Epilogue: Candlelight

"Ozpin!" a man shouted at the headmaster as he answered his scroll.

"Councilman Winchester," Ozpin said. "What's keeping you up so late?" He was in his office, typing at his hard-light desk, a projected screen emerging from the table top with a touch-screen keyboard below it.

"It's that girl again!" Winchester said. "The one you mentioned might fill this new 'maiden' role for the council!"

"What of her?" Ozpin asked while pulling up another screen; one with live footage from a local broadcast channel. He could see Team RWBY in the b-roll behind the anchor.

"She's still performing vigilante stunts!" the councilman continued. "How are people supposed to idolize someone who doesn't follow the law?!"

"She is a huntress," Ozpin said, continuing to type. "Stopping criminals isn't uncommon for them."

"A huntress in training!" Winchester fired back. "One who is far too young to be at your academy!"

"Councilman," Ozpin began asking, "did you call me just to complain about a decision you got outvoted on?"

"Of course not!" the man said. "I have a proposal: an alteration of the requirements for the position."

"And they are?"

"Firstly, remove the combat readiness prerequisite," Winchester said. "Then, allow for both men and women to be considered for-"

"No," Ozpin interrupted. Winchester paused.

"No? Why not?" he asked. "What is the point of a government idol being a huntsman?"

"The position involves more than bureaucratic affairs, councilman," Ozpin explained. "Whoever takes it on must be a capable combatant."

"Then why not my son?" Winchester asked. "Cardin is already a formidable warrior."

"And the least liked person in his class, unfortunately," Ozpin mused. "He's also, well, a 'he,' in the most literal sense."

The councilman scoffed. "That's another thing that doesn't add up! You're always so insistent about meritocracy, that 'the state of our birth doesn't dictate what we can become,' but when it comes to your little pet project, you suddenly change your mind?"

"Believe me, Councilman Winchester," Ozpin said. "If the position could be filled by anyone, I would find the best candidate regardless of sex; but as it stands, our maiden must be a woman."

As he finished, another screen popped out of his desk: an email message sent by someone anonymous.

"Are you lying to me, Ozpin?" Winchester asked with a dull chuckle.

"Of course not," the headmaster said, opening the message while taking a sip of coffee. "I'm being realistic. The people of Atlas would treat our envoy better for being female." He scanned the email, finding its contents mostly coded gibberish.

"So they're sexist now too?" the councilman jested. "And everyone says I'm soft on foreign policy."

Ozpin didn't respond, rereading his new message with a careful eye. He was trying to mentally filter the words through a cipher his allies often used, but the words still lacked any meaning.

"Still, I'm going to bring a new proposal to the council soon," Winchester continued. "I can't let you go about unchallenged all the time."

"Yes," Ozpin said offhandedly, opening a new screen. "Forgive me, Beauford, but the night grows late. I'm off to bed."

"Wha-"

Ozpin ended the call, turning back to decode his message. The next key he tried didn't work, forcing him to open another screen for more references. Finally, he managed to get out a few sentences that read:

'QUEEN HAS PAWNS. MAIDEN INJURED - SAFE. LEAVING BREADCRUMBS. -QROW.'

Ozpin grit his teeth, glaring at the message.

He stood, snatching his scroll and punching in several commands at once. Several of his staff answered, their voices coming in as a confused cacophony.

Staring out at the city of Vale from atop Beacon Tower, Ozpin silenced his audience with one statement.

"We have a problem."

Roman Torchwick came back to consciousness a short time after his bullhead crashed. His jacket was a bit torn, his hat was missing, and he had a streak of blood running down his face as he sat in an abandoned tunnel beneath the city. A few of his goons, still dressed in their White Fang disguises, were discussing their situation a few feet away.

"We should climb up," one of them said. "We can make for the hideout."

"We'll get arrested," another argued. "We should head down the tracks- they have to let out somewhere!"

"And where would that be?" a third joined in. "Mountain Glenn? A grimm infested cavern?"

"Enough," Roman said, pushing himself up by bracing against the wall. The six henchmen present looked at him, startled by his rise. "All of you need to shut it so I can think. Now, where's-" He cut himself off, noticing Neopolitan resting against the wall.

He darted over another injured goon, crouching down and resting a hand on Neo's cheek as her eyes fluttered open. He smiled at her, patting her head gently as she returned a weak smile of her own.

"We have to get out here boss!" a man said, stepping up to Roman.

"No shit," he replied. "Took a real genius to figure that out." He looked about the spacious cavern he found himself in, regarding the train tracks by the less injured people.

"We can't go up," Roman said. "Not with those weird kids up there. They've likely called the police by now, so our only option is the tracks."

"But it could take days to-"

"I know!" Roman snapped at the complainer. "I've been doing this longer than any of you chumps, so if you don't want to get arrested or die, you'll listen to me.

"Now, start clearing the rubble," he ordered, finding his cane amongst the debris. "We need to recover any cargo we can. I had stashes of dust in those bullheads that could be useful." He leaned on his weapon, rolling his shoulder as the able-bodied criminals obeyed.

Roman spared a glance down the dark tunnel again, then paused as he saw more figures walking towards them. As they came into the dim moonlight, he found dozens more henchmen in White Fang uniforms.

"Wow," Roman remarked. "And here I thought you all just ran off."

The man at their head, a large fellow with bulging muscles and a full white and red helmet, turned to him.

"Uh, boss?" the injured goon behind Roman spoke up. "Those guys aren't with us."

Roman blinked, reexamining the newcomers. They wore black and white uniforms instead of the white and red of the imposters, and the White Fang regalia that was missing from the front was displayed on the back of the vest. Additionally, many lacked the hoods Roman's disguises had, allowing more common faunus traits to stick out.

For a moment, the criminal thought of lifting his cane and firing at the large man. Then he noticed there were not a few dozen people behind him; almost a hundred White Fang members were watching them silently, waiting for something.

"Oh," Roman said, sitting down while holding a hand to his head. "Now that's a twist!" He let out a laugh that echoed down the cavern.

His other goons stopped shifting rubble, turning to notice the scene.

"Well, well," the large man began, his deep voice thundering through the cavern. "You're the fools who have been using our name to satisfy your greed, huh?" He stepped forward folding his arms.

"Technically," Roman said between giggles, "they're the ones in the uniforms, so-"

A shot rang through the tunnel, silencing him. A faunus woman with thin deer antlers stepped out from the crowd, her silver pistol smoking.

"Don't waste your breath," she said. "We know all about your operation, Torchwick."

He frowned, trying to recognize any of the faunus he may have hired, but couldn't place a face due to the darkness.

"What do you think we should do with them?" the masked man asked the assembly.

"We should kill them," the deer woman said, leveling her pistol at Roman. "Just say the word, lieutenant."

Roman's gaze met her masked face, nonplussed, when a feminine voice rang out from behind the White Fang.

"Why waste a perfectly good pawn?"

From the dark, a flame arose in the hand of a shadowed woman, her visible eye flickering in the light.

"You heard the lady," the lieutenant said with a shrug. "They're coming with us."

The aggressive woman sighed, returning her weapon to her belt as White Fang goons marched over, taking custody of Roman's gang.

"You know, there's dust in those bullheads," Roman said, helping Neo stand as two terrorists guided them away.

The lieutenant stopped his group, leering at him.

"It's all yours!" Roman said, holding his cane out to the man. "Every speck! No traps or anything!"

The man took the weapon and dismissed him with a nod, ordering some other people to begin excavation.

His escort brought him to face the mystery woman. The fire only lit enough for him to see her bright orange eyes.

"I suppose you want a thank you?" Roman asked.

"Are you one to give thanks?" she asked with a coy smirk.

"On occasion," Roman said carefully. "For the right price."

"And how much is that?"

"The name of my new employer." Roman felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back. "If you're so inclined."

The woman continued to stare at him, her flat smile burning itself into his memory. After a long silence, she spoke.

"Cinder Fall."

"Well, Ms. Fall," Roman said, bowing before her. "I am forever in your debt."

The White Fang members prodded him with bright white scimitars.

"Hey!" he cried, popping back up. "Those are sharp!"

Cinder chuckled as Roman and Neo left the crash site, disappearing into the darkness as the woman snuffed out the last light in the tunnel.