SAPR Rewrite: Volume 3

by ScipioSmith

The Vytal Festival is fast approaching, but the tournament is the least of Team SAPR's worries. In the wake of the mission against Merlot, and the discovery that Cinder possesses the magic of the Fall Maiden, Ozpin proposes a desperate plan that will force Sunset, Pyrrha and Cinder to confront their destinies as Fall closes in around them. Cover by MRK50

140. All Roads, Part 1

All Roads, Part 1

Rainbow stared.

"So," she said.

Gilda stared right back at her.

"So," she replied.

Rainbow didn't say anything else for a second. She was aware of the eyes upon her: not just Gilda, but Blake, Lady Belladonna, and Twilight, who was standing to the side and sort of between the two of them.

Her hands were clasped together above her heart as she looked from one to the other and back.

Nobody spoke. It was like they were all waiting on her.

They were all waiting on her.

Everyone was standing in one of the janitorial spaces aboard the Amity Colosseum, a room like the one in which Gilda and her White Fang … not friends anymore, for sure — comrades had tried to kill Blake and Rainbow.

Not that anyone was bringing that up now; it would have been rude — and ungrateful too, probably.

The Amity Arena was mostly empty now; with the battle done, everyone had been evacuated off down to the surface below; only a few people were left — including them, who had stuck around because they weren't likely to be disturbed.

And also because it was easier for Gilda to stay here and not get arrested again. Councillor Cadance was willing to respect 'Menagerite diplomatic immunity' — if that was a real thing — but Vale might not be so inclined.

Having been given the runaround once, they might be losing patience with other people's refusal to let them arrest reformed terrorists.

Especially ones who had only been reformed for a few hours.

"Twilight tells me that you saved her life," Rainbow said. Actually, Twilight had said more than that, but that was the gist of it.

Beside them, Twilight nodded eagerly.

Gilda shrugged. "That's right."

Rainbow stared at her for another second, breathing in and out, before she reached out and pulled Gilda into a hug.

"Good to have you back, pal," she whispered as she ran over Gilda's almost bald head. She could feel the last vestiges of hair on Gilda's hair through her gloves, like the surface of a scouring brush.

Honestly, the hairless — nearly hairless — thing kind of suited her. It made her look edgy, true, but that kind of suited her too.

And if you didn't want to look edgy, you probably shouldn't carry two katanas around on your back.

She felt Gilda's hands on her back, just above her waist.

"Yeah, I…" Gilda began. "Listen, Dashie—"

"You don't have to say it," said Rainbow.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" Gilda cried.

"You were going to say 'Listen, Dashie, you were right about everything; I should have listened to you when we were kids; I'm sorry that I wasted my life—'"

Gilda shoved her away. "Shut up," she muttered. "Jerk."

"Seriously?" Twilight asked Rainbow.

"You don't have to say it," Rainbow told Gilda. "But I think you should feel like you should, don't you think?"

"You were not right about everything," Gilda insisted. "You … were just right about some of the important stuff. You were right … where it counted. But you were still an ass when we were kids. All high and mighty with your new friends."

She paused. "Lady Belladonna told me you'd been wounded. You look fine to me." Her tone made it sound as though that could almost have been a pity.

"I was going to say," Lady Belladonna murmured, "Blake made it sound so serious."

Rainbow looked at Blake.

"I was worried about you," Blake said.

"It was just a couple of scratches," Rainbow. "I'm fine, ma'am."

"I'm glad to hear it," Lady Belladonna said. "A friend of Blake is a friend of mine, after all, and besides … if Blake is determined to go to Atlas, then I must admit I'd rather she was there with a good friend by her side."

"Is that where you're going?" asked Gilda. "Back to Atlas?"

"Well, I don't live here," Rainbow said. "Now that the Vytal Festival is over, then we need to go home for the start of the next semester at Atlas."

Gilda frowned. "Didn't you just win a battle?"

"We helped, a little," Blake said softly.

"But you have to go back to school afterwards?" Gilda asked. "Go … sit in a classroom and take notes?"

"Personally, I like the idea better than anything else they might be doing," Lady Belladonna remarked.

"That's right," Rainbow said.

Gilda shrugged, her golden eyes flitting from Rainbow to Blake. "But you're gonna keep fighting the good fight when you're up there, right?" She grinned. "Don't stop until you've brought down the whole SDC."

Rainbow snorted. "I can't promise that." She cleared her throat. "You know, not every Schnee—"

"Don't," Gilda said, holding one hand up to Rainbow's face. "Don't tell me that not every Schnee is a bad guy, just … just don't, okay? I … I've made my peace with a lot of this stuff, but that would be a … just don't, okay? I can only go so far at a time."

Rainbow sighed. "Okay," she muttered. "Later then."

"We'll do what we can," Blake assured her.

Gilda nodded. She frowned, her brow creasing. "I can't say that … maybe the High Leader will send more people after you. Once she works out that my mission has failed…" She looked behind her, at Lady Belladonna. "I know Lady Belladonna has a plan to get the High Leader off your back, but if it doesn't work, then—"

"We've got the whole of Atlas watching our backs," said Rainbow.

"Do your friends?" asked Gilda. "Does Twilight?" She gestured with her head in Twilight's direction. "How about your Councillor friend?"

"Cadance is very well protected," said Twilight.

"But you're not, are you?" Gilda asked. "I just … if the High Leader does send someone else—"

"Do you doubt me, Gilda?" Lady Belladonna asked.

"I don't doubt your resolve, my lady," Gilda replied. "But I also don't underestimate the High Leader's tenacity. She hasn't gotten this far by giving up easily." She frowned. "The point is, if she does send someone else after you, then … they might not be as … discriminate as me." She glanced at Twilight. "Is that the right word, 'discriminate'? It sounds like 'indiscriminate,' but without the in."

"I think so," Twilight told her. "You're talking about how Ilia was willing to—"

"Do whatever it took to hurt Dashie and Blake, yeah," Gilda said. "The next guys that the High Leader sends after you might be more like that."

"Is she really that desperate to kill us?" Blake asked. "Is she really that desperate to see us dead for trying to help?"

"I don't know, but … just, take care of your friends, okay?" Gilda asked.

"Always," Rainbow said. She glanced at Twilight. "I'll speak to the General and get you some protection. Get everyone some protection."

"That might be intrusive," Twilight murmured.

"Maybe, but … that's too bad," Rainbow replied. "Even if it is intrusive, it's better than the alternative, right?"

"Yeah," Twilight agreed. "I mean, it would be best if Sienna Khan would get over herself and leave you alone, but if she won't do that…" She smiled wanly. "Then yeah, it's the next best thing." She hesitated for a second. "And what about you, Gilda? What are you going to do now that you're … not in the White Fang anymore?"

"Maybe you could get that job we both told your folks that you have," Rainbow suggested, with an impishness creeping into her tone.

Gilda snorted. "What, the management job that you told them I had?"

"It was kinda true at the time."

"Well, I kinda quit that then, didn't I?" Gilda replied. "I didn't quite flip off the boss, stand up on a desk and yell 'I quit!' but I did the next best thing." She grinned. "Maybe that's what I should tell my parents when I see them next?"

Rainbow's eyebrows rose. "You're—"

"Yeah," Gilda said. "I figured that I'd see Menagerie." She squared her shoulders. "It's about time I made a pilgrimage to the promised land."

"It's also White Fang central," Rainbow pointed out.

"Yeah, it is," Gilda admitted, "but Lady Belladonna says—"

"The White Fang may be based in Menagerie, but that doesn't mean they're very active there," Lady Belladonna explained. "On Menagerie, nobody wears a mask, there is no need of them, and there is no violence either. The White Fang doesn't want to shatter the peace of the island, for fear of what people would think of them if they did."

"Even so," Rainbow murmured. "You're telling me to beware of Sienna Khan, but you're putting a lot of trust in her restraint yourself."

Gilda shrugged. "It is what it is."

"No, it's not," Rainbow declared. "I just … I don't want to get a letter from Lady Belladonna telling me that you died when I only just got you back! Could you … could you not go somewhere else? Somewhere a little … safer?"

"Like where?" Gilda asked. "Atlas?" She shook her head. "Nah, I want to see the White Hart in the temple, even if I don't need to have my future told. I want to see the land that the God of Animals promised us. I want to see the homeland of our people; I want to see my parents again." She paused. "And … I owe Lady Belladonna and…"

"And what?" Twilight asked.

"I don't want to say," Gilda muttered, folding her arms across her chest and half turning away from Rainbow, glancing at her out of the corner of her golden eyes. "Rainbow will think it's stupid."

"No, she won't," Blake assured her.

"Unless it is stupid," said Rainbow.

"Rainbow!" Twilight scolded her.

Gilda rolled her eyes. "The reason I don't need the White Hart to tell me my future is that the Black Ram in Mistral already did that, and it told me that I would serve a virtuous lady. I think … I'm pretty sure that's Lady Belladonna, so … who am I to argue with fate? I'm going to serve her, in whatever way she wants of me."

"'The Black Ram'?" Twilight repeated. "And 'the White Hart'?"

"There are two sacred animals in Remnant, each representing a … a facet of the God of Animals who created the faunus," Blake explained. "Or perhaps you could say that each represents one version of the God of Animals, the one from The Shallow Sea and the one from The Judgement of the Faunus. Each resides in a temple, the Black Ram in Mistral and the White Hart on Menagerie, cared for by priests and attendants, given harems of females—"

"Eww."

"They're animals, not people," Blake said. "Sacred animals, touched by the divine — so they say, if you believe in such things — and identified by special markings on their bodies, but still animals at the end of the day. With animals' needs. Anyway, the priests look after them and see to their comfort, and they … they have various duties, including being said to divine the future."

"So … a goat told you you were supposed to go to Menagerie?" Rainbow asked, not bothering to hide the fact that this was, indeed, a really stupid thing.

"A ram, not a goat," Gilda replied. "And it didn't tell me anything … the priests told me what the Ram was saying."

"Oh, that makes it all better."

"Look, I know that you think that the old faith is stupid; you never hid that, not ever, even before you went up to Atlas," Gilda said. "But — and I won't even point out the fact that your parents worship a rainbow, because I'm classy that way — I believe, okay? I think … I think we're being tested by the God of Animals, and if we prove ourselves worthy, then He will admit us all back into paradise, on another, even better island than the one we had before. And you know what, I think you two are playing a part in His design; there, I said it." Gilda paused. "I think he's working through you; that's why you've done so well." She glanced at Twilight. "She's going to be insufferable now, isn't she?"

"Could be," Twilight said, smiling a little.

"No, I won't, because I don't believe in … that," Rainbow said. "But … if it makes you feel better, then … fine, I'm sorry I laughed at you … sorry I laughed." she said, because saying 'sorry I laughed that you were planning to go to Menagerie because a goat told you too' would have seemed insincere. "Just … watch your back okay, and say hi to my parents for me, but watch yourself first and foremost. I'd … I'd like to see you again someday."

Gilda smiled. "Well, you could always come visit. You could come right now and see your own folks."

"I can't," Rainbow said. "Not … right now; I can't just take a vacation with everything going on."

"Yeah, you're so indispensable in the classroom," Gilda said.

More than you know, Rainbow thought. "I just … can't right now. Maybe someday, but not at the moment."

"Are you sure?" Gilda asked "Or do you just not want to visit your parents?"

"She'll come," Blake said, stepping closer to Rainbow. "We both will, I guarantee it, but not yet. Rainbow's right; the time isn't right."

Rainbow looked at Blake. You guarantee it? You guarantee that we're going to visit Menagerie?

Blake had a serene smile upon her face. It stayed upon her face as she took another step forward, putting one hand on Rainbow's elbow as she leaned forwards.

"And now we're even," she whispered, so softly that nobody but Rainbow probably heard her.

Oh. Oh, right, the letter to her mom.

Yeah, I guess I had that one coming.

"I'll look forward to that, then," Gilda said.

"We both will," Lady Belladonna agreed, taking a step forward. "But, for now … when do you go back to Atlas?"

"We don't know for sure — the General hasn't said — but it won't be long now, ma'am," Rainbow said. "Probably after Professor Ozpin's funeral."

General Ironwood would certainly want to stick around for that, to pay his respects, and considering they'd been his guests for a year, it would be right for the rest of them to be here for that too, but other than that, there wasn't much to hold them here.

"Will all the Atlesians be leaving?" Lady Belladonna asked. "It seems like quite a position you're leaving Vale in, to suddenly disappear like that."

"Mmm," Blake murmured. "You've got a point there, Mom."

"Maybe some forces will stay here to support the Valish," Rainbow guessed. "But not us, and probably not General Ironwood himself either. We'll be going home."

"'Home'?" Lady Belladonna asked, looking at Blake.

Blake nodded. "Home, Mom," she said.

Lady Belladonna drew in a breath, and gave what might have been a sniff. "Home, then," she whispered.

"Home," Gilda repeated softly. "Take care of it, and make it better."

Rainbow nodded. "And the same to you, G."

"I don't have a home yet," Gilda pointed out. "But … but maybe I will, when I see you again."

---

Pyrrha kept her hand gripped tightly upon her hospital crutch, even as she put her weight upon her leg instead.

It hurt, still, and the more weight she put upon it, the more it hurt, but pain was no reason why she shouldn't—

Pyrrha felt herself starting to wobble and put her weight on the crutch before she fell.

Her leg was getting better, for sure, but it was not quite there.

Still, with the rate that she was healing, she thought she might be — ought to be — back on her feet as early as tomorrow.

"You almost had it there," Penny said.

Pyrrha smiled slightly. "Yes, Penny, but with the emphasis upon 'almost.'"

Penny nodded. "But I don't understand why Jaune can't just boost your aura to make you get better faster?"

"I think that would only have worked if I'd done it sooner, right after Pyrrha's aura was broken," Jaune explained. "At this point, Pyrrha's aura is working as fast as it can."

"Ah, I see," Penny said. "I think."

The three of them were in Pyrrha's hospital room. Apart from it being very good of them to remain by her side like this, it was also more convenient in that it saved them having to find anywhere else to stay. Pyrrha's mother had offered to accommodate them all in her suite, which was decent of her, but it might be a little awkward in Penny's case.

Still, no doubt they would manage. They would have little choice but to manage; Pyrrha wasn't going to be in this hospital very much longer.

But for now, she was here, and so were they, all in her hospital room. Pyrrha had just gotten up from her bed to test her leg, while Jaune sat in one of the low chairs, facing her.

Penny crossed the room to look out of the window.

She rested her hands on the windowsill, looking out across the carpets to the city beyond. The troubled city, the wounded city, the city where the future seemed suddenly quite uncertain.

"It's a pity your magic can't help you heal faster either," she said, before letting out a little gasp.

Silence fell in the hospital room. A silence fell because Penny had broken the code of silence, and Pyrrha … Pyrrha wasn't sure how to respond.

She wasn't sure how to talk about her … about the fact that she was…

The Fall Maiden.

That which Professor Ozpin had sought to … that which he had told her she was next in line to become, to receive, she now was and had, if not quite in the order that Professor Ozpin had envisaged.

Still, she had the magic now. She was the Fall Maiden. And she did not know what to … to think about it, to feel about it, certainly not what to say about it. And so she said nothing, and neither did they. They pretended to ignore the fact that flames had sprouted from her eyes, that they had seen the light leave Sunset … Sunset's body, for want of a better word, and pass into Pyrrha's eyes, her mouth, her chest.

Pyrrha was glad that she hadn't had to really feel it, that she had been whisked away to a white void to speak with Sunset for a second before Sunset — and Cinder awoke.

She had not felt the attaining of the powers, and now that she had attained them, she did not know how to feel.

And so she did not speak of it, and they, bless them, did not speak of it.

Until now.

Penny turned around. "Pyrrha—"

"It's fine," Pyrrha assured her.

"We probably ought to talk about it at some point," Jaune murmured. "I mean … it's not like it's going away, is it?"

"No," Pyrrha admitted. "Nor…"

"And you wouldn't want it to?" Jaune guessed.

Pyrrha sank down onto her bed. The mattress lowered beneath her. She loosened her grip upon her clutch.

"I…" she began. "I wanted this. When Professor Ozpin brought me down into the vault to tell me what he intended, I was horrified, but at the same time … I was tempted by the power that he offered, the potential to … to do something great, to be … to have the power to do tremendous things. I wanted that, I will not deny it. I am not even ashamed of it; at least, I am not greatly ashamed. I don't believe I have any reason to be greatly ashamed of my desire." She paused a moment. "And I felt duty-bound, or bound at least, to consider doing as Professor Ozpin asked, for all that it horrified me. I would have felt ashamed to turn away from a chance to make so great a difference, in spite of what it might cost, and so even more now, I should refuse to wish away this power burden now that it has been passed to me by far less horrifying means, no? How can I say now that I don't want this, that I want to be rid of it, that I don't want to be a Maiden or to wield magic, when I wanted it before, and I … I am myself, alone, not merged with Amber, not destroyed and my body given over to her use? I am me, the Fall Maiden is myself, the magic is mine to command—"

"But not to use," Penny pointed out. "You can't use it, you can't let anyone know what you are, you'll have to hide, always."

"Not the whole of myself," Pyrrha replied. "And not from everyone. I … Amber defeated me with this power, down in the Vault. Tempest Shadow, Bon Bon, Lightning Dust troubled me not, but once Amber began to wield her magic, I was…" Her brow furrowed beneath her golden circlet. "I was at her mercy, helpless before her; if it hadn't been for Cinder…" Pyrrha paused a moment. "That is the extent of this power, and now, that power is mine, power I can use if I wish and have the need. Why should I wish it away?"

"Because of the cost?" Jaune suggested.

Pyrrha looked down at her right hand, sitting on top of the bed. She clenched that hand, gripping the lime green bedsheets beneath her fingers.

"It is true that I buy it with a great pain," she whispered. "Amber … she became my enemy, and as my enemy, she fought me fiercely, and yet … she was just a girl, a romantic girl who wanted nothing more than to live out many happy years alongside her love, and she … she was my friend. She was my friend, and I failed her."

"That's not—" Penny began.

"She was going to confess to us, she told me so!" Pyrrha cried. "She was going to tell us everything, but then … the way we treated Sunset, the lack of compassion that we showed to her, it … it frightened her, and in her fright…" She trailed off, because the rest was known to them already.

Jaune sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "And you … believe her?"

"I don't see what reason Amber would have to lie about it," Pyrrha murmured.

"To throw you off-balance before the fight?" Jaune suggested.

"I … perhaps," Pyrrha acknowledged. "But I … I—"

"Believe her," Jaune finished for her. "Because you believe it."

"In both senses, yes," Pyrrha admitted. "I believe Amber was telling the truth. Her words … lies would have cut less, I think; deceitful barbs would have been less well aimed."

"So … we could have stopped all this?" Penny asked. "The Relic, and Professor Ozpin, it's all—"

"No, Penny," Jaune said quickly. "Well, technically, yes, I guess we could have stopped this, but it doesn't make it our fault, any more than…" He paused, and his tone became somewhat apologetic as he said, "Even less than it's the fault of Pyrrha or Sunset or Professor Ozpin for not telling the rest of us what Cinder said about Amber."

Pyrrha didn't reply to that. She deserved it, after all.

"It's unlucky that things worked out the way they did," Jaune went on. "It's unlucky that Amber saw that and thought the worst of us, but we were allowed to be angry." He looked at Pyrrha, as if daring her to contradict him. "Anger cools; like a fire, it burns itself out, and quicker for some than for others, and that's a good thing, but … if we hadn't been upset when we found out what Sunset did and the fact that she'd lied to us about it, then we wouldn't have been human, regardless of how we felt about it afterwards when we'd had more time to think and talk it over. Maybe … maybe we should have stopped and thought before we decided to do anything, but it's absurd to expect us not to have feelings because somebody who had been planning to betray us might be on the verge of not betraying us after all and confessing everything but only if we're really really super nice." He gave a little manic laugh. "I mean you get how nuts that is, right? You can hear how that sounds?"

"When you put it like that, certainly," Pyrrha murmured. She tightened her grip on the lime green sheet. "It wasn't my intent to cast blame on anyone but myself."

"I know," Jaune said. "But you don't deserve the blame either. It's unlucky, but it's not our fault. And, to be honest, it doesn't say anything brilliant about Amber." He paused. "Dove could have done better."

Pyrrha didn't comment on that. She only said, "I would not wish Amber dead to make myself the Fall Maiden. I would have her back and give up my new magic in a heart's beating if I could. I do not renounce this, but I do not rejoice in the price paid for it."

Jaune looked at her, and a smile pricked at the corners. "You know," he said, "that wasn't even the price I was talking about."

Pyrrha's eyebrows rose. "It wasn't?"

"But the other price, what it asks of you, hasn't Pyrrha already answered that?" asked Penny.

"What about what it does?" asked Jaune. "Forget having to lie and hide the magic; this is a burden that drove Amber to … that put a target on her back and saw her get put in a coma by Cinder. You said the Spring Maiden ran away too, because she couldn't handle it. What are we supposed to take from that except that these powers break people, that they take from them and they put them in the way of harm?" He slapped his hands down onto his knees. "That's the price I was talking about."

Pyrrha was silent for a moment, because Jaune had made a good and serious and earnest point that deserved a more considered answer than a platitude about her being in danger already or her being braver than Amber had been.

"You're right," she said. "It doesn't sound … promising. It may be that I find myself unequal to the burden I have taken — please, Penny, I do not speak in search of praise — that my resolve will curdle, as that of the Spring Maiden did." She didn't mention Amber, because she wasn't sure if Amber had had any resolution to begin with. "That is why I need your help. I need all the help I can get. After her mother died, Amber was forced to leave Dove behind and come to a … a brave new world. I don't know how many friends the Spring Maiden had, but not so many that she could not evade them and disappear." Pyrrha grabbed her crutch tightly and leaned upon it as she stood up once again. "I don't know what plans Professor Ozpin had for me as Maiden; I'm not sure he had any given he wasn't sure I would remain myself when all was said and done. I don't know what plans Professor Goodwitch has, but if she attempts to confine me, I … I will refuse. I can't do this alone." She smiled tentatively. "I need my brave new world to have such people in it."

It was Jaune's turn to get to his feet. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "And neither are you. We're in this together."

Pyrrha's smile became a little broader. "Then with other strengths beside my own, I will not break so easily."

"And the danger?" asked Jaune.

Again, Pyrrha paused, gathering her thoughts and marshalling her words. They were not so readily mustered as her last response. "I fear I can only suggest that I have been in much danger already, and that with this magic, I am better placed to face it than I was before."

"I … yeah, okay, I guess that's a fair point."

"I would have liked to have given you a better answer," Pyrrha insisted. "But if there is one, I don't have it readily to hand."

Penny opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted before she could by the opening of the sliding door.

Professor Goodwitch stood in the doorway. There were bags beneath her eyes that spoke of lack of sleep, and her clothes were dirty and scuffed, but she moved with all her usual feline grace and sense of purpose as she stalked into the room.

With a flick of her riding crop, the door slammed shut behind her with a hard thump.

"Professor Goodwitch," Pyrrha said. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Professor Goodwitch's eyebrows rose. "Surely not that unexpected, Miss Nikos, in the circumstances." She paused, sweeping her eyes across the room. "Mister Arc, I'm told you were involved in hunting an Apex Alpha."

Jaune swallowed. "Yes, Professor, I was. Along with Penny and Ruby and … and Team Iron."

Professor Goodwitch's tone was clipped as she said, "Miss Xiao Long's death was a tragedy, a great tragedy in a night far from devoid of tragedies. But I did not come here to grieve but to commend your courage, Mister Arc, if not necessarily your sense. Well done." It seemed to Pyrrha that Professor Goodwitch almost smiled, but that her smile faded as she turned her attention onto Pyrrha. "Miss Nikos," she said with an audible sigh. "I fear that commiserations are as in order as congratulations."

"General Ironwood told you?" Pyrrha asked.

"Did you think he wouldn't?" asked Professor Goodwitch.

"No, Professor," Pyrrha murmured. "That's why I didn't tell you myself."

"You should have," Professor Goodwitch pointed out.

Pyrrha bowed her head. "Confessing one's failures does not get easier on repetition," she admitted. "I lost the Relic. I failed."

"Yes," Professor Goodwitch said bluntly. "You did. But you're still alive, and so are your teammates. That is something that Professor Ozpin would have been grateful for, were he still here. Just as he would be grateful that the powers of the Fall Maiden did not fall permanently into enemy hands."

"But without the Relic—" Pyrrha began.

"Professor Ozpin valued the Maiden powers for their own sake, beyond being the guardians of the Vaults and Relics." Professor Goodwitch said. "He saw them as guardians of a broader sort, symbols of protection, hope. Remember the story of the seasons and the reasons why the first maidens received their magic. The burden that you bear has not grown much lighter. How does it feel?"

"I fear it would be wearisome to you to hear an account of all my complicated feelings, Professor," Pyrrha said. "I fear I wearied even the ears of Jaune and Penny with them. In fact, I almost wearied myself."

Professor Goodwitch snorted. "I'm glad to hear you're not wholly without good cheer, Miss Nikos; you'll certainly need it. But I was actually asking what it physically felt like, to have the Fall Maiden's magic within you."

"Oh! Oh, I see; I'm sorry, Professor," Pyrrha said. "It feels … I was a little surprised by how strange it didn't feel. I don't feel alienated from myself; I'm still me, still Pyrrha Nikos. I feel much as I did, except that…"

"'Except'?" Penny asked eagerly, heedless of Professor Goodwitch's presence.

"Except there is something … new, inside me," Pyrrha said. "Like a new bird slipped into the nest, like a cuckoo, except hopefully not as destructive. That is the strange feeling I half-expected, of something there that was not there before, its presence almost tangible within me. It sleeps now; it has felt as though it is sleeping ever since it was bestowed upon me. I … I'm not sure how I'm supposed to wake it up."

"Yes, well…" Professor Goodwitch said, appearing momentarily uncertain. "There are three things I wished to discuss with you, and that is one of them. The question of your training is understandably fraught in the circumstances. It is customary in our group that the senior Maiden, she who has possessed the powers the longest — that would presently be the Winter Maiden, in Atlas — trains the younger Maidens in how to wield their magic. Where it was impractical for them to meet, it would be for the head of the circle to do what they can. Professor Ozpin is dead, and while I'm sure James would have no objections to your travelling to Atlas to train, your fellow countrymen might not be so sanguine about the idea of you vanishing into the north. Not to mention the fact that, as … I cannot afford you in Atlas.

"That was my other topic to broach with you, Miss Nikos: I need you to go to Mistral. I don't know if that is where Salem will strike next, but I do know that Lionheart may have betrayed us, and the Spring Maiden is missing. Qrow Branwen is already there, or on his way, but I would feel better if you were there also, at his service but also under his protection. Be guided by him once you arrive; he'll know what to do."

"'Mistral'?" Pyrrha repeated, as she stared up at the professor. "You want me to go to Mistral?"

"I suppose I should have phrased it as a request," Professor Goodwitch admitted. "But I hoped that you would have no objection to returning to your homeland."

"It's not the destination I object to, Professor," Pyrrha said. "It's just—"

"You want us to leave Beacon?" asked Jaune. "But—"

"I'm afraid Salem won't wait for you to graduate, Mister Arc, even if I could say that you weren't going to be left waiting for the school to reopen after the damage done. It may be that, with one Relic in her possession, Salem retreats and bides her time for another few decades or centuries, but if not, if she attempts to capitalise on her victory here … I need your help, and so does Remnant. It's unfortunate, and if you wish to enroll at Haven to continue your studies, I won't stop you, but I cannot go myself any longer, and there are precious few others I can call on. And, Miss Nikos, it makes more sense to ask this of you than of Miss Rose or Miss Shimmer."

"Yes, Professor, I understand," Pyrrha said, "although … I did think for a while that, as the new Fall Maiden, you might try to confine me rather than put me to work."

"As I already intimated, Miss Nikos, we're presently stretched too thin for that," Professor Goodwitch answered, with precious little in her voice to indicate any feelings on the subject one way or another. "Now, will you oblige me?"

Pyrrha glanced at Jaune. She had no objection to the destination; Mistral was not so hateful to her that the idea of a homecoming filled her with dread or anger, far from it. There was much to love in the mountain city and its kingdom: the way the sunlight gleamed off the White Tower, the way the sound of the crowd echoed off the walls of the Colosseum, the serene stillness that prevailed within the Temple of Victory as though it were its own world, cut off and entire to itself. The way the air upon the mountain slopes surrounding the city was so crisp and the way that you could stand atop one and see out across all the valleys that lay around and in between. Iris, Hestia, and the others who had taken care of her all her life. The masks of her ancestors upon the walls, the bones in the crypt below, the brazen statues that spoke of a history undiminished by the passing of the years.

Mistral was home to her, home and hearth and heart, and if she was in need, as she might be, then Pyrrha would not hesitate to go to her defence.

But she would not force such a journey on Jaune, nor go without him. Vale was his home, as Mistral was hers, and Vale — the city, at least, if not the part of the kingdom that his family hailed from — had been damaged by this battle. If he wished to stay and assist in the reconstruction, then she would not blame him; indeed, she would gladly stay and lend what aid she could.

Jaune looked into her eyes, and Pyrrha thought he must have understood, because he assumed a thoughtful pose, cupping his chin with one finger.

"Professor," he said, "Now that Salem has the Relic of Choice, it's not likely that she'll attack Vale again, will she?"

"She has no reason to," Professor Goodwitch replied.

"Unless she still wants the Maiden powers, for assistance when she sends people after the other Maidens," Jaune murmured.

"Is that likely?" Pyrrha asked. "Amber was defeated without them."

"But it couldn't hurt, right?" asked Jaune. "And besides … since we've already lost one Relic, we can't really afford to let Salem get any more." He nodded. "Okay, we'll go to Mistral."

"Are you sure?" asked Pyrrha.

"Yeah," Jaune said. "It's … it's the smart thing to do."

"Then we'll go together, back to Mistral," Pyrrha said. "And do what we can to keep it safe."

Penny looked a little uncomfortable, but she said nothing.

"My final point," Professor Goodwitch said, "concerns the use of your magic; although you will not — cannot — be cloistered away from the wider world, please remember, Miss Nikos, that the existence of the Maidens is a secret, and must remain secret not only to protect the other present Maidens but also the generations of Maidens who will come after. The last time the existence of Maidens was common knowledge, the world descended into an orgy of murders, the magic passing to those least worthy of it. That cannot happen again."

"I understand, Professor," Pyrrha said. "Of all kingdoms, Mistral remembers the Red Queens best, though it has forgotten exactly what they were."

"Then you can also remember to keep your new powers a secret," Professor Goodwitch declared. "Do not use them — save at the utmost need." She did not say what the utmost need might be.

"Yes, Professor," Pyrrha murmured. "Save at the utmost need." She, too, did not define her understanding of the term.

Professor Goodwitch. "I wish you luck, Miss Nikos, because I fear you may need it, but I also offer you a thought to take comfort in: Professor Ozpin did not choose you merely as an empty vessel, someone in whose body Amber's soul could reside. He chose you because he believed you were worthy. Remember that as you strive to prove him right."

Pyrrha swallowed. "Yes, Professor," she whispered.

She was in no doubt; she was under no — few, at least, she hoped — illusions.

Professor Ozpin, and Sunset — and arguably Cinder too — had chosen her for a great honour. A weighty burden, yes, and fraught with risk, but an honour also: to bear one of the four magical powers remaining in the world, to be the heir to the prophets of old, heir to one of the four sisters of story.

Her name was part of a tapestry richer even than her royal line, which was not something Pyrrha could have possibly imagined.

A great honour had been bestowed on her.

Now she had to prove that she deserved it.

---

Sunset wondered if she had spent as much time in hospitals as she had on trains.

Probably not, but it couldn't be that far off.

Although the trains felt more … momentous, for want of a better word. They'd impacted her life more, and certainly for the worse.

Nevertheless … hospitals, she had known.

Hospitals I have known and the people who were injured in them. Sometimes, it was even me.

She and Ruby were back at Kingsland Hospital, where Sunset had been taken after the Purifier's bomb had gone off and put her in that coma for a little while. Where Ruby had been taken after she, too, had spent some time asleep after a use of her silver eyes. It didn't look much different than it had done either of those times — as much of the first time as Sunset could recall, anyway; she hadn't been here long after waking up — which she supposed would make this hospital … not quite unique in Vale, but certainly an exception rather than the rule. Outside of the hospital boundaries, beyond the sliding doors that admitted people in and out, Vale felt as though it was on tenterhooks, the way it had been after the Breach but even worse. Vale was frightened, Vale was mourning, Vale had a hole in its outer wall which was being hastily plugged with a lot of wreckage and rubble and everything else that could be piled up into a makeshift barricade by a few bulldozers and a crane while the city worked out what to do next.

The streets coming here had been almost as empty as when Sunset and Councillor Emerald had driven through the streets of Vale to stop Sonata. It had meant that Sunset had arrived early, with little to get in her way coming here.

Ruby, on the other hand, had arrived a little late, although not as late as she could have.

"You ran all the way here?" Sunset asked.

Ruby shrugged. "After half an hour, it seemed like the bus wasn't going to show, and I can move pretty fast, so … why not?"

"Do you have any aura left?" asked Sunset.

"No," Ruby said, not seeming very fazed about its absence. "No, I used it all up getting—" Her words dissolved into a wordless mumbling yawn as her mouth gaped open wide. She swayed a moment on her feet, nearly bumping into the corridor wall, although she stopped and steadied herself just in time.

Sunset didn't offer to help; it probably wouldn't have been appreciated. Besides, it was only tiredness, nothing else. It had been a very long night, after all, the night before last, and some hours of sleep snatched the morning after — possibly — or even a good night's sleep the next night if you were fortunate enough to get a good night's sleep wasn't necessarily sufficient to drive out the weariness of a whole night spent running from here to there and fighting against this then that.

Sunset felt pretty tired herself, to tell the truth; a yawn burst from her own lips that was not entirely down to sympathy with Ruby.

Ruby looked at Sunset over her shoulder. "So, where are you staying right now?"

"I am imposing myself upon former Councillor Aris, at present," Sunset said, although 'imposing' — albeit technically somewhat accurate — did perhaps a disservice to the hospitality of the former Councillor and Skystar, who hadn't heard of turning her out. She had even been moved out of Skystar's bedroom floor and into the guest room.

Ruby nodded. "What about your mission to Mount Aris?"

"That's … been put on hold, for now," Sunset replied. "Thanks to…" She waved one hand around to encompass everything that had happened or was happening. "You know."

"Yeah, I can see that," Ruby agreed. "I'm a little surprised that you didn't come here with them — the former Councillor and Skystar, I mean."

"I may be imposing on their house and home, but not on that," Sunset replied. "Their visit will be for a different reason than mine, after all. Besides, the First Councillor wanted to see the both of us together."

"Mmm," Ruby murmured. "It isn't propaganda, is it? We're not going to walk in there and find a photographer waiting for us?"

"I don't know," Sunset admitted. "But I'd be surprised if the Councillor wanted to be photographed in a hospital bed. It doesn't exactly scream 'strong leadership.'"

"I guess not," Ruby said. "But then, why are we here?"

"Perhaps he just wants to give you the thanks of Vale for shooting down the dragon," Sunset suggested. "So, what about you? Where are you staying?"

Nobody was staying at Beacon at the moment. What with so many dorm rooms having been wrecked in the course of the battle, to a greater or lesser extent — holes in the outer walls, holes in the inner walls, doors torn off, bathrooms wrecked, battles fought within — there was no way that they could be called fit for habitation for the majority of students. As a result, the students — of which either Sunset or Ruby might not be numbered anymore, but Sunset was not sure to which of them the term did not apply at present or how to refer to them else — had been forced to shift for themselves. Sunset thought that either Beacon or Vale might have at least tried to make some effort to put them up somewhere and ensure nobody was left camping out on the street, especially with so many hotels taken up with tourists, but at the same time, given the circumstances, it was understandable that Valish state capacity was a little … creaky, at present.

The Atlesian students had found berths upon the remaining ships of General Ironwood's fleet, while Pyrrha had been freed from the need to find a place to stay by virtue of spending the night in hospital with her leg being looked at, a position in which her lady mother had also found herself.

They were Sunset's second and third stops after she was done with Councillor Emerald.

Lady Nikos might be in hospital, but in the meantime, Jaune and Penny were both being put up in her hotel room, where Pyrrha and her mother would join them presently. It was an arrangement that a high class hotel would almost certainly have not entertained in normal circumstances … but these circumstances were far from normal, weren't they?

It might be a little more cramped than envisaged, but there were far worse places to be stuck than a luxury suite. As the Atlesians aboard their warships were probably finding, or indeed, the many other Beacon and Haven students left to fend for themselves. The Shade students had gone home already, managing to arrange a ship to Vacuo with commendable speed.

Considering what they'd done — or hadn't done — during the battle, they might have just wanted to make themselves scarce before the recriminations started flying.

Sunset had heard that the Haven students were faring a little better than those of Beacon, strange as it might seem. At the last resort, they could doss upon the floor of the new, temporary, Mistralian embassy, but as Sunset understood it, the Mistralian tourists had thrown open their hotel-room doors to the indigent students, to the extent of competing amongst themselves to see who could give up their bed to the most celebrated hero, who could bag the most famous tournament fighter, the noblest name to be their guest.

The people of Vale had not been so generous to their own homegrown heroes, as far as Sunset was aware. They were frightened, true, they had been through a great deal very recently, but the Mistralian visitors had also been through that same night, and were probably a little nervous themselves — who knew when they might be getting out of here? All flights were presently grounded until further notice — but nevertheless, fear had not dried up their generosity completely.

The Valish, huddled in their homes with the doors shut, quivering as they waited for information, were, Sunset had to admit, rather vindicating Professor Ozpin's desire to avoid telling anybody anything.

Maybe that wasn't fair, but … small wonder he'd kept things to himself when this was how people reacted.

It was to the credit of the doctors and nurses here that they weren't hiding. They were still here, thronging the corridors, manning the desks, bustling here and there with charts and prescriptions and furrowed brows.

Then again, their lives … a crisis might make their lives harder, but it didn't complicate them. They had to go to work, just as much — more, perhaps — at a time like this as at any other time. Maybe it made things easier, to be able to focus like that, to have something to push out the worries and distractions.

"I managed to get into a Travellers' Inn down by the docks," Ruby said. "I'm sharing it with Team GRAY, but that's fine."

"Team GRAY?" Sunset repeated. "What about Ren and Nora?" She wondered if they, being Mistralians by birth if not by school, might have found some Mistralian willing to accommodate them."

"They're camping on the grounds," Ruby explained. "At Beacon, I mean. They said they were used to it."

Sunset's eyebrows rose. "Huh," she said, for want of anything else to say. It was … their choice, she supposed, but it wasn't a choice that she would have made. Camping was one thing, but to camp at Beacon? Yes, it had been home for a year, it ought to have been their home still, but at the same time, after that night … Sunset was not at all sure that she would want to spend the night up there, all alone to all intents and purposes, amongst the ghosts.

Professor Ozpin's ghost among them. She would have been too afraid to meet him there and have it demanded of her 'where were you? Why were you not here to fight for me?'

"It's not your fault," Ruby said softly.

Sunset blinked rapidly. "Huh?"

"Professor Ozpin," Ruby said. "That was what you were thinking about, right?"

Sunset thrust her hands into her jacket pocket. "How did you—?"

"Lucky guess," Ruby said softly. "I'm not shy about blaming you for the things that are your fault, so you can trust me when I say that Professor Ozpin's death isn't one of them. He sent everyone away, to fight for Vale out beyond the walls: Pyrrha, Jaune, Penny, me. If you'd been there, he would have sent you away as well. There's nothing you could have done."

Sunset's brow furrowed. "I appreciate it, but it doesn't help."

"I didn't think it would," Ruby said softly. "But it's true anyway." She paused. "Have you seen Pyrrha's mom? I heard she got hurt pretty bad."

Sunset nodded. "I called in on her, but the painkillers had put her to sleep. I'm going to try again when we're through with the First Councillor."

Speaking of whom, they had almost arrived at his door: a solid wooden door, painted white, with no window to see inside before they opened the door — or for Councillor Emerald to see out and observe who had come to visit, for that matter.

"I'm a little surprised," Ruby said as they stood outside the door, "that they chose to bring him down here like this. Wouldn't he have been better off resting aboard the Atlesian medical frigate?"

"I think you've just answered your own question there," Sunset answered.

"Right, an Atlesian medical frigate," Ruby said with a roll of her silver eyes.

Sunset reached out and pushed the door, sliding it open. Ruby was the first in, then Sunset followed, closing the door after her. It rumbled as it slid shut.

The room in which they stood looked pretty standard for a hospital room: white tiles on the ceiling, grey linoleum upon the floor, a window that was not small but which was half sealed so that nobody could open it enough to jump out of. A single bed, in which sat First Councillor Aspen Emerald.

The First Councillor's face was pale, but he was sitting up in bed, a pair of well-stuffed pillows sitting behind him, crumpling beneath him. He wore a light blue hospital gown, one which hid any dressings that might be wrapped around his midriff. He was hooked up by the left arm to tubes, leading up to a pair of squishy bags, one of which looked to be of blood, while the other was something else, something transparent but too thick-looking to be water.

In each case, the liquid was trickling down the tubes and into his arm.

Despite his condition — for, for all that he looked better than he had the last time Sunset had seen him, he still looked worse than he had before he'd been shot — Councillor Emerald managed to smile.

"Good morning, Miss Shimmer," he said. "And Miss Rose, thank you for coming."

"Councillor," Ruby murmured, in a tone that gave very little away.

"Councillor," Sunset said. "How are you feeling?"

"My stomach feels a lot better than it did, Miss Shimmer," Councillor Emerald replied. "And I'm told that I will make a full recovery."

Sunset sighed with relief. "I'm glad to hear it, Councillor. I'm delighted to hear it. Has Bramble seen you yet?"

"Not yet," Councillor Emerald replied. "Although Novo said that she'd bring him today; I think I should be well enough for it."

"That will be something to look forward to then, Councillor," Sunset murmured. For her own part, she hadn't dared face the First Councillor's son; she had been too afraid of his reaction to the fact that she'd let his dad get shot. It was … it was cowardly of her, perhaps, but she didn't relish the idea of someone else yelling at her for something that she'd done wrong, that she'd failed to do, that she'd allowed to happen.

No matter how deserved it might be, she'd tasted the dish too often to want another serving.

She hoped to be done and out of here before former Councillor Aris arrived with Bramble.

"Yes," Councillor Emerald agreed. "Yes, it…" He trailed off for a moment, leaning back a little further upon his pillows. "Though I may hold off on giving him that toy just a little longer, Miss Shimmer. It doesn't feel like the right time or place for it."

Sunset chuckled. "That's fair enough, Councillor, although if you leave it too long, he may lose interest in it altogether."

"I'm not sure about that, Miss Shimmer," Councillor Emerald said. "In fact, I think that a lot of this Vytal merchandise is likely to soon see imminent rerelease under new packaging, the same dolls and miniatures reissued, turned from Vytal contestants to heroes of Vale. Although they may need some grimm figures to fight against."

"This isn't a game, Councillor," Ruby said, her voice sharpening like the blade of Crescent Rose.

Councillor Emerald was silent for a moment. "No, Miss Rose, no, it isn't." He paused. "I understand that commiserations are in order."

Ruby gave a short, sharp nod of the head. "Yes. Thank you, Councillor."

"As well as the thanks of Vale, for your own valiant service," Councillor Emerald. "You brought down a truly formidable grimm, as I understand."

"I did what I had to do," Ruby said quietly.

"And did it well, so I am told," Councillor Emerald replied. "Ruby Rose, the Dragonslayer. This isn't a game, Miss Rose, you're right, but the preservation of the public confidence is amongst the highest duties of the office of First Councillor. In the days to come, we must honour our dead, Professor Ozpin among them, and let the memories of those who gave their lives in defence of Vale inspire we who remain. But a kingdom cannot be defended by its fallen heroes, their greatest deeds by definition behind them. It must have living heroes to protect it into the future, living legends to inspire hope and banish fear. Your killing of the dragon was the work of a moment, Miss Rose, but your work as the Dragonslayer will last for years, perhaps your whole life. A source of comfort to the people, a light that shines against the darkness. People will sleep better here in Vale knowing that you stand watch upon the walls, and others like you. That's why the toys and games and other things which no doubt seem so frivolous are of such great importance. The child who plays with his own little Miss Rose cutting a swathe through the ranks of the grimm or sleeps with a Ruby Rose nightlight will not fear the creatures of the darkness, and so, we may hope, that they will not be drawn to that same child. I'm sorry if you don't like it, Miss Rose, but you and other students like you who survived the night are the only ones who can do this; the dead must be honoured, but they cannot bring hope back to a frightened city."

Ruby hesitated for a moment. "I guess not," she whispered. "And if you want to use my image, then I guess that's fine — maybe I can't stop you anyway, or if I can, then I won't — but I won't perform for you. I'm a huntress, not an actor or a symbol. I don't want to be stuck in Vale talking about how I killed one grimm instead of being out there killing more."

"There should be no need for that," Councillor Emerald said. "Provided there is ample merchandise to speak on your behalf."

"Will it be possible to make merchandise?" asked Sunset. "With the CCT down—"

"Vale has some of its own manufacturing capability," Councillor Emerald said. "Although you're right, Miss Shimmer, with the tower and the network down … it does make things a lot more challenging. We must find some way to restore communications across the kingdom, even as we hope that the Atlesians can restore it across the world."

"Is it possible?" Sunset asked.

"I've no idea," admitted Councillor Emerald. "But if it isn't…" He trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

It didn't really need finishing.

"I'm told," Councillor Emerald went on, "that Ozpin died at Beacon, after the battle at the school was seemingly over."

Sunset licked her lips. "That … if that's what they say, neither Ruby nor I—"

"Miss Shimmer," Councillor Emerald said, his tone becoming more magisterial as he spoke, "I would like you to look me in the eye and tell me, to the best of your knowledge, that Ozpin didn't know more than he was telling me."

Sunset looked him in the eye. "I … can't do that, Councillor."

"What did he know?" asked Councillor Emerald.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you, Councillor," Sunset murmured.

Councillor Emerald stared at her, his green eyes boring into her. "Don't you think I have a right to know, Miss Shimmer? After all that has happened, all that has befallen Vale, after all that I and the people of this kingdom have been through, have suffered, do you not think that I have a right to know what is really going on?"

Sunset bowed her head, unable to meet the Councillor's gaze any longer. "I … am sorry, Councillor, but … you must ask Professor Goodwitch this, perhaps she will agree with you and tell you the truth, but—"

"But you don't agree?"

"My agreement or otherwise is immaterial, Councillor," Sunset said, looking up at him once more. "I was Professor Ozpin's servant before I was yours. If he didn't want you to know certain things, it is scarcely my place to contradict him."

"Ozpin didn't get everything right," Ruby said. "Councillor…" She paused. "The world is threatened by—"

The door behind Sunset and Ruby, the door into the Councillor Emerald's room, slid open so quickly and so violently that it hit its limit with a hard thump that made both Sunset and Ruby turn around to see who it was.

It was a man who looked to be about the same age as Professor Goodwitch, with long red hair falling down behind him, disappearing behind his shoulders; a goatee as red as his hair adorned the area around his mouth, although his cheeks were otherwise bare of any visible hair. He wore a suit of shimmering, oceanic blue, upon which the light, even the internal lighting of the hospital, seemed to dance in wave-like patterns. He wore a black pocket square in his breast pocket and a silver ring with an onyx set in it upon one finger, in what appeared to be his concessions to mourning.

"Aspen!" he cried jovially as he strolled into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He noticed Sunset and Ruby, his blue eyes flickering over both of them. "And who do we have here? Ruby Rose and Sunset Shimmer, I do declare." He chuckled. "You looking to shore up your position, Aspen, you old hound? Or should that be 'you old stag'?" He laughed. "Am I going to find some reporters under your bed, waiting to get your endorsement from a pair of heroes?"

Ruby stepped away from both men, retreating towards the window; Sunset moved to stand at Councillor Emerald's bedside, facing this newcomer.

"Leo," Councillor Emerald said, in an even tone devoid of warmth. "Miss Shimmer, Miss Rose, allow me to present Leo Aquas, formerly Councillor of the Treasury."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Aquas," Ruby said softly.

Sunset bowed her head. "Sir."

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Leo?" asked Councillor Emerald. "I don't think you've come down here to bring me a box of chocolates."

"I might have brought you some hard-boiled eggs and some nuts, if I'd thought about it," Mister Aquas muttered, before the smile returned to his face. "But no, I've come to give you something much better than that, Aspen: the chance to resign with your dignity intact."

"'Resign'?!" Sunset cried.

"You've got your excuse ready made right here," Mister Aquas went on, ignoring Sunset. "Ill health, a brush with death, nobody would blame you if you wanted to take it easy, spend some more time with your son. Focus on what … really matters." He chuckled. "Nobody would blame you at all; nobody would whisper any words like 'failure' or 'incompetent.' And you've outlasted a lettuce; that's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all."

He chuckled again. He seemed very fond of his own wit, which was somewhat surprising to Sunset because said wit which so amused the man himself was tickling her own humour very little.

"You can step away now, Aspen," Leo said. "I can't promise you'll leave office with the thanks of a grateful kingdom, but I can say that I'll talk about you as though you do."

"As you step into my high office, I suppose," Councillor Emerald murmured.

"It's clear now that the party made a mistake choosing you over me," Mister Aquas said. "It's clear to them, as it's clear to the kingdom." He smiled, a rather smug and toad-like smile to Sunset's way of looking at it. "You can't fight this, Aspen, any more than Novo could. A grimm attack of historic proportions, the Valish defence force losing its mind, a hole in the defences, civilian casualties." He laughed again, now seeming more incredulous than self-amused. "I mean, for the gods' sake, you can't just expect to carry on after all that! My support in the party is as solid as ever; yours is crumbling beneath your feet. I've been talking to people—"

"While Councillor Emerald has been laid up in bed, you've been canvassing to try and take his place?" Sunset demanded.

"After everything that Vale's been through, all that you can think of is getting to be in charge?!" cried Ruby.

"At a time like this, more than in normal circumstances, the question of leadership looms more important than ever before," Mister Aquas replied. "If Vale is to emerge from out of his debacle and be restored to its former glory, then it must have the best possible leadership—"

"Councillor Emerald is a hero," Sunset declared. "He went into the military headquarters and—"

"The people don't want a hero to lead them; they want a captain with a firm hand on the tiller to guide the ship calmly and safely through the waters," Mister Aquas pronounced. "Not sail it into the heart of the storm!" He took a deep breath. "Aspen, you know that you can't recover from this. And the more you try, the longer you cling on, the more you damage the party and make it more likely that the opposition will win. I mean, you hadn't even recovered our position in the polls from before the Breach, and goodness knows how far down we'll be now. For the good of the party, and the kingdom, you need to step aside, without bloodshed, without a divisive leadership challenge, and let someone come in with a clean slate who stands a chance of putting Vale back together before the election. There isn't anyone who'll stand against me, I've made sure of that. If you make way, I can take over unopposed."

"Whereas if I fight you, I'll lose," Councillor Emerald murmured. "My, this is very kind of you, isn't it, Leo? You're showing me more consideration than you showed Novo, and the result is a lot more certain; according to you, anyway."

"I care about Vale, as much as you do," Mister Aquas said. "In fact, inasmuch as I believe that this kingdom deserves better than you and your failed policies, one might say I care more about this kingdom than you do. I don't want to see it divided, weakened by a contest for the crown for all that it's one I'm certain to win. I may be the Lion and you the Unicorn, but beating you all over town would serve no purpose; it wouldn't help Vale whatsoever." He took a step forward, and as he advanced upon the Councillor, all his bonhomie seemed to slide off his face like rain off a waterproof. "You know, some people might make something of the fact that it's all you faunus conspiring against Vale. Some might say that it has something of a White Fang stench about it."

Councillor Emerald tried to sit up, only to make himself wince in pain. "What in the gods' names are you suggesting, Leo?"

"I'm suggesting that I'm going to be First Councillor, one way or another," Mister Aquas declared. "If you go quietly and allow me an unchallenged coronation, for the sake of the party, then we can all go on pretending all that bull that Novo's little girl came out with about childish tantrums and unsent messages. But if you make me fight you for this, then not only will I win, but I'll also open a public inquiry into those allegations that you were so quick to dismiss, and I'll see you, and your pet pony there, and Novo and Skystar too, all end up with ropes around your necks for h—"

He stopped, because Sunset had just punched him on the nose. His blood was smeared across the knuckles of her dirty bridal glove as she pulled back her fist.

Sunset's teeth were bared like some kind of half-tamed dog; her ears had flattened down into her fiery hair, her tail was rigid down between her legs as she stepped forward, half-twirling around Mister Aquas to put a foot out behind him even as she shoved him backwards, pushing against that shimmering blue suit of his. He tripped, going down with a heap and a crash on the floor at the foot of the Councillor Emerald's bed.

"Sunset!" Ruby cried.

Sunset ignored her as she straddled Mister Aquas, her hands around his neck. Her grip was loose, but with the possibility that her grasp could become tighter, if need be.

"Now, I don't particularly like the way you've been speaking to Councillor Emerald," she said, "but as a magistrate of this kingdom, I suppose he can stand up for himself, metaphorically at least. I don't particularly care how you talk about me, you can threaten me all you like, but if you ever threaten Skystar like that again, then I will—"

"Sunset, that's enough!" Ruby shouted. "Let him go!"

Sunset looked up, into Ruby's eyes, her hard eyes. "After what he said?" she asked.

"After what he said," Ruby said, her voice calm, like a cliff looking out to sea.

Sunset hesitated, breathing in and out, looking down at Mister Aquas, the man who would be First Councillor with his bloody nose. He was looking up at her with fear in his blue eyes. He was not so quick to fling around threats of hanging now, but how long would that last once Sunset took her hands from around his neck?

Nevertheless, she took her hands from around his neck, because what was the alternative? She looked apologetically at Councillor Emerald as she retreated a step towards him.

His expression was inscrutable.

Mister Aquas picked himself up off the floor. "You…" he growled. "You damn faunus, I'll see you answer for that!"

"Answer for what?" Ruby asked. "You tripped and fell on your face. Kind of clumsy of you, but at least you had your accident in the hospital. Lucky you, huh?"

Mister Aquas blinked rapidly as he stared at her. "'Tripped'? 'Tripped'? You know perfectly well—"

"Yes," Ruby said. "I know. I know that I'm the Dragonslayer, a hero of Vale, a hero of the battle for Vale, and who are you? If I say one thing, and you say something else, who are people going to believe?"

Mister Aquas stared at her. "Why?"

Ruby shook her head forlornly. "There was a moment where I believed you," she said. "A moment where I believed you really wanted the best for Vale—"

"I do—"

"If you really believed that executing Skystar was the right thing to do, then you'd do it anyway!" Ruby snapped. "Or try to! You wouldn't threaten it just to get what you really wanted! Now get out!" Her whole body was trembling, like loose rocks about to descend in a crushing avalanche.

Mister Aquas took a deep breath. "Because I'm a generous man, Aspen, I'm going to leave my offer on the table. Don't fight me on this. Think of the party." He glared at Sunset. "And you should think about finding another place to live."

He turned away and thrust the door open with a bang.

He stalked out, calling for a doctor to help him.

Sunset's hand glowed green as she shut the door with telekinesis. She glanced at Ruby, feeling unable to meet her eyes for long.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"I get why you were angry," Ruby said, almost as quietly as Sunset herself. "It made me pretty angry too." She paused for a moment. "With the right leadership … a good person could make something of this kingdom. Something great, like it used to be, in the days of the Last King or before that, when … if it had a good person in charge." She sighed. "Instead, it has people like you, Councillor, and him."

"Perhaps you should consider politics yourself, Miss Rose, if you're so unhappy with the politicians currently on offer," Councillor Emerald suggested, in such an even tone that Sunset couldn't help but think he was taking her criticisms remarkably well. "You'll do more good for more people in the legislature than you will in a lifetime swinging a sword—"

"It's a scythe, Councillor, and also a gun," Ruby said. "And maybe when I'm older." She walked towards the door. "You can use my name, my image, my reputation however you like, but I'm taking myself somewhere cleaner. Somewhere that doesn't smell so bad." She opened the door.

"Once again, Miss Rose, Vale thanks you," Councillor Emerald declared. "And extends you its sympathies."

Ruby stood in the doorway, her cape hanging still behind her as she looked half over her shoulder, not so much that Sunset could see her face.

"Goodbye, Councillor," Ruby said before she closed the door behind her.

There was a moment of silence in the hospital room.

"I'm sorry, Councillor," Sunset said. "I … I'm sorry."

"It was entertaining to watch, I must admit, Miss Shimmer," Councillor Emerald said. "But I'm afraid you've done yourself more harm than you've done to me. The worst part is that, as much as I dislike him, he's right. I can't go on after this."

Sunset's eyes widened. "You're … you're going to quit?"

"If I don't jump, I'm going to be pushed out, as Leo says," Councillor Emerald admitted. "He isn't wrong that I've presided over a grim night in the affairs of our kingdom; not even in the Great War did Vale come so close to destruction. General Blackthorn, the dragon, the Freedom Gate—"

"Yourself, broadcasting to the people of Vale, calming them after the fright given by their own soldiers," Sunset reminded him. "Is that so quickly forgotten?"

"What led to it will be remembered too," Councillor Emerald replied. "I don't relish this, Miss Shimmer, by any means; I had some hopes that I might be given time to rebuild Vale. But I doubt Leo is bluffing; I think he really does have the strength to turf me out. In which case, why delay the inevitable and further damage the party?"

"So in a single year, the First Councillorship gets handed over twice without the people ever getting a say in the matter?" Sunset asked. "I'm no great enthusiast for democracy, but this is a very strange form of it, I must say."

Councillor Emerald snorted. "We don't believe in democracy, Miss Shimmer, so much as we believe in our right to rule and keeping the other lot out." He paused. "Although that's another reason to step aside: if Leo fails to restore our flagging reputation, then he'll be blamed for the defeat, not me." A slight smile played across his lips. "Novo might even be able to return, claiming that she could have averted the electoral catastrophe."

"I must tell you, Councillor, you disappoint me," Sunset said, her tone chilling noticeably. "I thought you were a better man than to hand power over to someone who would threaten a teenage girl in order to call himself First Councillor."

Councillor Emerald was silent for a moment. "Put like that, Miss Shimmer, I must confess that your words prick me and my conscience. But what would you have me do?"

"Show some of the courage that you displayed the night before last?" Sunset suggested. "You can face a magical monster and the army she had at her command, but you cannot face this man made of smarm and smugness and outface his threats?"

Councillor Emerald made a noise that might almost have been a chuckle, but didn't quite rise to it. "Perhaps I'm more afraid of the votes of my party than I am of the bullets of the Valish Defence Force. After all, Miss Shimmer, your actions here aside, you can't protect me from Leo." He paused. "I'm sorry for the way that I spoke, Miss Shimmer, I was too light-hearted for the subject matter, Leo's behaviour warranted a more mature response, but … there's nothing I can do — except lose with good grace and dignity and hope that way to protect Skystar and Novo — and you."

"I offered to tell the truth to protect former Councillor Aris' career—" Sunset said.

"It was too late for that then, Miss Shimmer, and it is certainly too late now," Councillor Emerald said. "Perhaps you should worry less about me or Skystar and worry more about what Leo will do to you when he gains office. Is there somewhere you could go? Another kingdom?"

"Is there, Councillor? Yes," Sunset said. "I could go to Mistral, and Lady Nikos will receive me kindly there." She paused. "Will I go there? No, I will not. Rather, I … I would serve you, here in Vale, or wherever else you might think best."

Councillor Emerald turned his head to look at her. "Excuse me, Miss Shimmer?"

Sunset was silent for a moment. "I … we agreed that I would serve you once before, you … hoping that it would kill me," she murmured. "Now, trusting you to get best use out of me for the good of Vale, I offer to serve you again. I think … I think I owe Vale that much; certainly, I owe Vale more than to scamper off to Mistral because I've given a politician cause to dislike me. I cannot say that I have, or will have, no other obligations but to you, Councillor, but nevertheless…" She knelt at his bedside, head bowed. "Nevertheless, Councillor, I am at your service."

"Oh, get up, Miss Shimmer; you look ridiculous," Councillor Emerald muttered.

Sunset looked up at him. "You could indulge the moment, Councillor; it wouldn't hurt you." She winced. "I mean to say—"

The door slid open, revealing former Councillor Aris standing there, with at least one other person, probably Skystar, but it was impossible to say for sure, standing beside her.

Former Councillor Aris surveyed the scene in front of her, Sunset kneeling at Councillor Emerald's bedside, looking up at him.

"I know that it's typical for the second wife to be a younger model with brighter hair," she declared, in a wry tone, "but don't you think this is a bit much, Aspen? And Miss Shimmer, what is the point of kneeling without showing the ring?"

Sunset gathered as many shreds of her dignity as had survived the mockery of both the present and the past First Councillors about her as she stood up. "If you please, ma'am, I was just—"

"Dad!" Bramble cried as he darted around Novo's legs, leaving Skystar — it was her; her face was clearly visible as she tried and failed to catch Bramble — and bounded across the room towards his father's bed. He tried to scramble up it, although the height of the bed relative to himself presented something of a trial for him.

Sunset knelt down and grabbed him, sweeping him up in her arms and holding him so that he was more or less at a level with his father. "Careful. Your father is still a bit delicate, so best not go throwing yourself at him for a while."

Bramble twisted around in Sunset's grasp. Sunset braced herself for a degree of earned recrimination.

I've faced Adam and Sonata, I've faced Cinder and Ruby in all their wrath, I can face this too, and take it on the chin.

"Thank you, Sunset," Bramble said. "For protecting my Dad."

Sunset stared down at him. "I … but, I … he was hurt."

"But he'll be alright," Bramble said. "You'll be alright, won't you, Dad?"

"I'll be right as rain in just a little while," Councillor Emerald confirmed.

"You see?" Bramble asked. He leaned his head against her — the nubs of his antlers hit Sunset's cuirass with a soft thud — and put one arm as far around her as his little arms could manage, which wasn't far, but … but it felt good anyway.

"Thank you," Bramble whispered.

"You're…" Sunset felt her cheeks heat up. Of all the things that she had expected from Bramble, gratitude wasn't one of them. "You're very welcome, young man."

"Here," Skystar said, holding out her hands as she approached. Sunset gratefully handed him over and got out of the way as Skystar set him down upon the bed, close to his father but — with Skystar still holding onto him — not close enough that he could inadvertently do his father an injury in his condition.

Councillor Emerald reached out and ruffled Bramble's hair. "You're behaving yourself, I hope?"

"Of course I am!"

"So," former Councillor Aris said, "what was that little tableau that we stumbled upon just a few moments ago?"

"Miss Shimmer was just offering me her service," Councillor Emerald said, in an amused tone.

"What does that mean?" asked Bramble.

"Nobody knows, sweetie, that's why we all think it's so weird," Skystar murmured.

"I feel this mockery is most unwarranted," Sunset declared. "I am merely placing myself at the Councillor's disposal; what could be so absurd or unheard of in that?"

"For as long as I am the First Councillor?" asked Councillor Emerald.

"No, Councillor, for I do not offer the office my service, but yourself," Sunset said. "Even after you are cast out by Mister Aquas, I would serve you, not him."

"Wait, what?" asked Skystar. "What's this about being cast out?"

"And why did this offer, generous though it is, require you to kneel, Miss Shimmer?" asked former Councillor Aris.

"Because it is the way things are done, ma'am," Sunset said.

"Hmm," former Councillor Aris murmured skeptically. "I seem to recall we've been here before, Miss Shimmer."

"Yes, ma'am, but now we are here in a better spirit, I hope," Sunset answered.

"And when I am not First Councillor?"

"You keep saying that," Skystar said. "But you don't explain—"

"I'm sure that … at least, I might have a slightly higher opinion of you than Ruby does," Sunset said. "And so I'm sure that, even thrown out of office, you will continue to work for the good of Vale and will have some use for me in that endeavour."

"Who's throwing you out of office?" Skystar demanded.

Sunset folded her arms. "The First Councillor is throwing himself out."

"Miss Shimmer," Councillor Emerald murmured reproachfully. He looked at former Councillor Aris as he said, "Leo came to see me just before you did. He says he has the numbers on his side to win a leadership challenge."

"He thought that once before," former Councillor Aris pointed out.

"He had enough to ruin you," Councillor Emerald pointed out. "And … events, Novo, events. When Leo tells me that I can't survive this, it's hard to argue with him."

"And so he will win, in the end?" former Councillor Aris asked. "The regicide will wear the crown, after a short delay of a few months, while you will be the shortest serving First Councillor in the history of Vale? I am inclined to agree with Miss Shimmer's body language; you should fight this. What have you to lose by making Leo work for his crown?"

"The party—"

"Oh, sod the damn party; what has the party ever done for me?" demanded former Councillor Aris. "The party demands loyalty, endless, unrequited loyalty, but when does the party ever show any loyalty in turn? The party is like a herd of stupid and easily frightened animals ready to stampede their leader at the slightest change in the wind. So what if a fight damages the party?"

"Leo tells me that if I don't give way with good grace, he will start investigating Skystar," Councillor Emerald said.

The face of former Councillor Aris paled. "'Investigating'?"

Councillor Emerald nodded silently.

"And so, for Skystar's sake…" former Councillor Aris whispered.

"Hey, Sunset?" Skystar asked, speaking more loudly than her mother — not that that was hard right now. "Do you want to come and get a coffee with me or something?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, now," Skystar said insistently, gesturing with her head towards the door.

"Uh … yeah, right, yeah, sure," Sunset said.

"Great," Skystar said quickly. To Bramble she added, "Now stay right there and be good, okay? I'll be back." She let go of him, leaving her perched on his father's bed, beside his legs. Skystar herself turned away and headed towards the door.

Sunset followed.

"Miss Shimmer?" Councillor Emerald said.

Sunset turned to look at him. "Yes, Councillor?"

"I would be glad to accept your … offer of assistance," Councillor Emerald said, presumably unable to use so old-fashioned sounding a word as 'service.' "You're right, we are both different people than the last time we danced this dance, and Vale will be the better for it."

Sunset bowed her head. "I hope so, Councillor."

"I will be only Mister Emerald soon," Councillor Emerald reminded her.

"But not yet, Councillor," Sunset replied as she turned away and followed Skystar out the door.

Sunset closed it after her and kept on following Skystar as the latter led the way down the corridor, turning at a corner, and eventually bringing Sunset towards a hospital vending machine.

Skystar stood there, making no move to press any of the buttons. If there was nothing here that she wanted, Sunset supposed she couldn't really blame her.

Skystar glanced at Sunset. "You do realise you've got blood on your knuckles, right?"

Sunset covered her bloody hand with the other. "I, um … Mister Aquas had a fall."

"Onto your fist?"

Sunset shrugged. "He's an odious little toad, isn't he?"

"Mother certainly thinks so now," Skystar said. "So, you're going to work for Aspen?"

"I am," Sunset said. "I owe Vale that much, at least."

"But you won't serve just any First Councillor, only him," Skystar pointed out.

"I don't owe Vale enough to serve Leo Aquas," Sunset muttered. "You know he's a racist?"

"Mother used to say that he was a man of his time," Skystar said. "But that was before he stabbed her in the back."

Sunset frowned. "'Of his time'? But his time is now?!"

Skystar chuckled. "I think that was kind of the point: when society is racist, you can't blame people in that society for being a bit racist."

"Speak for yourself," Sunset replied. "I notice you didn't stand by Cardin for being a man of his time."

"Obviously, the rules for a boyfriend are a bit different than the rules in politics," Skystar said. "I certainly wouldn't date Leo Aquas either, even if he wasn't old enough to be my father." She paused. "Is this really what you want? Working for Aspen, I mean."

"I'm not sure how much I deserve what I want," Sunset replied. "And what I want is … out of reach, so I'll focus on what I can do."

"But what about Beacon?" asked Skystar.

"What about Beacon?" Sunset replied. "Beacon is … the tower's gone, students are sharing motel rooms because the dorms have been wrecked, I don't know how much damage there's been to the other buildings, but … and Professor Ozpin's dead. What is Beacon now? Is there such a thing?"

"The school will reopen," Skystar said. "Won't it?"

"Eventually, perhaps," Sunset answered. "But even if it does, with everything that's happened this year, I can't just … this last year has been the happiest year of my life in some ways and the worst year of my life in others. And the happy parts were all at Beacon, and the worst parts were most of the times when I left, but all the same … in spite of that, or maybe partly because of that, with everything that's happened, I can't just sit in a classroom for three more years even if that was an option. If I can do more, then that's what I need to do … somehow. I trust Councillor Emerald to point me in the right direction to make a difference."

"He is a good guy," Skystar agreed. "But, aren't you worried that, if he isn't First Councillor anymore, he won't be able to protect you?"

Sunset shrugged. "It's a chance I'll have to take."

"Fair enough, I guess," Skystar murmured. She paused for a moment. "So … you really think Beacon won't reopen?"

Sunset hesitated for a moment. "I … don't know."

Skystar sighed, and leaned forward, pressing her hands against the wall beside the vending machine.

"This year," she whispered. "This year, this year, this year … this year was supposed to be so good, you know, and now … what a year, huh? Attacks on Vale, the Vytal Festival turned into a giant battle so that even the tournament winner might get forgotten—"

"In some kingdoms, maybe; small chance of that in Mistral," Sunset muttered.

"So many people have died, including Ozpin, a hero of Vale," Skystar went on. "And even Beacon might not exist anymore." She sniffed, and smiled wanly at Sunset. "What a year, huh?"

"Like I said, some of the worst times of my life," Sunset replied. "But, so long as it stays that way, then that means whatever comes next will be better, right? Better and brighter?" What happened this year was the result of plots that are all done now, of people who are dead or fled or changed, and all for the sake of something that is gone now. There is no need for Vale to be troubled further.

Only I can't tell you any of that.

"Better and brighter," Skystar repeated. "I'm not sure I'd say that with Leo Aquas in charge."

"Well, okay, but even so," Sunset said. "Fewer grimm attacks, no really big grimm attacks, Vale not directly threatened, I've got hope enough for that, and I think that would be … an improvement, no? Even with the wrong guy as First Councillor."

Skystar smiled again, and this time, her smile seemed a little more genuine than it had been. "I guess so," she acknowledged. "Better and brighter."

"Exactly," Sunset agreed. "Now, there are a couple of other people here I need to see, so please give your mother and Councillor Emerald my regards, and I'll see you later?"

"Got it," Skystar said.

Sunset waved goodbye to Skystar as she walked away, heading down the corridor then down a flight of stairs to where Lady Nikos was being accommodated after her moment of shining glory. Sunset was told — by Pyrrha, admittedly, but Sunset doubted she would exaggerate in this matter — that Lady Nikos had slain a member of the White Fang in defence of the Mistralian ambassador and his family, albeit at some cost to herself in the process.

That was impressive, in a woman who by her own words had grown old before her time.

Although she had paid for it.

Lady Nikos, like Councillor Emerald, was accommodated in a closed room, although her door had a window in it, and although the glass was mottled to distort the image within, nevertheless, Sunset could see that Lady Nikos was sitting up in bed, which was an improvement on Sunset's last attempted visit.

So she slid open the door and bowed her head — Lady Nikos, she knew, would be more receptive to such courtesies than the current or former Councillors had been — as she entered.

"Good morrow, my lady," Sunset murmured. "I am glad to see you with your eyes open; when I called upon you yesterday, you were asleep under heavy medication."

"Good morning, Miss Shimmer," Lady Nikos replied. She made a sound that might have been a groan. "Yes, the painkillers they gave me did produce a great drowsiness, but I fear the pain would have been unbearable else." She paused a moment. "I am very glad to see you well, Miss Shimmer, come safely through the battle with life and limb intact. It gladdens me." Her aged-seeming lips cracked in a smile. "I did not wish to bear Soteria home, to place back in our family vault, there to wait and gather dust until perhaps Pyrrha could find one worthy to bear the blade in some future day. No, I did not wish that. I am glad, and glad also to hear that you have distinguished yourself. They tell me that you were there beside the Valish Councillor when he strode into the heart of his military and … nobody seems quite able to say what happened there, though all agree it was bravely done, and he is to be commended for it."

Subset snorted. "Forgive me, my lady, but if all agree that Councillor Emerald is to be commended for his actions, then why are they in such haste to throw him out of office, as I have heard they will?"

"Because greatness attracts envy?" Lady Nikos suggested. "And so, rather than bear to be shamed by the Councillor's valour, they will turn him out, although it seems strange to me that it is so easily and irregularly done." She yawned. "But I confess, the fate of Valish councillors preoccupies me little; I wished only to express my congratulations to you, Miss Shimmer, for the lustre you have added to your name."

"My lady flatters me," Sunset murmured. "For myself, that my lady has no need to bear a gilded circlet home to be stored with honour in your house is worth more to me than that my name should gleam effulgent."

Lady Nikos nodded. "I am glad that Pyrrha lives, of course, I thank the gods for it and all of Mistral shall rejoice at it also, yet I must admit to some confusion on how my daughter came to be in this hospital with me. What foe so injured her, and in what fight?"

Sunset hesitated. "You … you had perhaps best ask Pyrrha herself, my lady; I regret I was not there."

"You would have more cause to regret if you had been there and Pyrrha had taken the hurt regardless," Lady Nikos replied. "Nevertheless, though you were not there, I suspect you have some knowledge of these things regardless."

Sunset wished — she really wished — that Lady Nikos had not asked her that question. "My lady … this is not the first time that you have asked me to divulge information in which, I will concede, you have an interest, touching as it does upon Pyrrha, and yet … I fear again, I must decline to oblige you in this matter, for all the love I bear you and the obligations I hold to you, on account of the obligations which I hold to others, not least of which the late Professor Ozpin, to keep his confidences. If Pyrrha chooses to confide in you, then I will not fault her for it, but … but for myself, I can only tell you that Pyrrha received her injury in no inglorious action."

Lady Nikos stared at her, and for a moment Sunset, thought — feared — that she might suggest that, the late Professor Ozpin being late, he had no more claim upon Sunset's loyalty or her tongue.

Sunset very much hoped that Lady Nikos would not suggest such a thing; it would be unworthy of her royal race to do so, and furthermore, it would be — it would strike Sunset as — rather cruel.

Fortunately, Lady Nikos rose above such an impulse, if indeed she had ever possessed such a thing, and said, "The late Professor Ozpin? Well, I would not want you to break faith with a dead man when his corpse is scarcely cold, Miss Shimmer; no, that would reflect very ill on both of us." She paused a moment. "You must have been close with him, to have been in his confidence with matters that, although I am ignorant of the details" — she could not help her voice from sharpening a little at that — "seem to me to be of some great import."

"I…" Sunset bowed her head. "I fear that, although we were all what my lady might call intimate with Professor Ozpin, at the end, I was the only one of us who felt any great fondness towards him." She closed her eyes for a moment. "He was a kind man, patient and understanding. Or perhaps it was merely that I was grateful to be in receipt of his kindness."

"If you were, that only proves that there was kindness to be in receipt of, no?" Lady Nikos suggested. "For myself, I knew the man only by reputation, which stretched even to Mistral — though it did not lie so long there as it does in Vale — but I am sorry for your loss, Miss Shimmer."

"Thank you, my lady," Sunset murmured. "My … my lady…" She swallowed. "I … this may seem sudden and a change of subject, but nevertheless, I … I fear I cannot serve you in Mistral, at least not yet."

Lady Nikos' expression was not disappointed, for all that it was not elated either. "You will return to Beacon then?"

"I know not if there is or will be a Beacon to return to, my lady," Sunset said.

Lady Nikos' eyebrows rose. "How can there not? It was Vale who established the first huntsman academy, who foisted that model upon the other kingdoms, who insisted upon threatened point of sword that Mistral should follow suit, how can Vale now leave its school to lie fallow, the buildings to crumble, the—?"

"The tower to fall, my lady?" Sunset asked. "That has already happened, and some buildings have already crumbled besides, and Professor Ozpin is dead. It … it seems unlikely that the school will reopen for a new term on schedule. Apart from anything else, a new headmaster cannot be appointed without all the remaining headmasters giving their voice of approval, and two of the three are far away." And one of them is a traitor.

"To say that the new term will be delayed is not the same as to say the school will not reopen," Lady Nikos pointed out. "And yet … Miss Shimmer, you surprise me, and yet at the same time, you gladden me. Would it surprise you or shock you to hear that I do not wish Pyrrha to remain in this kingdom?"

"Honestly, my lady, no, it wouldn't," Sunset admitted. "Though it might surprise me more to hear that you have spoken with Pyrrha of this already."

"I do not wish to quarrel with my daughter whilst I am in a hospital bed and she teeters on a crutch," Lady Nikos muttered. "I would have my strength restored before I enter the arena for that challenge. Or not. If, as you say, Beacon is finished, then there would be far less obstacle to Pyrrha coming home where she belongs." She paused. "For that matter, I cannot conceive what obstacle there would be to you coming with her? What is it you plan to do here in Vale, if not attend Beacon?"

"I have pledged to serve Councillor Emerald in whatever offices he shall employ me, my lady," Sunset answered.

Lady Nikos voice sounded, thankfully, more amused than piquant as she said, "I would have given you warriors to command, resources at your disposal, and rank to possess; yet you spurn me to become a dogsbody to a Valish magistrate?"

"Forgive me, my lady, but it is not out of a desire to avoid you," Sunset insisted. "Rather … I owe Vale this, I feel. I cannot turn my back upon this kingdom, not even for Mistral, and though Vale itself soon turns its back upon Councillor Emerald, I cannot. He deserves better of me."

"Your loyalty does you credit, I suppose, though I would that it were placed elsewhere," Lady Nikos muttered in a tone that verged upon the churlish. But then she rallied and said, "But, if you ever do make your escape from this land of hares and find yourself in Mistral once again, then while I live, you will always be welcome as a guest in the House of Nikos."

Sunset bowed from the waist. "I cannot say when it might be, but I hope with all my heart that day will come, my lady."

---

"I'm a little surprised you were able to find a boat to Menagerie," Blake said. "Glad, but a little surprised."

"I had visions of you and Gilda trying to make it there in some little rowboat with a sail on a stick," Rainbow added.

Lady Belladonna chuckled. "Well, that might have been fun for us."

"No, Mom, no, it wouldn't," Blake insisted. "It wouldn't have been fun for either of you, and it certainly wouldn't have been any fun for my nerves to imagine you trying it."

"Boats are definitely better when they have a crew," Sun agreed. "That way, you don't have to do any of the work on them. They seem pretty complicated; I think it would be hard to learn all that stuff."

They were stood on one of Vale's smaller ocean docks, right at the far southern point of the city; in fact, this dock was so small that the pier was made of wood, and the ship that waited at the end of the pier was … well, it wasn't a rowing boat with a dinky sail, but it looked as though it might be made of wood too. Or perhaps it was that Mistralian aesthetic where things were made to look old even though they weren't, and the ship had an iron hull but with wood panels over the top to make it look like a wooden ship.

Either way, it looked like a wooden ship, as well as looking … it didn't look big; it was smaller than an Atlesian cruiser or a Skyliner, and it was certainly dwarfed by any big container ship that plied the oceans for the SDC or the like, but there was a pretty steady line of people — all of them faunus — walking past Rainbow, Blake, Sun, and Lady Belladonna, their footsteps echoing on the wooden boards as they tramped up the pier to board the vessel, so either it was going to be incredibly cramped on there for Lady Belladonna and Gilda, or else it was bigger than it looked.

Or perhaps a bit of both.

Gilda had already boarded; Rainbow could see her now, sort of. She was swathed in a dark cloak, her face and her entire body hidden from view so that nobody made her and reported her to the police before the ship was safely away and bound for Menagerie, but although Rainbow couldn't make out Gilda's features, there was also no mistaking that one person hanging around at the stern all huddled beneath a black cloak like a vampire hiding from the sun.

Rainbow could see a few of the other passengers giving her curious or suspicious looks; the thought of Gilda's mounting embarrassment was, admittedly, kind of amusing to her.

A smile played upon Lady Belladonna's face as she said, "I suppose you're right. If I was going to learn to sail a boat, a voyage across continents probably wouldn't be the best place to begin. But, thankfully, the Aqua Marina is making her voyage as scheduled. I suppose the captain and crew need to make a living, in spite of everything."

"Write to me when you get home," Blake urged. "Let me know you made it safely."

"I should write to you?" Lady Belladonna asked. "I feel like I should be the one asking you to do that."

"I will," Blake said. "But I'm not the one travelling home in a wooden boat across grimm … waters that aren't free of grimm. Of the two of us, I'm not the one whose journey worries me."

Lady Belladonna nodded. "Alright," she conceded. "I'll pen some lines. I'll see if I can persuade your father to do so as well."

Blake smiled. "I'd like that."

"And he'd like to hear from you as well, obviously."

"Yes, Mom, I will write," Blake insisted. "I promise."

Lady Belladonna nodded her head once again. She sighed. "This … this is the second time I've boarded a ship to Menagerie and left you behind, standing on the pier, waving me goodbye."

Blake looked away, blinking rapidly. Her hand twitched, and for a second, Rainbow thought that she might reach up to wipe some tears away, although she didn't in the end. "Yes, well … things will be different this time, Mom."

"I hope so," Lady Belladonna said softly, turning her attention to Rainbow Dash. "Promise me, Rainbow Dash; look me in the eye and promise me that you'll take better care of my little girl than Adam did."

"Mom," Blake began. "I don't need—"

Rainbow reached out and put one hand upon Blake's shoulder, around it, even as she kept her eyes fixed upon Lady Belladonna. "Where she goes, I go; if she fights, I fight; I promise, ma'am."

Lady Belladonna smiled and put her arms around Rainbow's shoulders, though she had to get up on tiptoes to do it.

"Thank you," she whispered into Rainbow's ear, "for everything."

She released Rainbow, stepping back from her and looking now to Sun. She looked him up and down, an approving look upon her face.

"A very handsome boy," she observed.

"Mooooom," Blake groaned as Sun's face lit up with a bit of a blush.

"Are you sure that you want to slum it down in the … slums of Mantle?" Lady Belladonna. "When you could be floating in the clouds with Blake? Don't tell me white isn't your colour."

Sun chuckled as he tugged at his vest with one hand. "I like to keep my feet on the ground, Mrs. B," he said. "And I'll be doing that for Blake as well as myself."

"Alright then," Lady Belladonna allowed. "But take care of yourself. Mantle can be a rough place, as I recall from my visits there. Watch your back, or find someone you can trust to watch it for you."

"Everyone for Menagerie get on board!" a voice cried out from the ship. "We're shipping off soon, last call for Menagerie!"

Lady Belladonna looked behind her; the stream of faunus boarding the ship was now a trickle of running figures racing to get on board.

"It seems that's me," she said. Nevertheless, she turned to Blake once more, taking her daughter by both hands and leaning forwards to plant a kiss upon each cheek. "Let's make sure it's not another five years before we see each other again."

"I'd like that," Blake said. "But I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to get away to—"

"Well, that would be lovely, but I might be coming to you, and sooner than you think," Lady Belladonna said. "I'll write to you with the details."

"You're coming to Atlas?" Blake asked. "When, why—?"

"I have to go," Lady Belladonna said. "But I love you. I've always loved you. I love you … to Menagerie and back." She hesitated, her whole body trembling, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

And then she turned away, running down the wooden pier alongside the other sprinting faunus, her arms held out at her sides, her skirt bouncing up and down at her legs as she ran away from Blake, away from all of them, towards the waiting ship.

"I love you too!" Blake yelled, taking a step forward. "I love you, Mom!"

Lady Belladonna turned back, and Rainbow thought that she saw a bright smile upon her face as she waved to Blake, before turning and resuming her run.

Lady Belladonna was the last aboard, racing up the boarding platform and onto the deck moments before the crew in their striped jerseys took it away.

There was a moment of pause and nothing happening while Lady Belladonna went to stand beside the cloaked and huddled Gilda at the stern.

Then, slowly at first, like a creature waking up after a long nap, the ship began to move. The water churned in its wake, frothing and bubbling, as the vessel moved off with all the gradual inevitability of an avalanche. The wooden vessel turned away, presenting its stern to them, where Lady Belladonna and Gilda stood, looking out, looking back, looking at Blake — and at Rainbow and Sun too — as the Aqua Marina carried them away.

Blake waved. She waved furiously with one hand; she waved as she ran down the pier, with Sun and Rainbow trailing in her wake, as she ran just as her mother had done down to the edge of the docks, waving frantically as though, in spite of everything, in spite of what Lady Belladonna had said, this might be their last meeting.

Rainbow waved too — she waved to Lady Belladonna, and she waved to Gilda — but she didn't wave as fiercely or as frantically as Blake.

"I love you!" Blake shouted, almost screeched, hurling the words across the lengthening expanse of water separating them from the departing ship.

The autumn skies were clear, and at this time of day, there was no fog to obstruct the view. Conditions were so clear that they could see the ship for a long while, and for a long while, they stood there, on the docks, watching the ship getting smaller and smaller and smaller.

Until, in the end, even on this clear day, they couldn't see it anymore.

Blake's arm fell down to her side.

"Goodbye," she whispered. "For the second time, goodbye." She looked at Sun, and then at Rainbow Dash. "The last time I saw her off on a ship like this, I called her a coward. Now, I … I wanted her to know how I really felt. The second time." She reached out, putting her arms around both Sun and Rainbow Dash, drawing them in closer to her, so that the three of them were touching, rubbing shoulders with one another.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go…"

"Home?" Rainbow suggested.

Blake laughed. "Not yet. Soon, but not yet. For now, let's just go back."

---

Weiss stood in front of the door to General Ironwood's office, her hands dropping to fuss with the hem of her skirt.

She wasn't sure why she had been summoned into General Ironwood's presence thus, and that in itself would be sufficient cause to be a little nervous. Perhaps he just wanted to see how she was — she wouldn't go so far as to accuse him of wanting to ingratiate himself with her, because he had had plenty of opportunities to do that before and had left it rather late — but Winter's tone when she had delivered the request had been … subdued, to say the least.

The fact that she hadn't been willing or able to tell Weiss why it was important for her to report to General Ironwood aboard his ship was something that, well, it gave Weiss more cause for concern.

Not worry, but concern to be sure.

The yeoman, who looked barely older than Weiss herself, touched her earpiece and nodded. "Yes, sir." She looked at Weiss with hazel eyes. "You can go through, Miss Schnee. The General will see you now."

"Thank you," Weiss said softly as she took the first step forward.

The door into General Ironwood's office slid open for her, revealing General Ironwood's office — a slightly smaller space than Weiss might have expected, but she supposed that aboard ship even more than on Atlas, space was at a premium even for flag officers.

Nevertheless, there was space enough for Winter to be there already, standing next to General Ironwood's desk with her hands clasped behind her back.

Her expression did not look promising. In fact, she looked downright miserable, and she wasn't looking straight at Weiss as she entered.

The door slid shut behind her. General Ironwood rose from behind his seat, putting one hand to his heart as he half-bowed to her at the waist.

"Miss Schnee," he said. "Thank you for coming."

Weiss curtsied. "General. Thank you for the invitation; it was rather surprising to receive it."

"Yes," General Ironwood murmured as he sat down again, resting both hands upon the metallic surface of his desk. "Do you have any word of Mister Sentry's condition?"

"He's still in the plant dust bath, General," Weiss said. "They're keeping him unconscious in there, for obvious reasons."

Plant dust had medicinal properties, for reasons that no one could adequately explain beyond a vague connection to the idea of herbs, but it was most efficacious when turned into a saline solution that could either be applied intravenously or, for particularly serious injuries, used to immerse wounded personnel. Flash was so immersed; the last time Weiss had seen him, he'd been floating in a glass jar filled with plant dust solution, with his eyes closed and an oxygen mask over his face connected to an air pipe. Neon Katt, Weiss' opponent in the quarter finals, had been similarly immersed, while Ciel Soleil kept watch over her.

Weiss had stayed there a while, but the sense of helplessness, of not being able to do anything for Flash, anything to assist him in any way, had driven her out of the room.

It had almost been a relief to receive General Ironwood's invitation; she could leave and not feel like such a coward.

"I see," General Ironwood said calmly. "Yes, for serious injuries, several days of immersion can be required, at least; they'll want to make sure that his wounds are completely healed before the process for getting him prosthetics can begin."

"You'll be taking Flash back to Atlas for that, I suppose," Weiss said. "I imagine, with the CCT down, it would be hard for Flash to get what he needs here in Vale."

Winter cleared her throat.

General Ironwood's hands clenched.

"Yes, Miss Schnee, Mister Sentry will be coming home to Atlas," General Ironwood said. "And I'm afraid he won't be alone. A fast frigate, the Hound, recently arrived from Atlas, despatched by the Council not long after the CCT went down. Its orders were to reconnoitre, determine the outcome of the battle and the fate of Vale, and to deliver certain messages in case the battle had not been lost and the fleet had not been destroyed. Amongst those messages is an instruction from the Council — to me — that I am to bring you home to Atlas along with the rest of my forces, the Atlas Academy students, and any other Atlas citizens who wish to take up the offer of Atlesian protection and assistance home."

"But I am mentioned explicitly?" Weiss asked.

"Yes, Miss Schnee."

"By name?"

"Yes," General Ironwood repeated. "Miss Schnee. The Council feels that it is undesirable for the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, and the most highly placed Atlesian in the Vytal Tournament, to remain in an unstable kingdom with communications between Vale and Atlas cut off."

"You mean my father feels that way," Weiss said.

"My orders come from the Council, Miss Schnee," General Ironwood said. "Not from your father."

"As if the Atlesian Council gives a—" Weiss cut off the curse, because there were standards to be maintained, after all. She wasn't going to stand in General Ironwood's office and start cussing like a Mantle miner in front of the commanding officer. She clasped her hands behind her back, mirroring Winter's posture but looking the problem straight in the face. "I doubt the Council would be so concerned if it weren't for my father, although I'm surprised that he still has so much influence."

"He's still a very wealthy man," General Ironwood said. "No matter what scandals may have hit his reputation, he still has many people who owe him favours or seek his support."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Weiss murmured as she clasped her hands more tightly behind her back.

Back to Atlas. Back to her Father, then.

She was almost surprised that he was bothering to send for her; surely, he had not been struck by a sudden outpouring of paternal affection. Perhaps he was afraid that leaving her in Vale would make him look bad.

More likely, he had seen the moment to achieve a longstanding desire of his.

Father had never wanted her to go to Beacon, after all; he had never wanted her to leave Atlas, leave home, leave his power. He had never wanted her to become a huntress.

He had been unable to prevent her departure, though he had tried. He had set a test for her, a test he had been sure she would not pass. She had passed it, with flying colours if she said so herself, and Father had kept his word with as much grace as he could muster.

He had used her need for his assistance earlier to wheedle her into returning home for the vacation. And now … now, in the midst of this great international crisis, he saw the opportunity to get what he wanted.

A flash of anger shot through Weiss that her father should think about such things at a time like this. With the world in chaos, with communications lost, with people dead and badly wounded, and this was what he chose to do?

Didn't he have enough to do worrying about how the company would cope with the loss of worldwide communications?

Probably, but a solution to such a problem was likely beyond him at present, whereas to whisper in the ear of the friends he still had on the Council and make General Ironwood his proxy in dragging his errant daughter home was the work of mere moments for him.

"I," Weiss began, "don't suppose there's any way that you could … say that I went missing in the battle or say that I slipped out of your grasp — a grasp that you did not try very hard to close around me—"

"Miss Schnee," General Ironwood said, not unkindly but not as sympathetically as Weiss might have liked. "I'm not in the habit of disobeying direct instructions."

"But you're on the Council!" Weiss cried. "Surely—"

"There was a quorum of four votes at the Council session, and the vote was unanimous." General Ironwood informed her. "Even if I and Councillor Cadenza both voted against this, it wouldn't change the Council's decision."

"But it's the wrong decision!" Weiss yelled. "Are you really going to abandon Vale when they're struggling to rebuild and just … just run away with your tail between your legs?!"

"Weiss!" Winter hissed. "That is uncalled for!"

"No, Schnee, it's a fair point," General Ironwood allowed. "Although with the losses the grimm sustained during the battle, I don't believe that they'll be in a position to threaten Vale again in the near future or even the medium term. Their power has been broken, as it was after Ozpin defeated the horde that swept out of Mountain Glenn a generation ago." He paused. "I'm sorry, Miss Schnee; it's out of my hands."

"You are quite mistaken, General; it is as in your hands as I am," Weiss whispered, because there were plain as day any number of things that General Ironwood could do to help her escape this fate. He could report her dead, he could report her missing, he could let her run away and flee to … to where?

Where would Weiss go, if not back to Atlas? To Beacon? Beacon was currently in shambles and in no condition to receive her, shelter her; she could not stay in a ruined, shuttered school whose date of reopening was uncertain and whose headmaster could not be replaced. Elsewhere in Vale, but where? She had no friends here save Cardin and Russel, and even if they were willing to hide her from her father, she would be treading heavily upon their friendship to ask it of them. Lieutenant Martinez … it was still touch and go, they said. She might live, or she might not, and even if she lived…

No, there would be no help there.

No help, no help and no choice. No choice but to return to Atlas, and her Father's house, and her Father's iron grasp.

She had no choice; she had no choice because there was nowhere to go and because General Ironwood would not disobey his orders for her sake. She would go home to Atlas, either in whatever small comfort could be provided or in the brig.

"This might be for the best, Miss Schnee," General Ironwood suggested. "Vale is in a state of confusion at the moment; there are reports that the First Councillor will resign — again — and it will take some time before Beacon is ready to reopen. In the meantime, you would be stranded in a foreign city, under unknown administration, with no access to Atlesian assistance. It would be an uncertain situation to leave you in."

"Thank you for your concern, General," Weiss sniffed, because the infuriating fact that he had a point didn't mean that she had to like or appreciate it.

Back to Atlas. Back to that house. Back to that cold house, that loveless house, that mausoleum of a residence. Back to her father and to the wreck of her mother.

Back to the last place she wanted to be.

Back to her cage.

It felt as though the cage door had already slammed shut on her. It had done so the moment she had stepped into General Ironwood's office.

"If … if I were to run—" she began.

"Where would you run to?" asked Winter, not unkindly.

"I don't know," Weiss admitted. "But if I did—"

"I would have to have people search for you and bring you in," General Ironwood answered, his tone softer than his words deserved. "I'm sorry, Miss Schnee, truly; I'm aware that this isn't what you wanted. But it is the will of Atlas, and as such, it is inescapable."

'The will of Atlas.' Even after all that has been revealed, my father is still so mighty that he may bend the will of Atlas to his own?

Of course he is. Scandal has not touched his wealth.

"The will of Atlas," Weiss murmured. "Is it the will of Atlas that I may not … would Atlas mind so much if I were to stay at Atlas Academy? You will need good men and women, after the losses of this battle."

"Father will not like it," Winter warned.

"I thought we spoke of Atlas' will," Weiss said, "not Father's."

"And when Father disowns you, as he did me, and bestows the promise of the Schnee inheritance on Whitley, what then?" Winter asked. "Consider that, before you put the General in a very difficult position."

Weiss had not considered that. She considered it now, and … it was all very well to declare that you would do without money when you had no experience in doing without money and all the doors that money opened. It would be all very well for her to declare that she could manage disownment without really thinking about what it would mean for her to be disowned.

And, perhaps more to the point, there was Blake, and Rainbow Dash too, but Blake especially. Weiss had promised her that she would do good, that she would change the SDC for the better, that they, together, would work to make Atlas an even better, a fairer and a juster place.

She would not be able to hold up her end of their compact if she descended at a step to the level of some Mantle indigent, a Happy Huntress but better dressed — for now.

No, she could not turn her back on her inheritance, not even for freedom. Whitley … she could not trust Whitley to do what must be done.

She would have to go home, and endure, in service to a greater cause, as many others had endured much worse in service to the causes they believed in.

Weiss closed her eyes and tried to find a silver lining to this particular cloud.

It was hard work.

At least … at least I'll be there for Flash when he wakes up.

"Thank you for telling me yourself, General," she murmured. "I appreciate it. I won't make this difficult for you in any way."

"I appreciate that, Miss Schnee," he replied. "I understand that this isn't what you would wish, but no one's freedom is without limit, and as a public figure… your freedom is more limited than some who are less in the public eye. You belong to Atlas as much as to yourself."

Weiss breathed in and out. "Is there anything else?"

"No, Miss Schnee," General Ironwood said. "That's all."

---

"I don't understand, Professor; why me?"

Professor Goodwitch looked down at her through her half-moon spectacles. Her expression was a study in neutrality, not stern but not at all sympathetic-seeming either. "Because Professor Ozpin was fond of you, though his reasons were known only to himself. I think this might please him." She paused. "It might even amuse him, when he learns of it."

As Sunset waited, she could only assume that Professor Goodwitch meant when Professor Ozpin learnt of it in the next life, having presumably been informed of it by some new arriving spirit — perhaps Sunset's own shade, if only she believed in such things.

Her words made little sense else.

For herself, even if she accepted Professor Goodwitch's premise, she was not so sure that Professor Ozpin's spirit would find this chuckle-worthy. Surely, the occasion would be too dour for him to find any amusement in it; rather, he would be plunged into renewed depression by the memory of his fall.

Certainly, I would rather have you alive than have this honour on my shoulders, Professor.

The day was a chilly one; Sunset's breath misted up before her face, and her hands were cold. She clenched and unclenched them, which did very little to add any warmth to her chilly fingers, but she could do little else. There was a certain decorum about the day that prevented her shoving her hands into her pockets or beneath her armpits.

Some things would never do at a funeral.

Sunset was dressed in a black tailcoat and skirt, with high black boots and a dark grey waistcoat on beneath the coat, covering most of her crisp white dress shirt from view. The outfit did not entirely fit her; it was tight around the chest and especially around her neck, where she wore a wide black tie beneath her collar. Her hands were concealed beneath a pair of white cotton gloves which were unfortunately too thin to provide any warmth. Her hair was tied back in a low bun at the nape of her neck, as tight as the volume of her mane could make it, even as her tail — in the one alteration there had been time to make to her outfit — descended out of the trousers to take its habitual place between her legs.

A top hat and a black cane sat on a low wall nearby, waiting for her.

As she waited for all other things to be in readiness.

Professor Ozpin's funeral was to be a grand affair: a procession through the streets of Vale and across the fields beyond, up the Beacon road to the cliffs looking out over the Emerald Forest where, upon the grounds of his school and gazing out upon the home of those monsters from which he had ever defended Vale, Professor Ozpin would be given to the flames.

Sunset would lead the way, and behind her would come the hearse, the limousines, and then behind the cars would march all the students from Beacon, from Atlas, perhaps even from Haven too, and the people of Vale would line the streets to pay their respects to the great hero of Vale who had fallen in Vale's greatest battle of the modern age.

That was the theory, anyway. It was to be a grand funeral, a funeral worthy of a hero and a great man, but Sunset felt that it was perhaps not the funeral that Professor Ozpin would have chosen. He had been a good man, one might say that he had been a great man, but Sunset would not call him a grand man, sitting up in his sparsely decorated office with only so much empty space for company, dressing like a fusty antiquarian; not grand, not grand at all.

Perhaps he would have preferred a private funeral, with his teachers and General Ironwood and a few chosen intimates in attendance, but…

But, being dead, the matter was out of his hands. Councillor Emerald — who remained First Councillor largely, as far as Sunset could tell, because Mister Aquas didn't want to take power and immediately as his first act have to hold a funeral; the start informs the race, as the Mistralians said — had decided upon — or at least had put into execution long laid plans that called for — this lavish funeral, with a procession through the streets and a public cremation on the grounds of Beacon and a parade of the students following on behind.

Only a few details had been left to Professor Goodwitch to determine, including the question of who would lead the procession.

It was a great honour, an honour that Professor Goodwitch had bestowed upon Sunset's shoulders, although as she looked around, Sunset wondered if it was meant as honour or — as Professor Goodwitch had said — as a sign of Professor Ozpin's favour, or whether it was simply that Professor Goodwitch wanted Sunset to walk on her own down the streets with everybody staring at her.

A crowd had gathered. This display was supposed to, in some fashion, reassure the people of Vale, restore their confidence, revive their spirit. Everyone knew that the Atlesians would be leaving soon; their Council had called them home, and only the propriety of remaining for Professor Ozpin's funeral had kept General Ironwood around. Soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow, the northern ships and northern soldiers would be gone, and Vale would be forced to look to its own defences.

Considering that when Vale had faced the great crisis, the response of its own defenders had been — as far as the public knew — to run manic, shoot at the Atlesians, then run away from the grimm, Sunset could understand why people might not find that very reassuring. There had been talk of Valish trying to buy their way aboard the Atlesian ships — and Sunset knew that that was no wild rumour because Leaf's mother had come to her asking if she could introduce her to Blake and Rainbow Dash so that they could get her family spots onboard; Sunset had facilitated the introduction and saddled them with the job of explaining to Leaf's mother that there were no berths available for civilians; why should she take the blame for Atlesian policy? — or else of overstuffed skyliners filled with panicked people who meant to follow the fleet northwards to some sense of security. Other ships were preparing to fly east, and they weren't just carrying Haven students or Mistralian tourists home.

The people of Vale lacked confidence, and it wasn't hard to understand why. What was perhaps harder to understand was the idea that a funeral of all things was just what was needed to revitalise the flagging morale of the city. A reminder that Vale had lost its hero, and many others besides, was as likely to make people think that Valish greatness was gone beyond recall as it was to convince them that the city was safe and sound and there was nothing to fear.

That was Sunset's thought, in any case. She could be wrong. Certainly, the funeral had gotten people out of their houses, if nothing else; crowds were lining the streets on either side of the road, waiting. They were not dressed for a funeral, for the most part, but they were here, standing on the roadside, bodies pressed up against the metal barriers that lined the road, eyes turned towards the stationary procession.

Eyes on Sunset.

Sunset shivered, and not just from the cold; of all the reasons for her to be the centre of attention, this was not one that she would ever have relished. Certainly, she did not relish it now.

The crowd looked at her, and Sunset looked back at them; they were, for the most part, too far off for Sunset to make out much, but she thought for a moment that she caught a glimpse of Professor Ozpin himself standing in the crowd of his own funeral, holding a cup of hot chocolate in his hand, a genial smile upon his face as he watched her.

Her imagination playing tricks.

Sunset looked back, to where the hearse was, to where the limousines waited behind, to where a long column of students waited to march.

It hadn't been so long ago that they had marched by teams to commence the Vytal Tournament; not so long, and yet, it felt like an eternity ago.

Councillor Emerald was speaking to the driver of the hearse; the First Councillor — for now, if not for much longer — wore a black suit, with a green velvet tie as a concession to colour. He glanced at Sunset, and Sunset almost thought that she saw an encouraging smile upon his face, before he turned away and opened one of the doors to the leading limousine.

The first car would carry the Valish Council; the second car would carry Professor Goodwitch, Professor Port, Doctor Oobleck, and General Ironwood; and after that would come the students.

There was no car for any friends or family of the headmaster, nor were any such in attendance. In the light of his funeral, the Professor's life seemed restricted to his work, no circle beyond his colleagues, no family.

He had a family. One fair daughter and no more, who betrayed him to his death.

Put like that, it was almost enough to make it seem as though he would have done better to have stuck with his colleagues, though Sunset knew that neither Princess Celestia nor Princess Twilight would see it in that way. Nor, for that matter, did Sunset herself, who could not help but wonder — though it was really far too late to wonder — if Professor Ozpin had been happy in his life.

Fighting Salem, leading a war from the shadows, selecting unwitting young women to take on the burden of immense magical power at the cost of being hunted all their lives, who wouldn't want a life like that?

Put like that, it will be a minor miracle if they can find anyone willing to take his place.

Sunset had not heard any word on that; as far as she knew, nobody had ascended to Professor Ozpin's position of leadership — nor, for that matter, had Pyrrha, for all that she seemed to have ascended in more ways than one, raised to a higher position in Professor Goodwitch's confidence than Sunset occupied. No doubt, that was something that Professor Goodwitch and General Ironwood felt they could not decide on their own, without other members of the inner circle present.

Sunset felt that if the selection were to fall upon Professor Goodwitch, then her own services would not be in great demand. She would be entirely at the disposal of Councillor Emerald — or Mister Emerald, as he would be soon enough.

But that lay in the future. For now, she had a procession to lead.

She turned away and heard the engine of the hearse behind her begin to rumble softly as she picked her top hat off the low wall and placed it on top of her head. She picked up the black cane, weighing it in her right hand. It felt sturdy, solid, substantial, but not quite heavy. Certainly, it didn't feel as heavy as her responsibility today.

Sunset stepped into the middle of the road. Everything felt so quiet. The only noise was the hum of the engine of the hearse as it waited, and even that was a soft thing, a quiet thing.

Sunset glanced back, to make sure that it was ready. Inside the hearse lay Professor Ozpin, lying in state, visible through the glass to anyone watching from the sidelines but invisible to her.

Sunset was glad of that; she didn't want to see him again, not like that.

Sunset looked away, focussing her attention forwards, down the road.

She knew the way. She had studied it obsessively.

She just hoped her feet would not betray her before she reached Beacon.

Okay, Professor. Here we go.

Sunset raised the cane above her head and took the first step forward.

Sunset walked forward at a measured pace, not striding so fast that she would exhaust herself too soon, not shuffling along; her boots tapped lightly on the tarmac of the road as she walked forward, setting the pace for the rest of the grand funeral procession behind.

Setting the pace for Professor Ozpin's final journey.

She kept her back straight, her head up, and she did not look back; she would not, not now. She might glance upwards at the drones that hovered overhead, recording the procession — recording it for who, with the CCT down? Perhaps for the hope that the network would be restored and everyone would want to see what they'd been missing — but she would not look back, not now that the procession had begun.

If she looked back now, if she stopped or stumbled, she would embarrass Professor Ozpin, and she would not do that.

She had been an imperfect servant to him in life, but in death — in his death — she would be the best servant he could ask for.

However little that really helped him.

The hearse followed on behind her, the soft growling of its engine a baritone counterweight to the tenor of her thoughts.

Vale was a big city, as the late Dove had discovered when he had tried to walk across it. Professor Ozpin's final voyage was not carrying him so far as the entire length of Vale, only a part of it, but it was a substantial part regardless, and the sun rose up into the sky higher and higher as Sunset led the way through streets lined with metal barriers to hold the crowds at bay. The morning that had been so chilly in the autumnal crispness became almost warm — or perhaps Sunset had merely warmed herself up with all this walking.

Sunset led the procession beneath tall skyscrapers of glass and steel, and between rows of brick terraces, the houses squashed together with no room between them. She led Professor Ozpin through suburban-style districts of detached dwellings and past large and looming warehouses close to the wall.

Sunset walked through the streets of Vale, hoping that the touch of sweat she could feel upon her arms would progress no further, and as she walked, as she led the way between the crowds that stood upon the sides of the road, she thought more than once that she could see Professor Ozpin there.

And not Professor Ozpin only; sometimes, Sunset's mind swore blind to her that it had caught a glimpse of Amber, or of Dove, the ghosts standing in the crowd and watching her.

But ghosts supplied by her own mind only, not real, lacking in substance.

Just her imagination, or her desire that it should be so, that they should be happy and whole and all well.

But they were not. Some might be happy, but Sunset felt little of merriment within herself, and they were certainly not all well. Professor Ozpin, Amber, Dove, all gone. And others too: Yang especially amongst them. Yang dead. Yang, Dove, Amber, and Professor Ozpin.

Professor Ozpin most of all.

They watched her as she walked between the towers and the houses, down the roads. Some of the roads down which she led the way were littered with abandoned Valish military equipment: an armoured car here, a cumbersome tank there; they had been abandoned, either because they had broken down like that one tank outside the military headquarters or because, freed from Sonata's influence, the crew had no longer wanted anything to do with the vehicles, Sunset couldn't say. All she knew was that the vehicles had been left there, not recovered, simply pushed to the sides of the road to clear the way for the hearse.

It was … Sunset felt as though it ought to mean something, the remnants of Vale's failed military watching the funeral of a Valish hero, but in her head, she couldn't quite decide what it added up to: the futility of military power and the primacy of Professor Ozpin's huntsmen; a more general Valish malaise, dead vehicles watching a dead man as Valish pretension to greatness crumbled; a reminder that Professor Ozpin had not been the only casualty of the night?

Sunset couldn't decide. Perhaps it meant all those things or nothing at all; most likely, the scholars of some future would pick and choose their preferred explanation to fit their thesis.

But the presence of the abandoned vehicles — couldn't they have found someone to drive them away? — wasn't helping to create an atmosphere of Valish resilience; rather, it was reminding everyone of all the things this grand funeral was supposed to be driving off.

Certainly, from what Sunset could tell, nobody watching from the sides of the street seemed particularly enthused by all of this. Their expressions were grim, hard-edged, wary; there was an atmosphere in the air like a herd of animals that might panic and run at the first sign of a predator.

Yet there was respect too; out of the corners of her eye, Sunset could see the crowd bowing their heads as the hearse drew near, and here and there, she saw flowers thrown out beyond the metal barriers. They did not fall beneath her feet or under the wheels of the hearse, but lay on the road, undisturbed in the afternoon sunshine: asphodel, rosemary for remembrance, white lilies and camelias.

Eventually, as the sun passed its zenith up above, Sunset reached the ruin of the Freedom Gate. The bodies, the most evidence of the ruin wrought by the dragon, had been cleared away, and a way had been opened up in the makeshift, hastily erected barricade for the procession to move through.

A group of labouring men and women, their fluorescent jackets and bright yellow hard hats looking incongruous to the muted colours of the day, stood beside the roadside, perhaps ready to re-erect the barricade again as swiftly as possible. As the hearse approached, they took off their hats, and Sunset saw one of them make a sort of religious symbol, his fingers tracing a pattern through the air.

It was not long after that Sunset was moving through the suburbs and beyond, goats scattering out of her way — thank Celestia, Sunset couldn't imagine preserving the dignity of the funeral whilst a goat was trying to nibble on her tailcoat — as the crowds fell away, and the road belonged to the procession alone.

Sunset was leading the way across open country now, across the ground that the Atlesians had fought over in the battle, and while much of their equipment had been recovered, they had left the most irreparably damaged of it lying here, the crumpled and crushed remains of shredded Paladins and ripped apart airships littering the grass fields on either side of the road as Professor Ozpin's funeral wound towards Beacon.

Sunset was wondering if that, like the abandoned Valish military gear within the city, might mean something, when she realised that the soft hum of the hearse's engine behind her had stopped.

Sunset slowed her pace somewhat and debated whether she could risk turning around.

The crowds had gone, and besides, the indignity of having to stop would be much less than the humiliation of walking up to Beacon and leaving Professor Ozpin behind, so she stopped.

She stopped and turned around and saw that the hearse had stopped. As Sunset watched, she saw the driver get out and pop the hood.

The smoke that emerged did not look promising.

Sunset boggled. It had broken down. The hearse had broken down? Well, if that didn't just sum this kingdom right up! For a moment, Sunset almost forgot the solemnity of the occasion to yell at the fact, and at the indignity done to Professor Ozpin by this incompetence … then she wondered if Professor Ozpin would care, and she was filled with a sadness for Councillor Emerald, whose desire to bring Vale together had turned into an exhibition of how broken this unhappy kingdom was.

Sunset would have taken more grim satisfaction from the fact that this would all be Mister Aquas' problem soon if she hadn't also promised Councillor Emerald that it would be her problem.

Also her problem was the question of just what now? The whole procession had come to a halt. The limousines had stopped behind the hearse, and behind them, Sunset could see the students stretching backwards into the suburbs.

Could she use her telekinesis to lift up the hearse? Perhaps, but Sunset wasn't altogether certain it would be appropriate.

She saw Pyrrha approaching, dressed in her school uniform, but with a black armband on her left arm, where she would have worn her gold honour band normally.

Pyrrha glanced at Sunset but approached the driver of the hearse, murmuring something to him which, after a moment, persuaded him to shut the hood of the vehicle and return to the driver's seat. He shut the door behind him.

For a moment, Sunset wondered if Pyrrha was going to use her semblance to move the vehicle, but instead, she retreated to the rear of the hearse, bent her back, laid her hands upon the black-painted metal, and began to push.

The hearse rolled silently forward, the open road and presently flat terrain offering little resistance. The hearse rolled forward, but nevertheless, Sunset could see others coming up from the procession to lend their strength to Pyrrha's own: Jaune, Penny, Ren and Nora too, and Weiss Schnee, all of them laying hands upon the hearse however they could, pushing it from the back or the sides, moving the hearse and its silent, ever-slumbering passenger along.

Sunset could not help but think that Professor Ozpin would appreciate this more than any other aspect of this entire funeral, and the thought set a smile playing across her face as she turned around and resumed her walk down the road.

She could hear the others behind grunting a little more with the effort as they pushed the hearse up the Beacon road on the last leg towards the school — the crashed Skyray that had been here before was gone, either salvaged or just moved aside for decorum's sake — but they did it, and the procession made its way up to Beacon and the cliffs overlooking the Emerald Forest where once, long ago, a seemingly impossibly long time ago and yet at the same time just one year ago, they had gathered to be hurled into the forest to be initiated and sorted into their teams.

A lot had happened since then, and now a pyre stood upon the clifftop, stout wooden poles piled in a rectangle rising upwards taller than Pyrrha.

It was garlanded atop with flowers, like the flowers that had been thrown atop the roadside. Sunset stopped and stared for a moment at the empty pyre, before she took a step back and melted into the ranks of the Beacon students as the rest of the funeral procession arrived.

As she did so, Sunset looked around; she could see Pyrrha, Jaune, and Penny with the hearse, she could see Weiss, she could see Cardin and Russel, but where was Ruby? Sunset looked around, finally turning her neck freely after keeping it straight for so long, trying to determine where Ruby was, if she was here at all.

Sunset wondered if she might have not come, having already set out to serve the mistress of Starhead, too disgusted with Professor Ozpin to bid him farewell.

But no, there she was; Sunset caught sight of her standing off, distant from the other students. Unlike them, she wasn't wearing her school uniform, but rather, her huntress outfit, which was certainly black enough for the occasion. She stood to the rear and to one side, in a position where she could see without anyone's head or height getting in the way.

Her attention was fixed upon the funeral itself, to which Sunset returned her own attention, as Pyrrha and the others stopped the hearse a safe and respectful distance from the pyre.

As the Valish councillors emerged from their limousine — Councillor Emerald had a touch of red about his face, and Sunset guessed he was less appreciative of the students having to push the hearse than Sunset had been — General Ironwood and Professor Goodwitch and the other teachers climbed out of theirs. It was General Ironwood who, with a great tenderness, opened up the back of the hearse and bore Professor Ozpin out, gently, reverently carrying him to the pyre, climbing the steps and placing him on top of the flower-strewn pile of wood.

Pyrrha, Jaune, Penny, Nora, Ren, and Weiss melted into the crowd of gathered students, even as Sunset had.

Professor Goodwitch approached the pyre, a red fire dust crystal clutched in one hand.

She turned to face the crowd, the students gathered by their school with their black armbands on. She swept her bespectacled gaze across them, and her voice rang out across the cliffs.

"Professor Ozpin would not have wanted a long eulogy, so I will be brief," she said. "There is much that I could say about him: a mentor and a friend to his colleagues, a wise, compassionate voice to his students, a hero and a champion to Vale. Professor Ozpin lived long and did much deserving of remembrance, but I will not dwell on it, because he would not wish it so. Because he would wish me to be brief, I…" She faltered, and a sound like a sob escaped her. "Forgive me, my heart is on the pyre." She drew a breath. "Professor Ozpin's body is no more, but though we commit that body to the flames, be in no doubt that his spirit will endure, immortal … in the hearts of all of you, his students. I don't pretend to know what the future holds, but as you go forwards, if you carry with you the values that Professor Ozpin prized, the values of courage, comradeship, compassion, then I have no doubt that you will make him proud. As an Atlesian poet once wrote:

"This is the word that year on year,

While in its place the school is set,

Every one of her children hear,

And none that hears it dare forget,

This they all with a joyful mind,

Bear through life like a torch in flame,

And falling … and falling fling to the host behind,

Play up! Play up! And play the game."

Professor Goodwitch turned away, and the fire dust crystal began to spark in her hand as she flung it onto the pyre.

The flames from the burning crystal caught the wood, climbing up the stacked sticks, filling the air with smoke that smelled sweetly from the burning flowers.

The flames rose all around Professor Ozpin, consuming his body from view as they devoured it.

Sunset did not look away; she forced herself to look into the flames, to look past the flames as those same flames fed fay upon Professor Ozpin and turned him all to ashes.

Only when it was done, and ashes were all that remained, did Sunset avert her blinking, smoke stained eyes.

"Goodbye, Professor."