn't hurt to talk, it wasn't exactly pleasant either. "Grimm don't go after animals, but the story says were made to kill them before humans showed up, so why don't they? And the win condition of the bet is stupid. As long as humanity exists, Creation wins, but he never truly does, as there's always the possibility of Destruction. It's either a sucker bet on the part of Destruction, since he just needs to wait, or Creation just made it to get Destruction to butt out, knowing it'd likely never happen, so the younger one would stop destroying his stuff. Neither are really 'godly', if you ask me."

Turning back to look at the Grimm, Ozpin turned that over. "Then, if you had to pick a one to believe in, which would you choose?"

I'd spent some time looking them over, trying to figure out which one was actually true. Remnant was a land of myth and legend, and if the Maidens were real, that meant one of the creation myths was probably true as well, and, knowing that, it probably meant I'd run into them at some point. "If I had to pick one, I'd say the Elemental Spirits," I put forward, wincing as my throat hurt from all the talking.

"Who gave of themselves to make the world," Ozpin continued, likely noticing my discomfort. "The parts that intermixed became the ocean, ground, and sky, the parts that did not, like bits of flour in a poorly stirred batter, became Dust. Both Humanity and Faunus were created as children of the world, and, in a way, its stewards, but the Elemental Spirit of Darkness disagreed, and thus created the Grimm, who come from dark places, because she thought the world would be better off without us. That is why Grimm leave flora and fauna alone, and only seek their chosen foe. It is also why Grimm seek out Humans over Faunus, as the Faunus, with their animal traits, are closer to nature. Given your complaint about the Grimm, it makes a certain degree of sense," he stated neutrally.

I wasn't sure, though, if he was being neutral because I was wrong, or because I was right. It fit, when you looked at Dust that somehow worked on my breath, despite my not being human, but a dragon, which weren't native to this world. If it wasn't something specific to this world, but a primordial building block, it made sense it'd work with so many different things. The story also accounted for the Grimm's behavior patterns. Hell, I'd say it was a fifty-fifty split that Salem was either the champion of Darkness, or the Elemental Spirit of Darkness herself, which was why, as I'd heard, she couldn't be killed through violence alone. How could one kill, after all, a part of the world itself?

Ozpin himself might either be a chosen, or an Elemental Spirit himself, though given how the book about Remnant I'd found in the library at Home said he specialized in time magic, I wasn't quite so sure about that one. However, that didn't explain the Grimm's sudden hatred for me, when, during the initiation, they'd had the same interplay of strike and counterstrike they'd had with the other students, whereas now they mindlessly charged and tried to rip me apart.

"But, I believe we're off topic," the Wizard demurred, and given the original topic was 'Why do the Grimm hate you?', I was perfectly fine with that. "You said your favorite fairy tale was the Seasonal Maidens. Why?"

It was an interesting tale. An old hermit Wizard, likely Ozpin himself, was shut up in his cabin during winter, away from the rest of the world. He spots a woman meditating, and when the wizard demanded to know what she was doing, she responds peacefully, that she was Winter, and that she was waiting for her sisters. He naps, and Spring shows up, helps fix and grow his garden, and waits for the others.

Summer arrives, and, despite the Wizard's rude reticence, she is nice as well, and convinces him to leave his hut. The Wizard steps outside, and finds friends, happiness, and a better life than he could ever expect. Finally, Fall arrives, and wants to know who he is. The Wizard says he is unimportant as he has nothing and no one, and she points out that he has that which the other sisters gave him, and friends in them. And when the Wizard asks why they helped him, they are confused, and answer simply:

They help, because they can.

The Wizard then gave them powers, with hints in the wording that he gave up his own to do so, to help them help others, like they helped him. They made a promise to visit their friend, the Wizard, next year, and did so, helping others as they had helped him, not for a reward, either explicit or merely expected, but because it was the right thing to do.

But, why did I like it? I wasn't really sure myself. As I thought of it, though, the words came easily enough.

"Because it's nice. And because it doesn't happen."

Help always had a price, always, and if it wasn't up front then that just meant it was help you wouldn't accept if you knew the price ahead of time. It was a lesson I learned well growing up, that any help I gave was expected, and not worth repaying, but any help offered to me would be used to demand concessions twice, thrice, or even more than the help provided. And if I dared ask for help in return for help given? Well then I was yelled at, accused of only helping to get help in return, and attacked in ways that, in the moment, I'd caved under, but as I got older realized made no sense.

It was a pattern that repeated itself over and over, from my friends, to my parents, to the rest of my family, to those at church, to everyone, over and over again. However, despite that, I still wanted to help people, even though I knew, with over a decade of experience, that it always went one way, and anyone that seemed to buck the trend was just waiting to collect, as they always did.

So, four young women helping an old man in need for no other reason than they thought he needed it? It was, to me, the essence of a fairy tale. It was nice, and I wished it was true, but I knew that it wasn't.

However, if things happened exactly like they had in the story, I'd eat my hat. Well, I'd have to buy one first, but then I'd eat it.

". . . I think you'd be surprised at the generosity of strangers," Ozpin commented, in a smug, chiding tone of voice, that suggested I was being foolish, and was a rebuke that cut unexpectedly deep.

"Yes, I would be. That's what being surprised means," I almost snarled, but got control of myself, stamping down on my pride, as I'd found myself doing more and more lately. It was no surprise why it upset me, once I had a moment to think, as the 'you're wrong, give people a chance' request was a sentiment that always came right before I was taken advantage of, usually spoken by the same people that would do a small kindness unasked for, only to demand a dozen in trade. It was amazing how many people that said 'give people a chance' meant 'give me a chance to screw you over for my own benefit'.

However, antagonizing the Headmaster was foolish.

"I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well. Can we do this somewhere else?" I asked, waving toward the Grimm Bull which was still trying to kill us.

"Hmm?" The Wizard asked, glancing over to the Grimm, as if just remembering it was there. "Ah, yes, this little issue. Something about you is upsetting them, in a way I haven't seen before. Have you done anything different? Anything that would still be in effect?"

I'd thought it might be my Flames, or opening a portal Home, but I'd done neither here and the Grimm were still determined to end me in a way that, apparently, they didn't to other people. "No," I said, shaking my head, trying to figure it out.

There was silence for a long moment. "Forgive an old man his fading eyesight," the Headmaster noted dryly, "But your gloves appear to be different."

"They're the same, I just. . ." I trailed off. "Excuse me," I said, turning my head to face down the hall, and, careful, spat a single clump of fire. It chilled my throat, and the temperature dropped a little, blues and whites more prominent in the flame than the other colors, but it was still mine. Sure enough, the Grimm near it stopped trying to break out of the corner closest to me, and zeroed in on the fire, trying to go for that instead.

It wasn't me that attracted the Grimm, it was, for whatever reason, but my Flame. And what was my gear, but concentrated Flame? It made my equipment stronger, somehow, but it also apparently brought the Grimm's attention down on them like a loadstone.

Pushing my fire down and out, the Grimm lost interest, refocusing on me. Stripping my gloves, I tossed them down the hall, once again splitting the Grimm's focus. Most shifted towards trying to reach the gloves, while the flaming bull hesitated, moving back and forth between glaring at me, and glaring at my handwear, which innocuously sat on the ground, finally deciding the gloves, each packed with an inferno's worth of Flame, were the greater threat.

Fuck.

"I . . . make Grimm bait. I. . . I'm sorry," I apologized, voice hoarse for several reasons. If I'd known, I would've left my stuff at home, only bringing it with me when I knew I could run if I needed to. Getting myself into trouble was one thing, I'd been doing that for years. To bring it down on people who'd done nothing to me? "I'll find some way to pay you for the trouble I caused. Medical care, mobilizing forces, it all takes Lien. . . . It'll take a while, but I'll make this right."

"You didn't know?" Ozpin asked, surprised. "Surely you. . . you weren't allowed to use your fire at home, were you?"
"Didn't even know I could until a few weeks ago. Parents kept me away from Grimm," I shrugged, trying to figure out what I could do.

". . . This is a school," The Headmaster stated after a long moment of consideration. "Learning is inevitable. Don't worry, you don't owe us anything."

My head snapped up to stare at him, not believing him for a second, even as Glynda frowned at him, muttering, "Headmaster."

"That said, if you could do what you've done to your gloves for a few items of mine, I would be quite thankful," he smiled, and I let out the breath I'd been holding, understanding the situation.

I'd dealt with this kind of thing before, where I was told there was 'no debt', and then given an 'opportunity to help'. If I refused, the declaration of a lack of debt would, at best, be rescinded and I'd be handed a bill, at worst, my refusal to honor the debt they declared didn't exist would give the person, at least in their own mind, carte blanche to take what they thought they were owed out of my hide, one way or another. This way, they could tell themselves they forgave people their debts, and have all that warm and fuzzy moral superiority, while also getting all the benefits of collecting on the debt itself.

They'd ask, and ask, and ask, and because it wasn't a codified amount they could try to collect far more than they were owed, and if any help was asked of them I'd be 'reminded' of the debt they 'forgave' me, which would stand, without explanation, but in actuality be a statement of why they shouldn't help me at all, no matter what I did for them.

No, I'd find out the cost myself, figure out the worth of the help I was providing, and about the point I hit 110% value, and had an escape plan, I'd say enough. Then he'd either accept, and we'd be fine, or he'd demand more, self-justifying getting what he felt was owed, and we'd have a problem.

Walking over to my gloves, I picked them up, returned to the pair, and handed them to Glynda, who was obviously his intermediary. "I can't use these now, but they're stronger than steel. I needed to upgrade my gear anyways. Just know it'll take me about a week per item to get to them that level, and there's a maximum I can hit." Looking down, I frowned, my jeans already starting to display the swirling patterns of my wings. "I'll wash the rest, and-"

"These will be quite alright for now," Ozpin interrupted, looking at me as if I was saying something odd. "Though I do ask you not wear them on future trips, at least for the near future."

I just nodded, trying to figure out how I was going to explain this to-

"And it would be best if you did not tell anyone that you were one of the contributing factors to yesterday's. . . difficulties," he added, and, if I didn't know I had my defenses, I'd say he was reading my mind. "Not even your team."

". . . Why?" I asked. My first instinct was to tell them, but I'd learned, through long experience, that my instinct towards honesty was one that hurt me far more than it helped. My team hadn't been hurt because of my fuck up, and I'd make sure not to screw them over with infused items, now that I knew the dangers. They didn't need to know, and 'Headmaster said no, I'll get back to you when he says its okay' was going to be my explanation to Ruby when she asked about enhancing materials with my Flame.

"It is a unique ability, and one that some unscrupulous individuals would very likely abuse," the Headmaster regretfully noted. "You may think knowledge of it would stop with them, but-"

"Blake," I interrupted, nodding, getting a chuckle out of the old man, offering in explanation, "Belladonna's a rare last name."

He nodded in return, "I ask you don't hold the life she turned her back on against her. However, what she thinks a harmless comment to an old acquaintance could reach those who see a most unpleasant opportunity."

I could see that. A couple of enhanced items, unrecognizable as such, would bring a Grimm Tide down on an unsuspecting town that was in the White Fang's way. "Done."

Once again, the Wizard's eyebrows lifted, and I shot him a challenge look. It just made sense, did he think I was going to fight him on this?

"In that case, I believe we are done here. Thank you, Mr. Arc, this has been a most enlightening and productive conversation," Ozpin noted, tone grateful. "Please don't warn Ms. Nikos of what's in these cells."

Glynda harrumphed, "You just like scaring the students, Headmaster."

"Guilty as charged," the man smiled. "And, as I said, while the incident was due, in large part, to your actions, rendering you at fault, you did not know what you were doing, so are blameless. That said, please endeavor to avoid any displays as large as you created yesterday on school grounds."

With a flat look, I gestured to the bandages still covering the lower third of my face, nearly glued to my skin with medical salves.

"Touché," he chuckled, waving me away towards the still open elevator.

DR

Ozma watched the young godling walk away, smiling genially, still trying to get a sense of the boy. At times, he acted like her, and the Headmaster wondered if the worst must be done to protect others, while, at other times, the boy acted much like he had, in his first life. The reports from the teachers were clear that the boy was bright, focused, and so confident that it not only bordered on arrogance, but set up a colony there with a thriving trade route. Jaune had also displayed more progress, once one understood the boy's actual starting position, than any other in his class.

Nodding to the blonde teenager, who, eyes still shadowed with anger and guilt, nodded back, the elevator doors closed, and the boy's bandaged face disappeared. Again, a study in opposites. Arrogant enough to try to command Glynda in the field, according to her report, though she did try to frame it in gentler terms, but also willing to try something suicidal in order to save the lives of others, according to Peach's report, once she'd had time to consult with Timonious.

Tapping his scroll, the glass to his right flickered, the image of the empty cell disappearing to show the student standing within. Another tap, and a confirmation, and the glass lifted, letting the Junior step out. "So, Mr. Davies, what did your Semblance tell you?"

The young man frowned and glanced in the direction of the elevator. "The kid was lyin' about being sorry that he snapped at you, Headmaster" he revealed, the student's Semblance allowing him to read truth in a person's word, though it could be resisted if the person was aware of it. James had a student with a similar Semblance, but one more suited to direct interrogation, which fit the man. "But that's it. Everything else he said was true, or he thought it was. That means it was his fault that. . ."

"I would ask you, as always, to not spread what you learn on your assignments," Ozma reminded his student, who nodded, chagrined. "When you say he believed everything, you even mean about the Four Maidens?" he checked.

The teenager grimaced. "Yeah, everything. He really believes things like that don't happen. I get why you ask everyone that, sir. It's one hell of a personality test."

Ozma nodded, "Indeed it is." Though that was not the only reason he had asked. The Hidden Flame, about the dragon spirit that walked the earth disguised as a Faunus, was one he'd thought Mr. Arc would favor, or at least be aware of, and the Tale of the Two Brothers. . .

When he'd first walked the land, there had been no Dust, and the Brothers weren't a myth, but a fact, and one could visit them if they wished, though most rarely did, given the eldest's non-intervention stance, and the youngest's fickle nature. In a way, he had met both, if only barely. He'd been confused at the time, unaware of the lengths his beloved had gone in her grief.

"Sir?" Mr. Davies prompted, and Ozma realized his grip on his cane had tightened uncomfortably.

Shaking his head, he told the boy, "Just unpleasant memories. I see some of myself in Mr. Arc, but then again I see a bit of myself in all of my students. Thank you for your service; you may leave."

The student, nodding, did just that, and left Ozma to his ruminations, and his consideration of the paradox that was Jaune Arc.

After the initiation, he'd sent a few of his agents to ask around, and what they found had been, to put it lightly, confusing. From what they could tell, if there was one word to describe Jaune Arc it would be. . . weak. Oh, those that knew him said he was nice enough, but he was sheltered to an extreme degree by a mother that had lost her father and brothers to the Grimm, then her husband to Bandits, then her fiancée, though that Faunus had not fled this mortal coil, but had merely left town upon discovering she was pregnant.

As such the woman was determined not to lose the last man in her life, and had forbade Mr. Arc from being a Huntsman, much to the boy's frequent and loud objections. In this, she had the support of his seven sisters, who served to insulate him from the world. As such the boy had a fragile confidence, and as such would fold in an instant when presented with hardship. No, all who knew Jaune Arc all agreed, though many were kind about it, that the boy had lived an easy life, and as a result his will was weak.

The Jaune Arc Ozma had just talked to was many things, but weak was not among them.

Prideful and distrustful? Absolutely. Damaged in a way he shouldn't be? Without a doubt. But weak? No.

More than that the boy seemed. . . off. He had dealt with talented students before. The boy's own team was practically filled to bursting with them. But Jaune Arc acted. . . older, than he should. In some ways the boy reminded Ozma a little of Qrow, though thankfully without the alcoholism.

No, the boy was a study in contradictions, one moment a surly teenager, the next someone who was promising with an adult's certainty that they would repay their debt, as opposed to making a child's unknowing declaration. The fact that he'd given his gloves, which were filled with his own power, without even being asked, despite obviously not trusting the Headmaster, was just another such contradiction.

Thinking back to the reports he had received, as he darkened the hallway and lowered the cell's screen, Ozma considered what else was discovered. Such as the fact that the boy had never, not once, let loose his fire or used his wings in his hometown. The boy could barely get through the day without taking his secondary appendages out at Beacon, but had never done so at home, to the point that the other residents did not even know that they existed. As a father a dozen times over, Ozma knew that no child could keep abilities like that a secret, at least without a level of deeply instilled fear about the consequences of doing so that Jaune Arc did not show.

Mr. Arc had manifested his wings before Ms. Nikos had awakened his Aura, so they had to have another source. The flames, bursting with Magic, might be the boy's Semblance, but Ozma doubted that. Magic did not manifest from Semblances, the two being completely separate, and the boy's flames were Magic, of a strength that he himself would've been hard pressed to match in his prime.

No, there was some other factor at play here. Somewhere, between when he had left home, to when he had arrived at Beacon, the boy had changed. Somehow he had gained powers he had never had, and the strength of will that only experience, good or ill, could provide. Something had suddenly awakened in Mr. Arc, in a way that was uncomfortably familiar.

It was with dawning realization that he realized that the boy had not stated that he did not believe that the Brothers themselves existed, only that he disliked the myth that claimed they had created the world, not aware that, once, a very long time ago, soon after humanity had been created and were living peacefully, the younger brother had tried to cheat on the bet with his elder. The God of Destruction had given his creations new priorities, technically not creating anything new, and had narrowed the focus of the Grimm to try to spread death and destruction to humanity, but had only bound humanity together in mutual defense. It was commonly accepted history once, now just yet another myth, though one usually told separately from that of the Two Brothers.

Not 'godly', Mr. Arc had called them? Ozma knew all too well how most children, after a certain age, did not consider their parents as 'godly', and were pushed, in their youthful arrogance, to think the worst of them. Thankfully, when he re-incarnated, he was able to slip into that stage himself, the changes from his previous host's personality overlooked. As such he always started his new life somewhere in his teens, able to become an adult shortly after he was reborn, to better achieve the task the Older Brother had given him.

No, the more Ozma considered it, the more the answer became so apparent as to render any other explanation laughably unlikely.

Jaune Arc, was not Jaune Arc.

Jaune Arc, was like him.