Book II: The King's Dilemma
Chapter 46
When Percy opened his eyes, he did not recognize where he stood. It was a room, but the single yellow light was above his head, not attached to anything—it was floating.
He turned around, noting that the lamp illuminated the area of a small garden. Finally, he became cognizant of the situation. This was not Remanant—no, this was a plane wholly separate and distinct from Remnant.
His sharp nose marked the air. This power… it was scented with something truly ancient. Something fundamental;c that existed before the creation of the heavens and Earth. Percy had been summoned last time by the Brother Gods, but it was different this time. He could feel that he was physically summoned, instead of mentally. The overbearing presence solidified that theory.
Then, he saw him. He appeared without any warning; he couldn't sense him beforehand. But he did now. The Protogenos of Darkness. A primordial god.
Erebus.
He was dark, without the existence of the Protogenos of Light. Percy couldn't see his face; he was vaguely man-shaped, but in no way human. He was at least three meters tall; almost ten feet. It was as if he was always walking in a shadow. Every step that he took toward the lights, just when it seemed that his face was about to be revealed—it wasn't. All the lights seemed to dim. Just for him.
And for the first time since coming to this new world of Remnant, Percy felt uneasy; nervous, even. Confronted with this new, primeval presence, his heartbeat must have sped up to twice its normal rate; goosebumps formed all around his body, the hair on the nape of his neck standing up; his stomach felt like an empty pit, like Tartarus itself. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to bend forth and kneel.
This was the true presence of a protogenos in their dominion. Gaea had never awakened fully in her domain like Erebus had. Though he must have been weakened due to the fall of the Greek Pantheon, the mere act of his attendance, his being, was enough to invoke a primal dread in any who bore witness to the bare flesh of the Protogenos of Darkness. For there was no emotion more fundamental than fear.
He had to calm down. He swallowed, inhaling for three heartbeats, and exhaling for six. Lifting his head, he raised to meet the Primordial's gaze—or where he thought his gaze was, anyway. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the only sounds in the room being Percy's own breath and heartbeat, for part of him was somewhat mortal. Erebus did not speak, or move; the silence was deafening. Afterward, the protogenos formed a mouth, black mist drifting together to mimic the shape of lips. The same happened within his throat, the black mist rippling like flesh. Then, he spoke.
"I know the look of a conflicted man. I must warn you. If you take this path, they will despise you."
They both understood that which Erebus was referring to: his personality as Apollyon, and his ascension to godhood.
"Then, what should I do?" he sought advice from the ancient being. The protogenos did not reply immediately, content to allow his question to hang in the silence for a brief moment. Then, he answered.
"Seek solace within yourself. Only you know the answer. Of those who have ascended, each of them walked a different path. You must find yours."
The former demigod stood still, absorbing the words for a moment. Then, the protogenos spoke again.
"However, we have more important matters to ascertain. New threats are coming to Remnant. You can't protect everyone, as strong you are," Erebus lowered his tone, almost a whisper.
"And that won't change, no matter how strong you become."
The words he uttered lit a sense of urgency in him, an involuntary shiver traveling down his spine. "What does that mean?"
"The Protogenoi are beginning to awaken. And when they do, they will move on Remnant."
No, no, no. Protogenos? Again? No, this time was different—it was a distinct level. It wasn't a protogenos, but protogenoi. Plural.
"Which ones?" Percy whispered, his low voice shaking; dread pooled low in his stomach, accumulating until it filled up the sides. Something crawled down his spine—the sensation of prickling needles. The protogenos did not blink at his reaction. In fact, there was nothing there at all in his expression.
"Pontus of the Sea. Nyx of the Night. Hemera of the Day. Tartarus of the Pit. Each of them race to colonize Remnant for themselves to raise cults of worship," each word he spoke was accentuated with force, "Gaea of the Earth and Ouranos of the Sky remain dormant, and Chronos of Time, and Ananke of Fate have no interest in these matters. Khaos is her own matter."
"And what of you and Aether?"
"We created this world as an experiment," the protogenos inclined his head slightly, "We believe it should continue without the divine interference of Primordial gods and goddesses."
At least that was refreshing. He didn't need to deal with more Protogenoi.
Still, that was four protogenoi across all of Remnant. Even if their power was diminished, it would spell disaster for nearly everyone. Faunus and humans—every living thing on the planet. He had to stop them. By any means possible.
"That means you won't lend a hand, right?"
"Naturally. Aether and I won't be stepping foot on Remnant; however, we may assist you from time to time. Such as right now. Now is the time for you to ask questions. Ask, and I shall respond."
He bit his lip, drawing blood. Expecting them to help was too optimistic. But, what should he do?
"Can they be defeated with mortal metal? Metal found here on Remnant?"
"Yes. The primary place of worship has changed, so you will find that numerous aspects of the Pantheon have changed as well," the protogenos said. "For example, the nectar and ambrosia of the gods no longer exist. Mortal metal can harm them; however, the special metal named tharium and celestial bronze remain more effective."
"Good to know." He would have to procure as much tharium from Atlas as possible, maybe by striking some kind of a deal with Ironwood. "How long do I have?"
"Two years—no, perhaps it's less. They will manifest their presence here on Remnant, and when they do, you need to snuff them out."
"That's nearly impossible," Percy found himself saying, "I don't have reach that extends across all of Remnant. No one does."
"You'll have to consolidate that power. Collect the Relics. You can summon them by murmuring the spirits' names. Jinn for the Relic of Knowledge, Ambrosius for the Relic of Creation, Perseus for the Relic of Destruction, and Janus for the Relic of Choice."
Percy stored the names in his mind. He needed to collect the Relics.
"God-kings must rule with an iron fist and a velvet glove."
"I… there's no need to do that." He didn't need to do that, he could do just fine the way that he was. He would just take it one step at a time, steady and slow. He didn't have to be a fast-acting tyrant in order to make sure that they would win—
"Hope clouds observation." The rumbling voice of Erebus sent a shuddering tremor through him,
Had Erebus seen through him? The manner in which the protogenos casually addressed what he was thinking… an involuntary shiver passed through him.
"Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze long into the abyss… the abyss gazes also into you."
He woke at the crack of dawn.
-o-o-o-
Today was the first day of classes at Haven Academy for the newly designated Team WRBY and Team JNPR, with the exception of Lie Ren, who was still recovering. As the person who had guided them around yesterday, Kalman had to do it again today. Not that he minded too much. But it was something that took up his time that he could have spent training. Getting stronger and faster. The rowdy bunch behind him certainly didn't help change his opinion. Rose and Schnee were chatting away about something, and Belladonna and Pyrrha, too. Speaking of which, he had yet to talk with her and catch up on things.
"Hmm, I think our first class is Dust Studies… Kalman, do you know where that is?" Xiao-Long asked, sidling up to him.
"It's on the second floor, in the laboratory. By the way, don't call me Kalman."
"Why?" Xiao-Long hummed heartily as if it didn't matter to her. She appeared above such formalities.
"It's Mistralian tradition to call each other by your family name unless you're friends or closer than acquaintances." He was sure that Pyrrha had explained that to her before today. She wouldn't forget something important like that unless her time in Vale had absolved her of those notions.
"Huh? Then can't we be friends, Kalman?" she glanced up at him inquisitively, as she skipped along on the stone floor.
"No. I don't like you."
"So that's a no… for now." She pouted jokingly as if she hadn't taken the rejection to heart.
"Hm, do we have the same schedules?" Before he could respond that they did because he had seen Team WRBY's schedule already, the blonde-haired girl shoved her schedule into his hands. She drew close, comparing their schedules. Her hair brushed over his shoulder as she did so, and she reminded him faintly of mimosa flowers.
"Ahh, we do," she nodded. "So you can lead us to every class then."
"That's what I've been doing. Now if you'll excuse me."
Instead of being embarrassed at his dry remark, Xiao-Long only grinned at him enthusiastically. What was with this girl?
No, it didn't matter. He could just lead these two teams to their classes for today, and be done with it. It was by far one of the easiest tasks he had been given, and he would complete it without any issues.
-o-o-o-
After Dust Studies was finished, they had Combat Training. Weiss had done really well in Dust Studies; she was the Schnee Heiress, after all—no, it wasn't that, it was that she was Weiss-cream. In other news, Ruby and Jaune partnered together and almost blew up the classroom. Correction, they did blow up the classroom, but the professor managed to stop it. Honestly, if Jaune wasn't there, Ruby might have actually blown up all of the second-floor laboratories and the observatories in Haven Academy. That would have been a disaster so bad they would have to ask Percy to pull some strings with Lionheart.
Kalman led them to the arena, which was not unlike what they had at Beacon. Strangely, he seemed to settle himself in the back corner, the furthest row from the professor. Teams WRBY and JNPR followed, sitting down on the armchairs in the back row as well. It was surprisingly comfortable with soft cushions. Then, something struck Yang: why was Kalman leading them around, and where was his team? They should have been socializing together, their three teams. But even as she glanced around, she couldn't find anyone moving toward them or looking like they were his team. Everyone was in groups of four. Finally accepting that she couldn't find out the answer herself, she decided to ask him.
"Wait, Kalman—I mean Liu, where's your team?" At that question, he turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze briefly. There was a hint of emotion that shone in his eyes before it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He looked away.
"They died in the field a few months ago."
His blunt response caused her to hastily avert her eyes. "…Oh, uh, I'm sorry for your loss. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."
And just like that, the conversation ended. Fuck, she had messed it up and accidentally dug up buried memories. Why was she so awkward? Now they had to spend the rest of the day not talking.
"In Mistral, we don't say that."
Yang gave a start when he spoke; she turned to him. "Say… what?"
"We don't say 'sorry' for things we aren't responsible for. Some people might take it the wrong way."
"Oh, okay. Thanks for telling me."
A woman stood in front of the audience. She was dignified, and yet… emanated a sense of danger. Her gradient eyes were crimson, like blood. Her blonde hair was a different shade from Yang's own; it seemed to shine like the sun, flowing perfectly onto her back. Several red tattoos were along her neck, back, and arms, as she wore a flowing, form-fitting top that left the shoulders and back bare; a dark red skirt accentuated her hips. Curled around her neck was a red-eyed, white snake, which took to her like a second skin.
"Good morning, students. As you all should be aware, I am Professor Akira Lai."
No one was talking. Out of some respect for the professor or Mistralian-esque focus of not making a fuss, no one spoke up. Not even Sun Wukong, who always seemed like a rowdy kid. He sat next to Blake, paying attention quietly.
"Today's lecture will cover the intricacies of one-on-one combat," Professor Akira said. "First, the most important lesson is to keep a cool head. If there's one thing I want you all to take away from this class, it's that becoming angry during a fight or battle will cause you to lose your sense of rationality and logic." As she strode along the arena, her heels clacked on the concrete ground, creating a unique sound that reverberated throughout the vicinity. "If you are able to maintain your logic, you will find dismantling your opponent much easier. Your fighting style isn't nearly as important as your mindset."
She kept on lecturing, but it wasn't anything tangible like fighting. Instead, she went on and on about the philosophy of fighting. Honestly, for two teams who had just been fighting against Salem's Apostles (at least that was what Qrow told them, and Pyrrha had agreed), the philosophy of fighting was pretty useless in a life-or-death situation.
"Miss Xiao-Long." At the sound of her name, she snapped her head back toward the instructor. "Yes?"
"Please come to the arena. We will be holding spars for the rest of class today, and you're the first lucky participant."
Of course, the snake woman had seen her, because why not?
"Should've paid more attention," Ruby cackled quietly, and Yang rolled her eyes. There had been nothing to pay attention to.
"Her semblance is Constrictor."
She turned to the golden-eyed boy, who had inexplicably tipped her. "Thanks." Despite how she didn't know what that was, it was still useful. Constrictor, like a snake. Constrictor… But there wasn't any time to ask questions, so she stepped out of the row she was in.
Descending the stairs, Yang approached her new professor. Her eyes were bloodred, but there was no anger or violence, rather like the gaze of a coiled serpent, cool, collected, and ready to strike at a moment's notice. Now that Yang was closer, she could feel her aura—it was strong.
"You may be a Valean. However, we will have you pay the proper respect to our Mistralian tradition. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good. I assume you have your weapons on you."
"I do."
"We will be holding spars today. You're the first lucky participant. You will be fighting me. Prepare yourself."
Was she trying to humiliate her in front of the class? Yang wasn't going to let that happen.
Rolling up the sleeves of her blazer uniform, she transformed her bracelets into gauntlets and made sure that Ember Celica was loaded. Akira produced a whip-like weapon, a white whip-sword, with a bloodred edge. It looked like it was made for carving and severing.
"Begin."
Yang burst toward her new professor, who turned her gaze on the blonde-haired girl. Her opponent seemed surprised at her speed. Yang went for the chin, reaching forward with her right hand. She would end this in a second.
A sharp pain rang out from her fist—Akira had blocked her strike with the flat of her blade. It was unscratched.
Yang proceeded to swing with her left for the same target—the chin. But…
A cold feeling on her neck—she doubled backward, allowing the whip-sword to pass overhead, but the weapon curved, the edge heading for the other side of her neck. She rolled away, forcing her aura to take the brunt of the damage.
She felt a cold sweat break out. Her palms were clammy.
When she got up, the whip-sword came for her neck again, and she blocked with Ember Celica. It wrapped around her forearms like some sentient entity. Then, it started squeezing, applying pressure. Panicked, she fired away, but it didn't matter—it was reinforced with aura.
The whip-sword's vice-like grip was so strong that it dragged her forward off her feet, and the air rushed by her. Trapped, constricted but wanting to escape, she wanted to move, she had to move, but there was no time, then something hit her in the head.
-o-o-o-
In total, the fight lasted less than twenty seconds. It could have been called a clinical performance. Professor Akira was always like that—surgical and analytic. Although of Mistralian descent, she grew up in the dunes of Vacuo, so it was commendable that she did not become a bandit. Her urumi, that whip-like sword, originated from Vacuo as well and was a unique weapon that most did not understand how to counteract.
That was why Xiao-Long had lost. Although Akira's Constrictor wrapped around her and dealt the finishing blow that reaped her conscience, Xiao-Long had already lost when Akira's expert use of the urumi countered her every attack. Perhaps he should have warned her about that, instead. But there was no point in reminiscing the past. Even if he had warned her, Akira was a superior combatant to Xiao-Long. That was a fact.
Team WRBY ran down to the arena to check if Yang was okay, but Kalman remained glued to his seat. Her aura meter was depleted entirely; Akira must have struck through all of it. Even now, Yang did not get up. Was it a concussion? No, it couldn't be… right?
"Kal, are you okay?" At Pyrrha's voice, he released his fingers from the armchair. "I'm fine, Pyrrha." Her emerald-green eyes searched his, scanning for something. Maybe she could tell that he was torn between whether he should go help her or stay.
"We haven't had a chance to talk. How are you doing? My sincere condolences about your team, by the way. I heard about their passing just recently. I'm sure they were amazing people."
"Thank you."
He saw Belladonna and Schnee struggling to carry Xiao-Long's unconscious body out of the arena, as they ascended the steps, presumably toward the infirmary. Getting out of his seat, he moved toward them.
"I'll take her to the infirmary for you. You can come with me."
"Oh, Liu, thanks a lot." Delicately, they transferred her body into his arms and began to accompany him to the infirmary.
"Mister Liu!"
"Get someone else to fight." He spoke over his shoulder as they left the classroom and entered the corridor. That Akira, clinical as she was, was always searching for a battle, a fight. She was bloodthirsty. Nearly every time he was in this class, she called on him, and they sparred. She wanted to be a Sword immensely. But she wasn't qualified for it. She wasn't someone that he would accept, even if she beat Nao or Sage. Nevertheless, it was never going to occur—that she would be a Sword.
Because Akira Lai had never won against him, not even once.
This year, she would once again lose against whoever she decided to challenge at the annual winter solstice summit.
Kalman was drawn out of his thoughts when he took the last right to the infirmary. The door rang slightly when they pushed the door open, prompting the nurse to come over. As always, it was perfectly pristine and white. He could see Lie Ren, the absent member of Team JNPR, lying on a bed, recovering from his previous injury. There were medical devices here and there, but in general, Chu, the resident doctor, kept the place clean and neat.
Once the nurse came over, she took one look at them and sighed. "Miss Chu is going to be frustrated with your teams very, very soon, Team WRBY and JNPR."
"Not like we can help it," Belladonna said. The nurse put her hands up in surrender as she pointed to a bed for Kalman to lay Xiao-Long in. "I'm only joking, Miss Belladonna."
Before long, they finished their business at the infirmary. The nurse had determined, thankfully, that it wasn't a concussion.
"You know, there's still an hour or so until the end of class," Rose remarked. "Anyone wanna explore?"
Kalman seldom skipped classes, and on the occasions that he did, it was only for missions. He was generally positioned as the keeper of Mistral while he was in Haven Academy. Mistral was the densest and largest city in the Kingdom, so it was crucial to always station a Sword there. Nao and Sage were the ones who ventured outside the capital, from other major cities to small towns on the outskirts of the Kingdom. "You want to skip class under the pretense that we're in the infirmary?"
"Exactly," all three of them nodded like it wasn't a big deal. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. These Valeans… It looked like he couldn't stop them, so he gave in. Kalman didn't want to admit it, but he didn't particularly want to go back to class, either. Akira would just challenge him to a spar again.
"Okay, fine. You can go. I'll stay and cover for you all in the infirmary." He didn't know why he offered to do so, but he thought that staying in the infirmary until Xiao-Long woke up might be for the best.
"Thanks, Mister Liu!" Turning on her heel, Rose left with the others. Lively as she was, at least she had manners.
He turned back to Xiao-Long, who was currently sleeping soundly. She looked strangely peaceful, her chest rising and falling slightly, her hair splayed out a bit. People always looked tranquil in their sleep.
It suddenly occurred to Kalman that, if someone barged into the room, he might look perverse, with his eyes transfixed on her still body, and he swiftly turned away.
-o-o-o-
"Damn this paperwork…" Percy leaned back in his rather opulent armchair, settling himself on the cushioned backrest, muttering angrily. "Stupid council…"
"I don't want you to be complaining, Lord Apollyon." That was true. He examined her workload: a large column of papers that almost reached the high ceiling of the office, which obscured her from him. Thankfully, he had a very nice, adept secretary who was doing most of the paperwork for him. Even though his ADHD was muted now, he would bet that anyone would have trouble repetitively signing things over and over again. He reached for his coffee mug, wrapping his fingers around the handle and raising it to his lips so that he could drink the sweet, amazing coffee…
It was empty. He put it back down on the magnificent mahogany desk and chose to rub his temples instead. Most of his friends would probably go mad from this. Except Weiss and Pyrrha, who were experienced with this kind of thing, or so he assumed. In contrast, he wasn't. He had spent the vast majority of his time on Earth fighting monsters, not… sitting in an office and signing random papers. Couldn't he just bribe Ironwood or Dr. Polendina to make a robot specifically for these jobs?
He sighed audibly, causing Nao to poke her head around the stack, her brown hair flitting with the movement as she regarded him. The sunlight pierced through the slightly-drawn curtains and struck her green eyes, highlighting her delicate eyelashes. The way her eyes glowed briefly, that beautiful gaze, reminded him of Pyrrha.
She angled her head away, likely bothered by the sun's rays.
"Lord Apollyon, surely you aren't tired already." The mischievous tone in her voice wasn't lost on him. "It's not even noon~"
"Please don't call me that. Just call me Percy or something."
"Sure, sure, whatever you say…"
Percy picked up the fountain pen again, the weight familiar in his hand after an entire morning of holding it. He scanned the page briefly, then pressed the pen to the page. The golden tip leaked ink through some intricate mechanism that he couldn't bother to understand, and as he scribbled his signature in one line across the page, it flowed as if his own movements weren't jerky. That was to say, it was reactive enough to follow his strokes, but not so reactive that it went crooked. It always drew an even, black line. It was so smooth that it didn't make a single sound.
After he finished, something on the page drew his eye.
"Hey, Nao, is the current Mistralian Council the only governing body that Mistral has?"
Once again, the green-eyed woman poked her head around the stack of papers sitting on her desk. "Yes, of course. That's how it's always been." She blinked like the question was absurd.
Percy chewed his bottom lip. He wasn't the smartest tool in the shed, but on Earth, he recalled the U.S. government system, kind of. There were three branches: the judicial, the legislative, and the executive. The judicial judged things, the legislative made laws, and the executive executed them. However, it seemed equally as effective as the council that they had now: that being that most meetings devolved into arguments. In the current state of affairs, the Mistralian Council was judge, jury, and executioner. It wasn't efficient by any means.
He had to keep power while making the system more efficient. That was the only way to do it, to make sure that everything ran smoothly. He was the emperor, so he should keep power. The Protogenos of Darkness had appeared in his dreams to tell him that specifically. He would take it upon himself to protect Remnant from the primordials that lay in wait.
"I want to change the government system. Can I do that?"
"I mean, if you want to, be my guest," Nao shrugged, before returning to her work, hidden once more by the large stack of paperwork. "No one's going to stop you. To them, you're a god."
That was right. He could just make a branch specifically designed for paperwork and legislation after he had put certain laws into motion himself. The Secretariat.
He didn't know what it meant, it just sounded cool.
"The Secretariat could be used for paperwork and legislation for creating the quirks of laws… The Chancellery will be my group of advisors, consisting of the five Great Houses from the Council." That was important, because all nobles, Mistralian or not, had a lot of pride. That meant he couldn't do away with the Council either. He had to give them a position within the government in order to pacify them. Which meant…
"As for the Council, I'll keep it as a judiciary branch for interpreting the law. How does that sound?"
"If you're serious about it, then let's work it out further." After a few seconds, Nao put down her pen and joined him at his desk. "When do you want to announce the new system to the Council?"
"The coronation, scheduled in one week."
"Sounds good. We can work on it until lunch." Nao moved back to her area to lug a simple chair over. The carpet provided too much friction when she tried to do so; instead, she lifted it so that it would be easier.
"We have dinner tonight at the Han Estate, hosted by Lord Liu. Please let him know that I'm going to be bringing guests."
"Ooh, ooh, who?"
"Not telling," Nao groaned. "I'll bring you along, of course."
"How many guests will it be, then?" Percy gave her a glance, and she raised her hands in mock surrender. "What, I need the number so that Lord Liu can prepare the adequate dining hall."
Of course. Nobles in Mistral probably had numerous dining halls. Large ones for parties and guests, and smaller ones for the normal dinners with family.
"Nine total, including you. Actually, it's eleven. Please inform Lord Nikos of the invitation and Lord Liu that there will be eleven guests."
"Don't worry, an invitation has already been sent to Lord Nikos, along with his family. Lord Liu and Lord Nikos are quite close, you see."
That took care of having to inform the nobles. It wouldn't be in good taste to inform them on such short notice, after all.
"If you want to send an invitation to Teams WRBY and JNPR, I'll arrange for Kal to pass a message along to them. I'll also send a message to the Nikos estate informing them of the guests that you intend to bring."
Nao was sharp enough to deduce what he had in mind. Just from the few hints she had been given, she deduced that it was his friends that he intended to invite to the dinner. Percy snorted. He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to any of them barring Pyrrha, and he wanted to clear up any misconceptions after the battle at Shion. And besides, dinner at a noble's estate had to be levels above dinner at Haven Academy.
"Well, I suppose you guessed it."
"What can I say, I'm pretty smart," she shrugged nonchalantly, smiling at him. However, at the moment, he wasn't looking; his eyes were instead fixed on the ceiling above him. Percy tapped his index finger against his right temple, before straightening himself in his seat and facing her.
"Back to the restructuring of Mistral's political system, though. How do you gauge Lord Liu's character? The head of House Han?"
"Hm?" she hummed, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"
"He's the one that runs the show in the Council, doesn't he?" Percy's hand came off his head and onto the table. His fingertips caressed the wood, and he marveled at the smooth, refined texture created by the polished surface and the distinctive grain patterns. Even though he hadn't examined it before, with a mere touch, he could tell how well-constructed this desk was. The quality of the wood used to build it was undoubtedly superior. It must have been Mistralian mahogany.
"Hmm… well, he's pretty honorable," Nao drummed her fingers against her chin, "A retired warrior of Mistral, a former Sword who drove the Mongolian tribes in the North away from Mistral's borders decades ago. Of all the people in the Council, he's the most trustworthy, in my eyes at least."
That was high praise from a Sword of Mistral. From the first meeting he had with the Mistralian Council yesterday, it seemed as if Nao didn't like the Council very much, or many of its members, anyway. Her evaluation of Liu Bang was something he could trust.
"I see. I was thinking of assigning him the position of Grand Chancellor within the Chancellery," he explained. "A position that would elevate him above the other four Great Houses and allow decisions to be made in the event of my absence. Informally, it's been like that in the Council as well, hasn't it?"
"You're right. I mean, he's considered the leading voice for the Council, the speaker of the Council if you will, so placing him as the Grand Chancellor would be a wise decision," Nao nodded soberly. "By the way, you have a meeting with the Church of Apollyon for lunch."
At her words, Percy double-checked his schedule, reaching for the paper at the top right of his large table and bringing it in front of him; Nao was right. Why had she only mentioned it now?
"You should have—"
"Your schedule was right there," Nao shrugged innocently. However, there was a smirk playing on her lips. "Do I need to remind you of everything?"
"You distracted me with talk of dinner at the Han Estate."
"So I did," she admitted shamelessly. He shook his head. He was going to meet with the Church of Apollyon, the official religion of the Kingdom of Mistral. The religion that worshiped him like he was a god.
Back on Earth, such a meeting would have his heart racing in anticipation. It was a meeting with an important organization that would determine if he could utilize its resources freely to his heart's content. Normally, he would ask himself questions like 'Could anything go wrong?' and 'How do I prepare for this meeting in order to prevent that?' That was something he had done whenever he met the gods of the Greek Pantheon. But now, even though he was thinking these questions…
His heart rate did not change at all.
"Would you give me a rundown of this… Church?" he asked. He needed intel.
"Gladly."
-o-o-o-
The sound of a door opening roused Yang from her sleep. She rolled over, the sheets curling around her waist, and slowly opened her eyes. The light streaming through the fissure between the curtains blinded her briefly. Blinking away her sleepiness, she sat up, kicking off the blankets.
Still bleary-eyed, she took a moment to gain her bearings. She was in the Haven Academy infirmary. Right. She'd lost to that professor, Professor Akira, and gotten knocked out.
She was irritated at herself for letting that happen. She hadn't been knocked out in a long time, and it didn't even happen at Shion. She needed to get stronger.
"Oh, you're awake." A kind-looking woman, likely in her thirties, came over to her bed. "That's good. I'm Miss Chu. And before you ask, you haven't been out long, nearly an hour. I just need to conduct some quick tests before I let you go."
Yang nodded obediently, and Chu continued. "Do you remember your name and where you are?"
"Yang Xiao-Long," she recited, "I'm in the Haven Academy infirmary."
"Mhm, mhm. And do you remember what happened before you got here?"
"I got knocked out by Professor Akira in combat class," she twisted her mouth in displeasure. She wouldn't let it happen again.
"This is not the first time she has sent a student to my infirmary," the doctor grimaced. "I'll need to talk to her again."
Yang didn't say anything at the woman's comment, but internally, she felt a little childishly happy that Akira would get payback. Even so, she wanted to gain redemption herself. Preferably in a fight.
After that, she passed through a few more tests: walking on a line to make sure that she was balanced and tracking the doctor's index finger from side to side using her eyes.
"Perfect, you're all set."
Yang made to leave the infirmary but paused at the door, her fingers curled around the handle. "By the way, do you know a student named Lie Ren? I think he was injured, but he's no longer here."
"Ah, yes, your friend is cleared and attending classes." That meant he was with Team JNPR, hopefully.
"Okay, thank you!"
"Please give Mister Liu my thanks. He sat by you for a short while before leaving and helped out in the infirmary. He was the one who carried you here, actually."
He… carried her here? That cold-hearted, frosty prick? She didn't believe it. That wasn't possible. But why did he try to help her before the duel? Was he nice?
Yang's mouth must have been hanging open because the woman saw her look and chuckled. "The Prince certainly has a frightening exterior, but once you get to know him, he's no more dangerous than a teddy bear."
"I sincerely doubt that," Yang found herself replying, crossing her arms standoffishly. "To put it bluntly… he's rude and a prick."
Chu laughed again like her declaration was amusing. "He'll open up to you eventually. You should hurry on to class, honey."
"Right." Yang let go of the door. She had not taken more than five paces when the door closed with a thud behind her, and she realized that she had no clue where her next class was. She should have turned around and asked the doctor, but something in her told her she could find it. She took the wrinkled schedule out from her pocket and unfolded it to take a look. The school wasn't that big, right? There was no way she couldn't find a simple classroom.
She didn't find it for the next thirty minutes.
When Yang did finally find it with the help of a janitor, she peeked through the small, vertical window in the door, careful to make sure that the instructor wasn't looking at her. The cushioned seats had floor-mounted bases, the kind that swung away and automatically swung back when it was vacated. There were around twenty people in the class, all attentively listening to the teacher, who was lecturing on history. The Legends of Remnant.
There were so many people. If she went in right now, she'd be interrupting the class and annoying everyone. Should she even go in? Especially since she had just spent more than half of the assigned class period wandering around the Haven Academy campus. If anyone found out… well, it didn't matter, because no one was going to find out!
She was just injured in the infirmary; she could just ditch, right? Who said history was important, anyway?
Before she could make up her mind, a hand extended itself around her and opened the door, causing her to stumble in. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to her, curious about the abrupt noise.
What the—that prick! Yang burned with embarrassment and glared at Kalman, who didn't seem to notice.
"Ah, Miss Xiao-Long," the teacher smiled amicably. "I'm Professor Kim. Please take a seat next to your team. You may get the notes from a friend after class. Perhaps Mister Liu may assist you."
Yang nodded, following Kalman to their team's spot, located near the middle right side of the lecture hall. This boy was so utterly annoying. Was he a cruel prankster? He must have noticed her glaring daggers into the back of his head because he stopped without looking at her.
"You were blocking the door," he said simply.
"That doesn't mean you need to snitch me out to the entire class…" she hissed. He ignored her and slid into the aisle first, pulling out the cushioned chair and sitting down. By some sheer luck, he wasn't next to Ruby, or Blake, or Weiss, or Jaune, or Pyrrha, or Nora, or Ren… but her.
The first dozen minutes or so passed by without incident. The history class was more interesting than the one at Beacon Academy—Oobleck's class—was, and surprisingly enough, Yang found herself engaging well with the material. The instructor began playing a history video and turned off the lights for better viewing.
"Sorry."
"Huh? For what?" Shocked, her lips parted slightly; he wasn't the type to apologize.
"Sorry for opening the door."
"…Oh, no it's okay, I was supposed to go to class." Even though it had been unconventional, to say the least, he was right for pushing her into the classroom. "I wanted to thank you for carrying me to the infirmary, by the way. And what happened at Shion. I wouldn't be here otherwise." Yang paused, the video lesson playing in the background. Feeling awkward when he didn't respond immediately, she spoke again. "So, thank you."
"It's my job."
Carrying her to the infirmary was definitely not 'just his job'. Although he couldn't see her in the dark, she rolled her eyes and started to form a reply. However, the video paused.
"Miss Xiao-Long, Mister Liu, please pay attention to my class. The Legends of Remnant are important, particularly because you all as the next generation are crafting the future yourselves…"
They each murmured an apology. Thankfully, the professor seemed to accept their apologies and resumed the video. Yang drew a sharp inhale. That was the second time she pissed off a professor today. And it was her first day, too. Could it get any worse?
For some reason, although the video had captured her attention before, she caught herself looking at him. It was at that angle where she could appreciate his prominent eyelashes and the shifting amber color within his irises. He wasn't so bad, she decided. He wasn't a prick, she felt bad for calling him that.
He was just… blunt and detached. That was the way to describe it. She let out a quiet huff of amusement; that was exactly how Pyrrha had described him. She caught his golden orbs briefly wandering toward her, perhaps in reaction to her slight noise, before they returned to the video.
She would resume breaking the ice with him like Pyrrha wanted her to do. Like Yang wanted to do.
-o-o-o-
With the exception of a figure on the throne, the hall room was empty, as it often was. The air hung heavy in the obsidian hall as if it clung to the shadows like a malevolent spirit. The walls, draped in faded velvet, absorbed any hint of light, leaving only a murky twilight that seemed to seep from the cracks in the ancient floorboards. The chandeliers, once resplendent with crystal, now dangled like broken promises, casting fractured reflections on the tarnished mirrors lining the walls. The scent of aged wood and dampness pervaded the space, mingling with the faint perfume of decay. The grand fireplace, its marble mantle cracked and crumbling, held only ashes.
The doors opened. One would expect such grandiose doors to creak and rumble; however, no sound emanated from the action. The brighter light from outside the vicinity cast two long silhouettes onto the floor of the throne room.
"Discordia and Watts."
As Ørsted uttered their names, the torches nearest to the throne ignited, revealing his figure, seated upon the throne. Then, consecutively, the next two torches inflamed, and the following pair even faster. Within the span of two seconds, all of the torches had enkindled. When the two of them had finally stepped entirely into the space, the doors reflexively closed behind them. It once again gave off no sound—something that could be described as eerie.
"That's an impressive mechanism," Watts remarked.
"It's something that can only be done with magic, of course," Discordia said. "Your technology can only mimic it."
"Well, I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Aren't you here to give a report?" Ørsted said, his voice resonating throughout the hall. "Why is Lower Apostle Two here?"
"There's been a change of command. I will take over operations in Atlas. You are to head to Mistral. You'll receive more orders there."
"Why was I not informed of this earlier?"
"The Goddess saw fit to inform you when I arrived."
She had seen fit to inform him when Discordia arrived. However, Ørsted was confident that he was a superior tactician to Discordia's brazen style of commanding and fighting battles. That could only mean one thing.
"I see."
Discordia clapped, the sound reverberating in the empty space. "As expected of Lower Apostle Three. You haven't dulled your senses once."
Watts interjected. "Wait, wait, what's going on here?"
"Silence." His voice boomed, assaulting the man's ears. "Do not deem yourself part of the Goddess' inner circle. Leave."
The former Atlesian scientist wisely shut his mouth. The doors opened. As Watts left, his footsteps weren't even loud enough to ripple around the room. The doors then shut.
"This means that Apollyon has moved to Mistral for several days now, and we have found out only now. We've delayed our opportunity by an inexcusable amount already."
"It seems like intelligence operations in Atlas are lacking, wouldn't you say, Ørsted?" Despite the situation, an amusing lilt was present in Discordia's voice.
"Perhaps. I presume that my Godsbane remains in Mistral, then."
"It is not your Godsbane, no matter what you may think."
"That doesn't concern you," Ørsted brushed her comment off. "You must defeat the Winter Maiden, Fria, housed by Ironwood. It is no easy task."
"For you, maybe. I can see you've barely made any progress. Too scared to attack while Apollyon was here?"
"Yes," he admitted easily, without any shame. "A general must pick and choose his battles. Though I can see that you certainly don't do that. And you paid the price for it."
There was a large, snaking scar running down the length of the woman's exposed left arm, from the shoulder to the thumb. It hadn't been present before. Examining it closely, Ørsted saw that it was a recent infliction. The flesh had been split there. It must have been an incredibly large gash. However, in spite of the regeneration abilities possessed by Discordia, the skin was healing abnormally slowly. The healing ability was supposed to be instantaneous. But it was at the pitiful rate of an aura-less human. This injury would require the Goddess to replace the flesh using her reconstruction abilities.
There was no doubt that this was a wound inflicted by Apollyon.
"Tch." The Lower Apostle Two looked off to the side, displeased. Her arms were crossed against her chest. "I've learned my lesson. Besides, Ironwood's puppets are in Mistral currently."
"Then I'm sure you can best Ironwood, Fria, and the Ace-Ops. It's not a very formidable lineup."
"I don't need your sympathy," the white-haired woman snapped. "Don't mock me."
"I meant no such thing. I was only making a passing comment."
The sound of her footsteps echoed in the chamber as she strode up to the throne. Her fluorescent eyes conveyed her own instability, the vibrant colors swirling even as his poisonous yellow eyes met them. "I will be the one to claim victory for the Goddess."
In the blink of an eye, his colleague drew her dagger and struck. The tip was intercepted by his Gungnir. However, no sound resulted from the clash of their weapons.
"Tch. A flesh-spear? You're still using that old thing?"
Thirty barbs shot out of Gungnir, but Discordia threw up her tendrils in an instant. Gungnir's barbs shredded through all of them. Devoid of her defenses, she leapt backward to gain distance.
Gungnir would always strike its target, no matter the difficulty. She understood that. Moreover, it was immune to her aura-eating semblance, Parasite.
Reaching down to grab the weapon that was dropped, he tossed the dagger in her general direction. She caught it with a tendril, the limb curling around the blade to bring her right hand. She sheathed it in one of her boots.
"I appreciate you not calling Gungnir an 'old thing.' Rankings between Apostles such as ourselves can change in an instant. You should take heed of my warning."
Although Discordia was currently ranked higher than him, it was because he did not deign to challenge her at this moment. If he were to do so, he calculated a roughly seventy-percent chance of winning. Discordia's Parasite only lasted for thirty seconds once activated, which meant that if he could wield an impenetrable defense, he would win. Gravitas was superior to Parasite because Parasite was a time-constrained semblance. Although Gravitas was incredibly draining to use, it could be used multiple times throughout a fight, whereas Parasite was a one-time trump card.
His colleague seemed to take note of his strength, too, and she turned her gaze to the side again, displeased. He had a chance of besting her. Although he didn't know if she had come to the exact same conclusion as he had, it was clear that she understood it wouldn't be an easy fight if he decided to challenge her for the Lower Apostle Two rank.
"Perhaps you will acquire more strength after eliminating the Winter Maiden."
"I will. I'll shred off all of her limbs, then consume her."
Discordia was referring to the act of consuming a human while they continued to be conscious. Although it was an adequately nutritious method of consumption to boost one's own capabilities, it was distasteful and messy. Food was better dead than alive; better unmoving and silent than writhing and screaming. That applied especially to humans.
"Oh, are you disgusted?" his colleague said. "Ørsted, the one who can't even feel emotions, is truly revolted? I can see it in your eyes."
"You know that's a lie."
She let out an exhale of amusement. "You're right. You can't feel disgusted. You can only imitate it. If you profoundly were disgusted, you wouldn't know what to do." She turned on her heel, heading toward the doors to leave.
"Is that pity I'm hearing from you?"
"No. Don't mistake anything I say for pity," she tossed over her shoulder. "I'll vanquish the Winter Maiden and Atlas within the week."
"Then I'll hold you to that."
-o-o-o-
It was a church, that was obvious. This cathedral was the second-largest structure in Mistral, only bested by the mammoth Acropolis. And Percy could see just how impressive it was.
The spires that were gilded in burnished gold seemed to reach up to the heavens, catching the brilliant light of the sun. The walls, etched with silver filigree, seemed to ripple like water. The entrance, framed by ebony doors, bore no handles—only a sea-green sigil etched into the stone. His emblem. That signature xiphos and shield.
A flapping, black bird distracted him from his sight-seeing, as it flew in front of his face, proceeding to shove a small piece of paper into his hands. The raven squawked, then beat its wings, flying away. Unfolding it, he noted that it was a message; he'd look at it later.
The doors opened in one, smooth motion. As he and Nao stepped across the threshold, the air thickened, laden with the scent of incense that clung to their clothes and skin. However, he found the smell pleasing rather than odious. The nave of the cathedral unfolded before their eyes. Currently, the benches and pews were empty of his believers. That allowed him to glimpse the incredible structure in its entirety.
The ceiling soared, adorned with a colorful mosaic depicting the Battle of Vale. The struggle between him, Apollyon, and the forces of darkness, the Grimm. Each shard of obsidian reflected the flicker of candle flames, casting fractured constellations upon the marble floor. Stained glass windows lined the walls, but these were no ordinary panes. They depicted scenes of warfare: heroes clashing with the demonic Grimm, weapons drawn and eyes ablaze. When sunlight filtered through, it fractured into shards of prismatic fire, bathing the space in kaleidoscopic hues. Examining it closely, he could see some of his teammates among the depictions, along with Team JNPR. According to Nao, the Church considered them part of his inner circle. The Octagon of Seraphs.
"Are you impressed with the architecture, perhaps?" Nao asked, her voice having a light tone of smugness to it. Her voice echoed throughout the chamber.
"You could say that. You helped coordinate all of this?"
"I did. The Church recognizes me as your Pontifex Maximus. Pretty neat, huh?"
The Pontifex Maximus. The supreme priest, a title reserved for states of emergency. In Camp Jupiter, that was the title that Octavian had awarded himself. It was a religious position of incredible authority.
Percy let out a huff of amusement. "Well, this is news to me. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I thought I might be more convincing when you've seen the work I've done. Quite spectacular, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is. I want to integrate church and state." There shouldn't be an issue, since religion was already heavily emphasized within the existing Council of Mistral.
"In addition to the government reforms we've already discussed?"
"Yes," he nodded. "The Secretariat, the Council, and the Chancellery. The Swords will be under my sole discretion, but you will also hold the position of Pontifex Maximus, head of the Church," he clarified, "You're already in charge of the Church, thank you for running that, by the way, but some of your paperwork duties will be shifted to the Secretariat and Chancellery."
"Because the Chancellery is your group of advisors," Nao agreed. "I like it. And the seraphs? Also Thane Sun Wukong. They're technically students of Haven Academy."
He bit his lower lip slightly, unsure what to do with the two teams. On one hand, he saw that the Church recognized them as holders of high-ranking positions that were crucial to operating it in the Kingdom. On the other hand, they had just been sent back to school, which was necessary for them to become fully-fledged hunters. Besides, he wasn't sure that they were ready for that level of responsibility within the government, since the church and state were going to be integrated for him to exercise power. But maybe he could have them do both. Yes, that was right.
"We'll see… I'll float the idea to them tomorrow at the Han Estate dinner—of them being both students at Haven and seraphs. It's mostly a title in name rather than in power. I'm sure the other branches like the Council, Secretariat, and Chancellery can handle most of the work. My Pontifex Maximus is here, too."
"I see, that makes sense," she paused, "Are you sure you aren't doing all this to avoid the paperwork?"
"That's a harsh accusation against the Emperor of Mistral."
"You're dodging the crux of the matter."
"No comment."
Nao smirked as she led him toward a door on the left, which was where they would finally meet with his thanes and prophets. It was a smaller chamber, but no less awe-inspiring. There was no electricity in this space; instead, it was lit by lanterns and torches. The room exuded an air of elegance, its walls adorned with intricately carved wooden panels. The ceiling soared high, supported by large stone beams, their lacquered surfaces reflecting the flicker of the amber lanterns. When he entered, a murmured hush swept through the audience, before it quickly died out. His presence seemed to incite that kind of response. The prophets were seated in a semi-circle, wearing the flowing gossamer robes that he had come to expect of Mistralian nobles. Five of them were seated closer to him, indicating they were thanes.
They rose from their seats to greet him unprompted.
"Emperor Apollyon." Their words and tone held a hush and quietness as if they remained in reverence and awe of him. It was the same veneration that he had felt when he first set foot on Olympus, the home of the gods. There was something fundamentally ethereal about gods that separated from mortals and even demigods. The way their eyes and hair glowed even without any ambiance, the way their skin was too smooth, the dangerous yet invigorating presence that put every spectator on edge.
However, how could they afford the funds for this? As he swept his gaze across the twenty individuals or so, he noted that their faces seemed familiar.
"Many of them are part of the Mistralian Council," Nao murmured slyly, "Therefore the Church has been able to pass motions for funding. You are the official religion of Mistral."
"You sure are shrewd."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Nao turned back to the crowd. Like a magician unveiling a grand illusion, she spread her arms, smiling slyly. "Thank you all for attending this meeting. Allow me to begin."
-o-o-o-
The day was young. The cicadas, crows, and turtledoves were busy with their morning calls. It was odd for him to be out having a cigarette at this time. Usually, he'd wait until the night to have a walk around. Maybe kill a Grimm or two. Though in a place like the highest part of Mistral, there weren't any Grimm to be found. Instead, there were crooks and criminals down at the lower parts of Mistral, around the foot of the mountain. At night, maybe he'd go to a shady tavern and have a drink or two, then beat up some crooks.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and focused on forming his mouth into the correct shape. His tongue pressed against the bottom of his mouth, his cheeks and lips were shaped inward as if he were sucking on a lollipop, and he opened his mouth to make an 'O' shape. Finally, his lower jaw clicked forward and a ring of smoke emerged from his mouth, slowly traveling off the balcony. Funnily enough, the workers below didn't bat an eye at his smoking.
"You should really stop smoking, Qrow."
"Shut up, Tai. You know as well as I do why I—" his reply died in his throat when Winter Schnee, of all people, joined him on the balcony. She mirrored his stance, placing her forearms on the black railing and leaning against it.
"I'm not Taiyang."
"I know that," he retorted.
"What were you going to say? Why you smoke?" he cast her a sharp glance, but she didn't seem to mind. "You've been smoking all morning," she said pointedly, her eyes flitting to the ashtray with a critical look.
"It's nothing. You and the Polendina girl are heading back to Atlas in a week, right?" From her posture and expression, she probably knew that he was changing the subject, but she went with it anyway.
"That's right. We're only here to oversee the transition for Perseus and Mistral."
"Ironwood, iron fist." Qrow finished his cigarette, and crushed it between the tips of his right hand, throwing it into the ashtray, which was already overflowing with stubs. He patted his pockets, searching for the new pack. It should have been there, he carried at least two at all times. Front pockets, no, back pockets, no, not in his coat, either. Then…
"Looking for this?" Winter dangled the box of cigarettes between her index finger and thumb. She was wearing a self-satisfied, smug expression.
"Atlas Ace-Op, how could I forget?" he said, reaching out for the pack. However, she kept it just out of reach from him.
"What is this? Trying to make me jump around for it, like a kid?" he snorted at the idea. It was ridiculous.
"Feel free to interpret it however you wish."
"I hate vague, cruel women like you. Give it back." He reached for it, but she kept it away, and as he moved forward, she backed up until she hit the railing. His own ethicality prevented him from inching closer to her body, and he gave up, backing away. Winter smirked triumphantly, then pocketed the box.
"Thinking of smoking yourself?" Qrow jabbed.
"No." Suddenly, her smug grin disappeared into a frown. "Why do you smoke so much, Qrow? You know it's not good for you."
"It's none of your business," he replied quickly.
"I'll have to ask Taiyang when he gets back from grocery shopping with Penny, then."
"You won't." He was surprised at the strength of his own words. "Don't do it. I'll tell you."
Pausing, she looked at him expectedly. He inhaled, then exhaled sharply. "I lost a friend—a teammate—to the Queen. Happy?"
"You're scared it may happen again." Winter's gaze softened.
"You could say that."
He felt the sensation of something furry rubbing up against his leg. "Oh, Zwei. Hey there, buddy." He leaned down, petting him.
"When I was a young huntress, Team STRQ were my heroes." Qrow's gaze snapped back to Winter, who was looking out at the city landscape. "A world-class huntsmen team, from the prestigious Beacon Academy, who ventured everywhere on missions and helped save people."
Her words sent a feeling creeping into his chest, and irritation flared. "Well, they say you should never meet your heroes," he attempted to joke with her.
"You were everyone's idols. I wanted to be just like you."
At those words, "just like you", that bothersome feeling increased. She wasn't even like him. She was a Schnee, brought up in the richest household on Remnant. And he was a homeless bandit before Beacon. Who was she to tell him what had been in the past? She didn't need to bring it up. Zwei left him and hurried back into the house.
"That's enough about my team." His fingers curled around the railing so hard that they were pale. He didn't want to think about any of it right now. Not Summer, not Team STRQ.
"I aspired to break away from my father and choose my own path. I would make the Ace Operatives as renowned and great as Team STRQ. The best in the world. Until they broke up, anyway. A fall from the heavens."
The steel railing cracked.
"Shut up!"
Anger gripping him, he reached out and grabbed the fabric of her gray uniform, near the navy trim collar, lifting her off her feet slightly. He just wanted to stop talking about it. It was no use to talk about it. He wanted her to shut up, to stop making him think about the past, to…
But Winter was not alarmed; rather, her gaze was cold, and a little sad. She didn't even take a guarded position. The melancholic expression on her face dissuaded him and brought him back to reality.
What was even he trying to do? If he shoved her to the ground or threw a few punches, would he be satisfied?
All of a sudden, the raging of his instincts faded. A powerful surge of emptiness replaced it. He wouldn't be satisfied. Realizing what he had done, he let go of her and moved to the other side of the balcony, five paces away. He was ashamed of how rashly he acted.
Out of habit, he reached into his gray coat pocket, before realizing that his alcohol was gone. He must have lost it during the fight at Shion. That was why it was so light nowadays.
However, he heard the sound of her footsteps. She joined him again.
"What are you trying?" he grunted, not looking at her. She should have just left after that spectacle.
"Summer Rose was at Shion."
Instead of her words causing some irritation or discomfort in his chest, they only had the effect of making him realize how empty he was, like a simple knock revealing the hollowness of a desolated chamber.
"Congratulations for stating the obvious," he snarked. "Want a cookie?"
"Your niece came the other day to ask about her. Ruby Rose."
"Figures you were listening. It's not nice to do that, you know?" But Winter ignored all of his feeble attempts to jibe at her.
"Everyone needs to confront their past. I confronted mine," she said. "I think you've avoided yours long enough. Besides, don't you think your niece—Ruby—deserves to hear what happened?"
"That's Taiyang's responsibility, not mine."
"The rest of my point still stands."
Damn, she was stubborn. Ever since the day he met her, she was always like this, stubborn and obeying orders. He drew in a long breath, hopefully conveying some sense of exasperation to her so that she would drop the subject. "It's not that simple. Not something that can be solved by a shitty therapy session."
"Then we can try another shitty therapy session," he whipped his head up, bewildered to hear her curse, "Or five, or ten."
"Like I said, it's not that simple—"
"Just try," she countered, staring at him. For some reason, he felt truly perplexed. He typically wouldn't oblige with such a useless request. But somehow, he felt like giving it a try. Perhaps it was the intentness in her gaze, the strength in her voice, or the earnestness in her words, or all of the above. He sighed.
"Fine. Whatever. I'll do one or two, then no promises after that. You're not my therapist, and I don't need one," he waved at her, pointing an imaginary cigarette in her direction. "Got it?" In hindsight, he probably looked ridiculous, but whatever.
"Sure. Let's begin." He eyed her, half-expecting her to pull out a pen and paper, but she did nothing, only staring at him.
"Well?"
"Just talk about Team STRQ to me. Not any legendary tales or missions of the like," she said, when he opened his mouth, "I've heard those a thousand times over. Simply anything about Team STRQ."
Qrow grunted in acknowledgment. He just had to ramble to her like an old drunk for two sessions, and it would be over. Now, where to start…
He must have spent a good few minutes thinking. But Winter leaned against the railing patiently. Sometimes she would look at him and then flit her gaze to look at the scenery of Mistral. He had to admit, Mistral looked a whole lot better than Vale. The Tribe—their old home—was from Mistral. He closed his eyes, remembering what happened that day. The Tribe had sent them, the two most promising members, to enroll in Beacon Academy for the sole reason of learning how to kill huntsmen.
But they slowly came together as a team, even Raven, although she wouldn't admit it. They were exceptional, and got away with more than they should have, breaking rules left and right.
For a few years, they were the best. Ozpin told them the truth and granted him and Raven the bird-shifting magic. They undertook hazardous missions to save the world and keep the Queen of the Grimm at bay. Qrow was elated. It was a real chance to save people. At the very least, he was happy with what he was doing. It was the first time he felt like he had a purpose.
But, even though Summer and Tai wanted to keep on fighting, his sister, without any prompting, she…
Raven gave up.
His sister, one of the most ambitious, talented fighters he knew, just gave up. It didn't make sense. Her excuse was that she had always remained loyal to the Tribe's mission of learning how to kill huntsmen, but Qrow knew for a fact that it was false.
The team disbanded. Raven disappeared and left back to the Tribe. Team STRQ broke up. A few years later, Summer died on a mission. Or so they thought.
Summer Rose was alive. She was alive.
Realizing that he had been lost in his thoughts for a long while now, he fumbled around for something about his old team in the recesses of his mind that would satisfy her. When he couldn't find anything, he decided to start from the beginning.
"Well… to be honest, Team STRQ was never a model team at all," he confessed, "Nothing like the tales you might hear. We were always fighting. Raven was without fail the bitchier one of us Branwen twins," Winter cracked a small smile, "I think I was the only one of us to take to society. She never really fit in."
"Is that part of the reason…?" she trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
"Yeah. I won't say I fit in right away, either, 'cause I didn't. Even when I did, we were always the eccentric team, the odd ones out. When we were in our later years, I think junior year or senior year, we were always out on missions for Ozpin. We were his chosen team and played way too many pranks and jokes, but got away with a lot of things. Something like Team WRBY. Of course, we didn't have a sister team like JNPR."
"You see yourself in them. In Team WRBY," she guessed accurately.
"Well, yeah," he admitted, shrugging. "And then… well, Raven left back to the Tribe. I don't know why. She just fled."
"I… see. So Team STRQ disbanded." Her gaze softened, in a way that was uncharacteristic of the Winter Schnee that he knew. But he forced himself to ignore it. Why was she even doing this therapy session?
"That's right. S-Summer died on a mission a few years later." Thinking she might have caught the tremor in his voice, he scolded himself.
"It must have been tremendously hard."
"It was," he said. "I helped Tai with raising the girls, but it was never the same. We hung around as Signal Academy instructors—the primary combat school in Vale. But the vibes were never the same. That was when I started drinking and smoking."
Winter offered him an understanding nod. Despite her sympathy, though, Qrow felt kind of stupid. Here he was, venting to someone more than a decade younger than him. Then again, he couldn't deny that it was somewhat helpful.
He pushed himself off the railing somewhat and stretched his arms backward, letting out a yawn. "Well, I think that's enough venting for today." He paused, and the thought struck him out of the blue. "By the way, we just learned something important, but you weren't there for it. Inform Ironwood that the Queen of the Grimm is immortal. Infinite regeneration and a magic-wielder. Tell all the Ace-Ops, too. And that Polendina girl."
To her credit, Winter didn't display any outward shock at the unexpected information. Instead, her features hardened.
"I have confidence in Percy, though." He didn't need to elaborate why, after his appearance at Shion. Hell, even the Queen's Apostles, the Queen's most treasured soldiers, fled from him. The fear factor was very much present in their opponent's decision-making.
"I'll inform Ironwood of the new development."
She nodded firmly, then promptly left the balcony. Like a model soldier. He had purposely left out the part where Ozpin had been keeping this secret from them.
But it was better to be unified than separated with everyone suspecting each other of betrayal, much like a famous Valean politician once said.
"A house divided against itself cannot stand."
And to think that this Valean politician was just another reincarnation of Ozpin. He chuckled quietly.
How ironic.
Now, where was that cigarette? As he reached for the box of cigarettes in his back pocket, he realized that he'd forgotten to ask Winter for it.
Damn that woman.
-o-o-o-
"You sure make for one ugly bird," the boy commented.
"Shut the fuck up," Raven retorted. "It was enough effort to come here to Haven for this shit."
He rolled his eyes and produced what looked like a golden wristwatch, an antique, which he placed into the socket of the sculpture in front of them. It clicked into place, the minute hand spinning slowly at first, then rapidly, and the structure began moving downward, revealing a platform. He stepped onto it, and she followed suit.
"You're the one who proposed the deal. My protection in exchange for the Relic of Knowledge."
And it was humiliating enough to ask this kid for protection, no shit. However, despite his young appearance, she had to remind herself that standing in front of her was a so-called god. Although she didn't believe in it, as a fighter, she understood that she had almost lost at Shion to Lilith, the Upper Apostle One. She would have died without the intervention of Apollyon.
If she had to push her pride aside to survive, she would. For the first time, there was someone who could resist the Queen. Raven had trained for years to resist the Queen, to be able to do something to save herself. But it wasn't possible. There was just too large of a gap in their abilities. However, these chance encounters with Apollyon solidified her already-strong belief.
She would never reach that level of strength.
That recognition left her grasping at straws, and she suddenly became aware of how her strength compared to his. Like a child to a huntsman—no, like an ant to a giant. Her leg muscles twitched, and she forced them still.
"Tch. I left the war long ago. It just came to me suddenly."
"You can't run from the Queen. You're the Spring Maiden. Of course, she'd come for you."
She swallowed in a dry throat. "Don't mock me. I'm the one opening the vault for you."
She would rather aid Apollyon than the Queen. In the end, even if she handed over the Relic of Knowledge to the Queen of the Grimm, her Apostles would continue hounding her, because of the simple fact that she was the Spring Maiden, and killing her yielded the benefit of becoming a Maiden.
As the platform finally reached the bottom, they were granted a high vantage point. The place was covered in darkness, with the exception of small lights. Those orange lights adorned a large tree in front of them. Again, Raven waited for him to step off first, then she followed.
Once they stepped onto the rock path, a beam of light beneath their feet illuminated the area, and it traveled forward to a circle, quickly filling it. However, what stood out was the ancient Mistralian symbol in the middle, which she vaguely recognized as Aether. Light. There were three circles in total, and it performed this process another two times. The other two symbols translated to Erebus, darkness and…
Messiah.
Messiah, what did that mean? Could it be that it was reacting to Apollyon's presence? She snuck a glance at him, but he seemed clueless himself.
When the process finished, the orange lights, now revealed to be glowing leaves, began falling and gliding off the tree, separating from the real, green leaves. Apollyon caught one leaf in his hand, regarding it.
Then, he crushed it. No, rather, it was like it dissolved in his hand. There wasn't any sound when he did it. He dropped them and swept his fingertips across his palm, dislodging any remaining fragments, all in one fluid motion. They floated and pirouetted through the air, before alighting softly on the floor. He turned to glance at her.
"Come on, Raven."
She steeled herself and stepped in front of him. If he wanted to kill her, this was the perfect place to do it. As she strode approximately three paces in front, she carefully tracked his presence behind her and kept her hand hovering near Omen, although it wouldn't help much either way.
Soon enough, they were at the door. It was a towering, golden door, the height of a small building. There was no hinge or handle. As she placed her palm on the door, it hummed and vibrated at the contact. Her eyes inflamed, and at the same time, intricate, blue patterns appeared all over the door, crossing and weaving in various directions. After another few seconds, they lit up, and the door disappeared.
It was a desert. Large dunes of sand ran from the left toward the right, the only landmarks in sight. Ahead, there was an altar of stone, atop which the golden and blue lamp hovered. The Relic of Knowledge.
As they stepped inside, the first thing she noticed was how arid it was, with no wind. There wasn't a sun, either, and no semblance of shade could be found. But it wasn't hot, just dry. When she got closer and climbed the small stairs to the altar, the lamp seemed to shimmer and hover, as if it were reacting to their presence. Apollyon reached out and grabbed it by the handle, lifting it from its hovering position at the altar.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Raven." He turned, smiling at her warmly. But it was far too genial, the kind that felt wrong, like getting too close to a fire. Before she had more time to think about it, he muttered something under his breath.
Blue smoke began rising from the lamp, and Raven took a step backward. It began forming into a human-shaped body, although it was much larger than a normal person.
"Who summons me?"
In front of them was a nude, blue-skinned woman, or spirit. She had elongated, pointed ears, and long, flowing dark blue hair. Her eyes were dark blue in the sclerae and pupils and slightly a lighter shade of blue in the irises. She wore only gold accessories, with large-hooped earrings, a chain headdress, a choker, cuffs on her wrists with loose-ended chains dangling from them, a single bracelet on her left forearm, anklets, and a belt of chains around her waist.
She leaned forward, examining them. Abruptly, her blue lips curled upward, and a coy smirk danced on her lips.
"Apollyon. Percy Jackson. You go by many names, boy."
Raven almost shivered at the audacity of this… naked spirit to call the man in front of her "boy." But Apollyon didn't seem to care.
"You know me?" A lilt of amusement was present in his voice.
"Young Perseus, tales of your achievements have reached us everywhere, even here on Remnant."
Us. What did that mean?
"I see."
"Allow me to explain the rules of using the Relic of Knowledge," the spirit smiled again, her arms crossed under her bountiful chest. "As you know, I am Jinn. I will answer any three of your questions, which renew each century. Currently, there are two questions left for this century."
Three questions every century. Anyone who possessed this unassuming lamp wielded unlimited knowledge and power. Ozpin must have used one sometime this century.
"Then, I'll dismiss you for now."
The spirit narrowed her blue eyes at Apollyon. "I do not permit mortals to summon me without the intention to seek for knowledge."
"Then, as the Spirit of Knowledge, you should know that I am no mortal." A sudden chill crept through Raven's body, yet nothing had visibly changed. Apollyon was relaxed. But her hand itched for Omen, for the comforting weight of her blade. The spirit seemed to float backward. She had sensed it, too.
"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. "Another time, then, boy."
The naked spirit disappeared into a plume of smoke, reverting to her original form and returning to the lamp. Apollyon held the lamp up, and it shrunk in his palm, but he loured at it, unsatisfied. After a brief moment, it changed form, into an unassuming blue and golden ring, which he slid onto his left ring finger. It glinted, even in the absence of sunlight.
She had just given the most powerful being the Relic of Knowledge. Raven stiffened. A sense of unease enveloped her; she felt like she was holding back a scream. And yet, when she tried to say something, nothing came out of her throat. Again, her hand twitched toward Omen.
The boy cast her a sidelong glance, those stormy orbs regarding her. That was enough to dissuade her of her suicidal notion. He would kill her in the blink of an eye.
"You know, if you work with us, you'd gain even more immunity. I'd ensure that your crimes would be pardoned in Mistral at the very least."
"Pardoning?" she snorted, "All I'm concerned with is my Tribe and their protection from the Queen."
"So you claim."
An ugly feeling reared its head, and she narrowed her eyes. "Are you implying that I'm not telling the truth?"
"No. Having more manpower on our side always helps. No one can run forever, Raven."
The meaning was in between the lines. He had extended her an offer—an offer that she would ordinarily refuse outright. She didn't want to be involved with the Queen. No one did.
But the Queen would never leave her alone because she was the Spring Maiden. As long as she lived, she and the Tribe would be hunted by the Apostles.
"I'll… think about it."
"Good. That's all I ask."
-o-o-o-
The soil was damp so that it muffled his footsteps; it had just stopped raining, and the clouds were beginning to part. Kalman craned his neck to watch a murder of crows fly overhead. They did not squawk as they were supposed to, instead remaining silent, as if in mourning. One veered off slightly from the group, the wind taking it through a different path.
Turning his gaze back to the cobblestone path, a lone sapling caught his eye. It had grown out of the cracks, its parent nowhere to be found. At first, its two leaves rustled in the breeze, like the blades of grass in the soil on both sides of the path. However, the sapling abruptly stopped vibrating, resisting the wind. Adaptation.
He left the sapling and drifted on.
The cemetery was empty. The gravestones were well-worn, well-loved, like a favorite pair of shoes. Most of them were, anyway.
He came to a stop beside the three that stood out from the rest; they were new. Even so, small cracks had crept into the stone already. Kneeling, he placed a few flowers atop each of their names, one triad for each. Afterward, he closed his eyes and murmured a prayer.
He had only known them for a little over a month when it happened. It was the first real mission they had, to eradicate the Grimm from an isolated town in the kingdom. A huntsman had been supervising them. It turned out that there was a Chill infestation—the mythical possession Grimm. It wasn't something that a group of students should have been handling in the first place. Strong as he was, he had failed in that crucial, defining moment as their leader. He had ordered the incorrect formation; as a result, he and his supervisor were split off from his team. So they had lost. Even though they were the strongest first-year team at Haven Academy.
He could still vividly remember the shock he felt that day. The harrowing reality presented itself to him. That silent, blank expression on their supervisor's face brought him to the edge of despair. The strong, gentle team, that had worked harder than everyone else.
He never forgot the way their bodies had looked—sprawled on the side of the pavement, discarded, with chunks of flesh missing here and there from the legs and torsos. The beginning of rotting, pallid skin, the way their glassy eyes stared into the darkening sky overhead. The metallic scent of the dried, crimson blood, suspended from their wounds.
He hadn't even heard their last words. Even worse, he had been too cowardly to inform their families. A messenger had been sent in his stead.
That was why he trained so hard—his body remembered what had happened. That denial was followed by that intense, overwhelming rage, consuming him. Then, that hollowness and sorrow. His mind never let him forget.
Death does not abdicate its throne.
After finishing his orison, he stood up. That was when he noticed a familiar presence.
"Big brother."
"Oh, Yagami. There you are," he turned around, laying his eyes on his little brother's signature fluffy brown hair and one-toned, dark eyes. He must not have noticed because the damp soil had muted his brother's footsteps. Or perhaps it was because he was engrossed in his praying.
"Cookie, you know it's improper to sneak up on someone like that at a cemetery, right?" Kalman ruffled Yagami's hair with his right hand, guiding him away from the tombstones. They began walking back toward their estate.
"I understand."
At Yagami's response, Kalman's lips curved downward in a half-frown. He was as aloof as ever. "You should learn to be more sociable, you know? Have you been making friends at Sanctum?"
"Some."
"And how are they?"
"Nice."
"How's your semblance coming along?" Kalman prodded. As a member of House Han, his brother needed to develop his semblance, and soon. Their mother had adopted him as an orphan, which was something unconventional for a Great House.
"No signs."
"I see…"
The conversation died out. Yagami stuck close to him, though, hovering around him. He always did that. In some ways, he was closer to Kalman than he was to anyone else, even their parents. It was a unique sibling bond that didn't require much talking.
The two of them returned to the Han Estate.
Thank you for reading! I've been overwhelmed by the amazing feedback on this fic! Unfortunately, this update was late because I was on vacation and had some technical issues with my laptop, so I was unable to write.
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Next Chapter: July 15th
-thann
