A Light Against The Darkness

by nightbringer24

Remnants of a world called Cadia. A world called Remnant. Fate thrusts them together, and common cause finds them allied; the protection of humanity. But what awaits the forces of the Imperium of Man in this strange new world, cut off from humanity? What awaits Team RWBY and friends with these strange new visitors from the stars? But in the end, there is only war.

18. Chapter 12

AN: Hoo-boy! It has been a good long while.

I've got no serious reason for why this took so long. I just... kind of kept running out of steam on it, along with general writer's block too. Then I had to get a new laptop since my old one died and that was a whole problem unto itself.

But we're here now. Chapter 12, mainly politics and politicking, along with some interpersonal relationships developing and coming to the fore, plus a little something extra at the end that takes place at the same time as the first third of this chapter really, around that point.

So, read, enjoy, review, and follow the story on Space Battles and my Patre*n, Ciaran's Curios, for more updates on the story. Have a happy Halloween everyone!

---

The sun hasn't fully risen in the Remnant sky when Tychos Litten wakes up. The Cadian soldier doesn't take long to go from sleep to waking, letting him see the room he's in. It's no bunker, no redoubt, nor the burn out shell of a building. It's a nice place, easily able to hold the four student Huntsmen and the older Cadian comfortably on another mattress.

It's still dark, the sun barely breaking the horizon, letting just the barest hint of light in through the curtains. Not an unusual period for Tychos. He's often times seen the sun rise on far flung alien worlds. Many of them stunning, many horrible, and many mundane.

Movement in his arms draws Tychos' attention downwards, to the small form he's currently holding in his hands. Carmen is still sleeping soundly, though she's turned over to her front into what can only be an undignified position. Oh, he can even feel drool against his arm!

Resisting the temptation to laugh out loud again, Tychos carefully and slowly moves himself to stand up. Joints groan out in protest at the motion after a night of sitting upright against a wall, and he has to make sure he stifles the groan he lets out.

"T-Tychos?"

A sleepy sounding voice has the man stopping halfway through standing up, though he's careful to not let Carmen fall from his arms as he looks for the source.

Lying in one of the beds, Tychos can see the sleepy face of Velvet Scarlatina, the Faunus member of Team CFVY, looking at him through sleep-lidded eyes. Her ears are in disarray, one falling behind her while the other is upright but bent at the top.

Tychos smiles ruefully at her before he whispers. "Sorry. I'm an early riser."

He looks down at the child in his arms, the girl still asleep, before he hears the slight rustle of a blanket being moved. Looking up, in the low light, Tychos can see Velvet has lifted her bedsheet up slightly, unintentionally showing off her pyjamas, though it's hard to see in the low light what exactly she is wearing.

The invitation is clear for Tychos. Drawing on his years of practice, the Cadian moves as stealthily forward as he can before sliding Carmen into the bed. She doesn't stir at all, even as the blanket is gently brought down over her.

Tychos doesn't say anything, just nodding his thanks as he moves back to his sleeping position. With deliberate care, he gathers up his gear and equipment as best as he can; bag slung over his shoulder, jacket and boots held in his hands. His flak armour and lasrifle are with the company, since the move to get him sleeping in Team CFVY's room was a very quick decision, but it's for the best right now. No risk of jangling everyone awake.

Silently as he can, Tychos opens the door and slides his way through, making sure to look into the room as he does.

"Yatsu will be out soon." Velvet whispers to him as she moves her head back down to the pillow properly. "See you at breakfast…"

Tychos smiles at the girl as she falls back to sleep before he closes the door, leaving him in the corridor outside.

And then he notices it. It was something that's been nagging at him for a while since he's been at Beacon, but he can finally place it.

It's so quiet.

No hum and buzz of lights trying to stay lit. No distant creak and groan of metal reshaping itself from temperature and stress. No muffled grumble of promethium (and the occasional steam) engine running to keep stuff powered. No crank and grind of armoured vehicles moving. No guns.

It's just… silence.

And it unnerves Tychos a bit.

Standing in the corridor, gently putting down his boots and backpack, he shrugs his jacket back on as he looks down both ends of the corridor.

A Guardsman's life is one of constant noise. Shouts of officers, calls of orders. The trundle of tank tracks and the clank of machinery. The snap and whine of lasguns and the roaring thunder of artillery. The only moments Tychos has known silence, true silence, is seconds before enemies have launched attacks.

But no, he won't get attacked in this place. Tychos knows that. This place is safe. Beacon Academy is a safe place, a secure place to be in. Otherwise the kids wouldn't be here.

So Tychos forces down the feeling, even as he buttons his jacket and slips on his boots, using his backpack as a makeshift seat to sit on to make the job easier, before he moves down the corridor towards the exit. CFVY had given him a quick tour of the place the evening before and the Cadian has no problem finding his way outside to the quad.

Now there is noise. It's not the regular noise that Tychos is used to, but it's noise nonetheless and the Cadian is glad for it. Mixed with the low stirring of the wind from the bay is the sound of a mega-city coming into life, or stirring fully into the daytime if Vale is like any hive city that Tychos can recall: the faint sounds of massed land cars and transports, the low horns of cargo ships moving in Vale's ports along with the far off engine sounds of aircraft shuttling to and from the various airports and landing strips. All so far away but noticeable up here at Beacon Academy. And surrounding him more fully is the sound of nature. The wind in the trees and grass, and the sharp but low trilling of birds singing their morning songs.

Walking along the stone pathway outside the Second Year dormitories, Tychos lets his eyes take in the surroundings. The lamps placed along both sides of the path are dimmed but still allow enough light for the Cadian to find his way. In the low morning light, Tychos once again takes a look at the building he spent the night in. Definitely one of the better class of buildings that the Cadian has spent time in, even for a night. Grey stone walls, with just a hint of gothic ornamentation that the Cadian is familiar with around the windows, loom high above him, letting him see the windows of the dorm rooms within. Many are still dark, their inhabitants still asleep, but a few have their lights lit. Students wanting to get some exercise in early, or such like.

Tychos respects that.

Putting those from his mind, Tychos carries on walking until he reaches his destination in the large area between the First, Second and Third year dormitories.

"Hey, Tychos!" Sophia says loudly, not outright shouting, but still loud enough for her to be quickly shushed by the small crowd of Cadians clustered around the small heaters with pots of recaff on them outside of the large canvas tent they slept under.

"Hey, yourself." He replies as he walks towards the other Cadians. There's only a few outside, maybe a dozen or so, setting up the morning recaff in hushed voices. None of them are armoured or armed, many of them not wearing their jackets, just in their trousers and vests. "How'd everyone sleep?"

"Well enough." Another woman says, holding a steaming cup for Tychos to take. "It's just like the times back on the moorlands back on Cadia Tertius."

Tychos nods his head as he takes the cup, supping from the enamel cup gently as he thinks back on those times. The wide open spaces, split only by the enigmatic pylons that dotted Cadia's landscape along with the many ruins from past wars and invasions. The youth of Cadia, the Whiteshields of the planet, would often be transported out, or even marched out, into the wilderness for live-fire exercises and manoeuvres. Facing the elements; the blistering cold, the surging heat, the horrible rain…

"Where's Carmen?" Sophia's question takes Tychos out of his nostalgic reverie, the man giving her a flat look as he lowers his cup slightly so he can answer.

"Back in Team CFVY's room. If anyone deserves to sleep in a nice bed for a night, it's her."

A noise comes from Sophia's throat that might be either agreement or… disappointment? Tychos isn't blind to how affectionate the flamer specialist is towards the young Faunus, and he's wondering if he should tell her about the dream he had about Carmen the night before.

He's quickly interrupted by a finger poking into his side sharply, nearly making him drop his cup.

"Speaking of 'nice bed'," Sophia says with a sly look on her face. "How was your time in luxury?"

Tychos feels his eyes go wide in confusion and amazement at the woman's words. Luxury? "It was just a mattress on the floor! I'd hardly call that luxury."

"A moment of luxury spawns a lifetime of laxity." Sophia answers, twisting one of the Imperium's 'thoughts of the day' into something… Sophia, with an unremitting smile on her face.

Not saying a word, Tychos lifts the cup of recaf to his mouth, taking a strong swig from it, his mouth long inured to the hot liquid and feeling whatever was in the dark drink fortify him before setting the cup down. As he does, he fixes Sophia with a flat stare.

"Let's move away from here." He says simply. "Keep the noise down."

Sophia nods, a small smile on her face but a hardening in her eyes. Without a word, the pair of Cadians walk down the length of the tent, only stopping briefly to be given their packs and belts by another soldier, equipment they quickly swing on before they pick up a lasgun each from a pyramid of the weapons standing next to the night's watch, soldiers who simply nodded at the pair as they passed.

Even in a friendly locale, some measures of security couldn't be ignored.

Without word or prompt, the pair reach down to their belts and draw their bayonets. A triangular blade of seven inches, eleven inches to the handle. While not the fearsome brutality of the Catachan fighting knife, it is a more utilitarian design. Able to cut through cloth and flesh as it is able to cut away at foliage and wood, in the hands of a raw Militarum recruit, it is dangerous. Attached to an M36 Kantreal lasgun, wielded by a trained Cadian Shock Troop, it is deadly.

As befitting a schola for the training of the defenders of humanity on this world, Beacon has several areas set aside for training. The spot Tychos and Sophia choose, and one soon watched over by a squad's worth of other soldiers looking forward to some morning entertainment, is a solid square of green grass, maybe fifteen square yards. Under Tychos' booted feet, he can feel that the earth is softer and more bouncier than the surrounding area, a fact he tests as he bounces on the balls of his feet slightly, his hands gripping tightly to the stock and handguard of the rifle. A classic positioning for bayonet practice. Across from him, Sophia does the same.

Neither person says a word as they stare at each other. Then they begin.

Conditioned to such things, their motions are rote as they go through the various Astra Militarum-issue, Cadian standard bayonet drills. The air around them fills with the sounds of bayonets clashing as the pair thrust, parry, recover, thrust again, parry again with their lasguns, blades flashing in the new morning's light. Neither is intent on hitting their opponent just yet, especially when they lunge forward, the bodies of their lasguns clashing together as the pair of Cadians strain against each other's strength before they disengage, reeling away from the other to stare each other down again. Silently, they circle around each other.

As Tychos lunges forward with this bayonet ready, the combat changes. Expertly, Sophia parries the blade away with her own, but quick as a flash, Tychos spins himself around, rifle butt dashing forward to aim at her face.

Sophia sees it coming however as she pivots away, letting the blunt object glide past her face by inches before she delivers her own rifle butt against Tychos' chest. The wind is blasted from the man, but he rides through the pain, gritting his teeth as he moves backwards, giving himself space and time. His partner doesn't give him time as she lunges forward, her rifle held at a low angle, aimed to disembowel the opponent. A quick upward hit with Tychos' lasgun stops that becoming an eventuality.

To any outside observer, seeing the pair lunge and attack at each other, hitting each other with their rifle butts and just barely missing with their bayonets, it would seem that the training has become something deadly. Which it has, no two words about it. But this is standard training for the Cadians. Escalation of violence in a warzone can come without a moment's notice, and he who controls the escalation controls the ebb and flow of the warzone. So the Cadians trained hard and they trained seriously.

Though in the end, with a soft groan of annoyance, Tychos finds himself flat on his back, with Sophia planting one knee against his chest and one knee on his right arm, pinning him in place as she places her detached bayonet blade against his chin.

"So… was I wrong, Tychos?" Sophia says casually, a cocky smile on her face.

Tychos doesn't say a word, letting his eyes roll up slightly to get a better look at the morning sky. Though he ends up tilting his head further as he hears a voice squeak out: "I don't want to do that sort of training, Blake."

"Oh, hey." Tychos says with genuine warmth as he sees the two people speaking. "Good morning, you two."

Standing at the edge of the training square, away from the other Cadians, are two members of Team RWBY, though it takes a second for Tychos to remember who. And both really show the differences in training fashion between the two groups. While the Cadians still wear their standard issue, bog-standard, combat fatigues for training, Ruby and Blake are wearing near skin-tight leggings, both black with a red stripe for the former and a purple stripe for the latter down the outside of their legs, soft-foot wear on their feet and hooded sweatshirts for their tops, red and purple again. Though Blake is still wearing her bow… weird.

"Mornin'." Ruby says kindly, waving her hand slightly, though even from his angle Tychos can see that the girl is very sleepy.

"How long have you two been there?" Sophia asks, not moving from her place off her friend, much to his annoyance.

"About the time you use your gun as a spear, trying to stab him several times." Blake responds, even miming the actions of a rapid fire thrust with a bayoneted rifle, which draws a collective chuckle from everyone, especially with the fearful look on her face.

"Don't worry about us, girl," Sophia says as she moves to fully sit down on Tychos chest, ignoring his outburst of annoyance ("GET OFF!"). "We know what we're doing. Hey… aren't you the girl who made Carmen cry yesterday?"

The teenager's response is an almost cat-like widening of the eyes before Blake drops her head. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Probably not." Tychos says with a strained voice as he pushes against Sophia, who is definitely doing her best to keep her friend pinned. "Get your fat arse off me!"

Quickly, the woman hops off Tychos, a broad grin on her face as the Cadian moves off the floor, dusting himself off as he turns to look at the two teenage girls. "I don't think we'll get you doing that sort of drill, don't worry about that. What do you guys normally do for training?"

"Well," Ruby drawls out slightly. "We only really train in class with Professor Goodwitch, since we can only use our weapons in 'a structured and well-regulated environment.'"

The impression of the bespectacled, blonde bombshell of a tutor, even if it's a bad impression, makes the Cadians chuckle before Ruby continues.

"So we just… basically run a lap or two, some stretches, then go for breakfast."

"Sounds fair." Says Tychos, rolling one of his shoulders to work out a new kink that's cropped up. "Mind if we join you? Just for a little while at least."

That takes the two students aback, both of them looking at the soldiers in front of them in shock before they look to the other.

"Umm… sure." Blake responds, a small and unsure smile playing at her lips. "I mean…"

"How far do you guys like to run?" Ruby continues, looking between Tychos, Sophia and the other Cadians now moving to gather around them, some of them giving the pair their kitbags back.

"General rule is until we're told to stop." Sophia says with a broad grin as she hefts her bag onto her shoulders. "Though we might end up going for a good few more laps than just two."

Tychos doesn't say anything as he unclips his bayonet and slips it into its sheath. As he does, he catches Ruby's eyes. Like pools of mercury… no, even brighter than that. Like pure silver. And as wide as a cargo-6's wheel rim. And apparently she's the leader of Team RWBY, if what he's been told by Coco about how Huntsmen teams are organized is correct.

'How does a girl like that end up at a place like Beacon?' He thinks to himself. Too young for sure.

At Sophia's comment, the two teenagers look at each other, an unspoken look passing between them before they both nod their heads.

"I mean, we can go for a few laps more than usual." Ruby says, a small shy grin on her face.

"Very good." Tychos says, as he slings his rifle over his shoulder. "Don't worry if you can't keep pace. It is early morning after all."

---

Sucking in breaths, his hands on his hips, Tychos shakes his head slightly. "You need to your mouth shut."

A groan of annoyance comes from beside him as Sophia rests on her bag and takes a swig from her canteen. "I'll take the blame for that one."

"'We might end up going for a good few more laps than just two.'" Tychos repeats in a mocking repeat of his friend and comrade's words from before. "How many laps have we done?"

"I want to say five, but I honestly lost track after… after the blonde boy and the redhead joined us." One of the Cadians, a man with his entire left side tattooed with scripture said from his position sitting on the granite steps outside the main canteen. "What are they called again?"

"Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos." The aforementioned redhead answers as she steps forward, her arms filled with freshly filled canteens. "Hello again."

Tychos doesn't say anything as he waves a small hello to the girl in question, still trying to get his breath back.

How the hell did it happen? He honestly has no idea. Maybe it was what Sophia had said coming true; that they just had kept going because no-one called a stop. And to be fair to the Cadians, not a single one of them complained or grumbled about it, even as they made another lap of the area of Beacon chosen by Blake and Ruby, and eventually Pyrrha and a reluctant Jaune joining in, and then another, and another. And another. And another.

Or maybe, as he turned his head to look at Blake and Ruby passing Jaune another filled bottle of water, the trio only looking marginally winded (although Jaune is definitely red in the face), maybe it was just pride talking. As the teens kept going further, the Cadians had to go further with them too. Even try and surpass them. And that was not a regular run either. They must have covered over seven miles in… Throne, Tychos isn't even sure but the sun has definitely risen by now! Even for a Cadian, that was tough going.

But, as he finally recovered his breath, Tychos had to admit that they fell short of these teenagers. Fell short by a good margin.

"Have a nice little run, Tychos?"

Letting out a breath as a sigh, Tychos turned his head slightly to look at the speaker.

"Good morning, Commissar Schrieber." The guardsman says flatly. "And yes, it was a nice run, thank you, sir."

A commissar is a beacon of order and discipline at all times, even dressed down as Anton is. Though dressed down for a commissar was not wearing his hat, the headgear resting under his armpit as he carried a cup of recaf in his other hand.

"How long were you watching for?" Tychos asks as he turns to face the political officer as he came closer.

"I want to say about the third lap or so." Anton pauses as he takes a sip from his cup. "Fine way to start the morning; exercise for you, entertainment for me. Especially with you lot keeping pace."

Tychos doesn't say anything at that, just giving a wry smile at the comment.

"You're definitely a hit with the ladies of this planet."

Those words, said low and softly, are still enough to draw a look of uncharacteristic shock from the guardsman, which is enough to make Anton grin broadly in delight.

"They've been flocking to you like buzzards to carrion."

"No they haven't." Tychos says quickly and snappily before he moves away from the commissar and towards the water fountain. He needs a drink of water… and Ruby and Blake are still near the fountain.

Not that such a fact stops Anton from continuing to talk as he follows Tychos.

"I mean, think on it; Carmen, Velvet, Coco, now the girls here. Some people might get jealous."

"That's not funny." Tychos hisses out at Anton as he stops in front of Ruby and Blake, causing both girls to look at him in confusion.

"Wh-what's going on?" The girl in red asks in confusion as Tychos fills his own canteen at the fountain.

"A bad joke." Tychos replies quickly, while Anton snickers behind him.

"You want a bad joke, try listening to Professor Port's stories for too long and with not enough alcohol. Throne above, that man can blather on about nothing."

The girl with a bow on her head nods her head in a knowing manner, a rueful look on her face. "You should hear him in class. Although… what's this about Tychos being a 'hit with the ladies'?"

A surprised smile crosses Anton's face. "You have good hearing, miss. Although I guess you should know. It seems that the only ones Tychos talks to anymore are women."

A small peep of either shock or laughter comes from Ruby's mouth, even as her face reddens slightly, while Blake turns her head in shock.

All Tychos does is let out a groan of annoyance. It was too early for this sort of thing, plus the topic was… not wholly pleasant for him. Carmen's a young girl, and Tychos can only think of a few places in the Imperium where such a paring would be accepted and they made him shudder to think of. Coco and Velvet were definitely young, though going towards twenty for sure but that was still weird, and then there was Ruby and Blake and they were definitely too young…

"If you keep thinking too hard, your brain will pop out of your skull." Anton says smiling before he takes another sip from his cup before he turns to look at the two teenage girls. "Although, if you don't mind me asking; why is Tychos approachable to you guys?"

Silently, Blake and Velvet look at each before they look back at the commissar.

"He approached us first, yesterday, with Carmen." Blake answers simply. "Plus, he was nice and polite about everything, and when he trained with Ruby, we knew he was actually a nice guy. Plus, compared to you… he doesn't look as scary."

If they expected Anton to be insulted, he only gives the girls another grin as he fixes his cap back onto his head. "My work continues apace."

Tychos can only roll his eyes at the comment. Commissars are a breed apart for sure.

"Oh, by the way." Anton suddenly says, addressing everyone around him. "Kitchens are now open, and breakfast is getting ready to be served. Move quick if you want indoor seats."

That quickly galvanizes the soldiers and students equally. Any tiredness or aches are forgotten as each soldier picks up his or her pack and moves out, or in Tychos' case, helps lift up a still winded and red-faced Jaune before handing him off to Pyrrha for assistance. Emperor knew the boy needed food the most. And a seat.

---

A loud sigh fills the small space, making Neo look up from her scroll in shock. Seeing Roman dressed in his trousers and a wife-beater vest only was not an unusual sight for the duo, especially when they were in their own personal hideout like they are now, with Roman cooking breakfast for the two, but seeing him look as… it's hard for Neo to place the look on the man's face. Annoyed? Dejected? Constipated?

"I miss the old days, Neo," Roman says simply from beside the kitchenette, a spatula held loosely in one hand, letting him spin it around in his palm as he looks at the food cooking on the stovetop. "I miss when we used to do this for fun."

He turns to look at Neo, and the girl is surprised to see such a nostalgic look on the man's face. So she returns a look of her own. She can't speak, but her face says it all: "What are you talking about?"

"The old days, Neo!" Roman says loudly, spreading his arms wide, inadvertently showing off the strength of his arms in the muscles there. He looks skinny in his trademark outfit, but Roman is not a weak man. The white, pink and brown apron he wears doesn't help though (it's a present from the Winter Solstice from Neo). "You know what I mean!"

Neo shakes her head, looking at Roman in confusion, making him sigh again before he walks towards her until he was standing on the other side of the table from her.

"Yes, you do. When we did everything, remember? All the heists we did, all the scores we took. We did that. The coffee heist?"

Okay, that one makes Neo chuckle, the action making her shoulders shake in mirth as she laughs soundlessly. That was a good one; the pair managing to monopolise the city's entire coffee supply. Granted, it was only for a few months, but still, that was something.

As she laughs, so does Roman, the happy sound filling the room they're in with warmth and mirth.

"See what I mean? And the time we tried for the liquor run too?"

Neo is lucky she has her Scroll in her hand as she quickly types something before showing it to Roman.

YEAH, BUT JUNIOR BEAT US TO IT

"Yeah, what can you do?" Roman responds, a small smile on his face. Though quickly, the smile shrinks even more until it's gone and is replaced with… there's that odd look on his face again. Neo still can't place it.

But she does quickly place the sight, smell and sound of food beginning to burn. Quickly, she thumps her palm against the table, getting Roman's attention, before pointing at the stove.

"Gah, shit! Sorry!" The criminal master of Vale, both the city and the kingdom, quickly said as he lunged up from his chair and rushed over to the stove, taking the pan and food off the heat before he began to sort them onto plates for the pair.

As he did so, Neo took the time to type out her question onto her Scroll, having it ready as Roman put down her own plate of food.

WHAT'S THE PROBLEM, ROMAN?

Roman freezes, one hand still on Neo's plate, the fine crockery just millimetres off the table's surface. His face is unreadable, one eye obscured by his hair and the other… just blank. With a resigned sigh, he puts down Neo's plate before he sets his own down, slumping into the chair as he does so.

"Neo… I think throwing in with Little Miss Firestarter was not the right move."

This time, Neo doesn't need to use her Scroll as her face says what she's thinking: "I could have told you that."

Roman nods his head, a wan smile on his lips. "I know, I know. I'm a dum-dum. And this time, I really mean it."

Neo's eyes open wide. Roman is not the sort of man who will admit to his mistakes, big or small. So to hear him say something like this… it worries her.

"Cinder and her lot helped us shake the city up, sure, especially with the White Fang, and at any other time, we could have used that to our advantage. Get some Lien here, a few more Lien there, a bit of Dust over there, and we'd be able to get that new reclining chair I want. But with this?" Roman suddenly spreads his arms wide to try and encompass the point, but he quickly drops his arms to his sides as he just looks at Neo flatly.

"All we cared about… was us. Just the two of us. We never cared about making a difference in the city or the kingdom, and we sure as hell didn't care about the White Fang and the Faunus. We didn't bother with Dust unless we needed it, and Lien didn't matter for shit. Well… mostly."

Noe nods her head, but she still feels that Roman isn't saying something, so she lightly thumps the base of her fork against the table in an attempt to get him to say more. Roman is silent for a few moments, picking up his fork to stab against the food on his plate.

"Police and Huntsmen are one thing. We can deal with them easily, since they often don't want to kill us. We both know that."

Neo nods her head. She can count on her fingers the amount of times a Huntsman has tried to kill them, and that would only be on one hand. And the police were the police.

"But… have you ever gone against an army before? Trained soldiers?"

The question makes Neo look at Roman in shock before confusion. She never has, and both know that he hasn't either, so why is he asking this question? Roman answers her question.

"No, I know you haven't, Neo. And I haven't either. But I knew a guy, back in Mantle. He lived near the orphanage when I was a kid. A nice guy, rare as hell to find. Old as an oak and just as strong too, even with only one arm. Now, his grand-father fought in the Great War. And the stories he told me… well, let's just say that they definitely made me glad that Mantle no longer has an army because that kind of service does not appeal to me at all."

Rolling her eyes slightly, Neo says nothing as she waits for Roman to get to the matter, only stopping to cut away at the bacon on her plate.

"He told me… that a soldier's mind is not the same as a Huntsman. Because for all the conformist shit I can give Huntsmen, at least they are themselves at the end of the day. They're their own person, with their own name and their own colours. Even… little Red… there's only one of her, thank the Brothers."

That draws another silent chuckle from Neo, her mouth full with food.

"But soldiers… that's all gone. No individuality, no self. They are puppets on a string for the powers that be… and it's scary, Neo. Because they get broken down to become that. Broken down from people like me and you and Red, and remade into puppets. To be given orders: 'DO THIS!', 'DO THAT!'. 'SLEEP THERE, EAT THIS!'.

"And when they fight…"

Roman trails off into silence again, a faraway look on his face.

"When they fight, it's not like we fight. We fight if we need to, when we need to, and we'll run when it starts getting too bad. But a soldier, this guy told me; he said the best soldiers will fight to the end because they've been told to fight to the end, and their training will not let them run or even think of retreating."

Roman stabs his fork into a sausage angrily, skewering it heavily before bringing it up to look at it. As he does though, his face suddenly morphs into an angry scowl before he violently tosses the food away, the fork clattering against the wall loudly.

"And Cinder's got us facing a fucking army!"

For a moment, Neo's body changes, her Semblance acting up as a wave of what looked like pink, broken glass spread up and down her body, changing her. Her hair became uniformly brown, becoming long enough to sport two pigtails, while her clothing became a simple brown dress. The form she took when her life was less adventurous, more closed in. When she was more scared…

Quickly, the angry look drops from Roman's face, becoming apologetic as he reaches over the table to grasp her hand. "I'm sorry, Neo. I'm not mad at you, you know that. You annoy me at times, but I'd never be mad at you, you know that. Right?"

The scared look remains on Neo's face for a few seconds before she smiles at Roman, putting her free hand over the one holding her other. As she smiles, the light flows over her body again, turning her back into Neo. That gets Roman to smile again. A tempered smile, but a smile regardless.

"I'm just… because of following Cinder, we might have to face these space men. And I don't want to do that unless we have to."

Neo gives Roman a pointed look: "But we might have to."

Roman nods his head before taking his hands off Neo's and returning to his plate. "If we knew more about them, I could say it'd be safer, but until then, we're stuck with Miss Firestarter and her plan. Whatever that is."

The comment rankles Neo too. In her partnership with Roman, she's never not known what his plans were. They had a partnership that worked. But this Cinder woman hasn't told them anything about her plan except that it needs a lot of Dust. And questions have been met with the same answers:

"All in good time."

"You'll know when you need to know."

So, as Roman realises that he's thrown his fork across the room and goes to get it, Neo sits back in her seat and picks up her Scroll again. As she does, it pings, signifying a message. Expecting spam or maybe a message from one of Roman's business 'associates', she reads it. Before her eyes open wide in shock and delight.

"Waste of a good sausage-WHOA!" Roman begins to mutter before he finds Neo standing in his face, balancing on her chair as she holds her Scroll up for him to see, specifically the news message on the screen:

BREAKING NEWS: Vale City Council Preparing Event To Host Members of The Imperium

Quickly forgetting about his food, Roman takes the Scroll and begins to read it quickly and quietly. And as he does, another smile forms on his face. A sly smile. A conniving, cunning smile. A smile that signified a plan was forming in his mind.

"Neo," Roman says as he turns to look at the short woman again. "Do you remember that plan to infiltrate the council to get the bank funds for the new theatre?"

Placing a hand on her hip, Neo gives the man the simplest expression she can: "Duh."

"I think we can do that again. Tonight," The smile on Roman's face broadens. "Because if we pull this off… we might get something big out of this."

Her lips spread wide as Neo smiles at Roman in turn.

---

The cafeteria is filling up with noise, both from the freshly awoken students and the Cadian soldiers that are joining them. The line for breakfast is longer, much longer than usual, enough to stretch out of the doorway in a winding and mismatched line of fatigues, uniforms and gym clothes. It isn't just Ruby and Blake and Jaune and Pyrrha that saw the early morning as a perfect time for working out. But order is maintained, for the Cadians by the presence of Commissar Anton stalking down the lines with a cup of recaff held too nonchalantly in his hand, the other held behind his back, and for the Beaconers (as the Cadians had quickly come to call the students. Beaconite was tossed around but it was shot down), it is Doctor Oobleck patrolling the line, moving like a caffeine powered clock-work soldier.

Not a single person makes a problem, because inside, Professor Goodwitch maintains order. Inside, it is her domain, her kingdom. Like a regal monarch, the blonde woman casually surveys all around her in a gaze that is anything but casual as she walks down the line of people getting their breakfast meals. For the students, they know to go about their business: get their food, get their drinks and join their teams and friends at their chosen tables. Don't meet Goodwitch's eyes because she knows. She always knows. Even the number of young boys, and more than a few girls, would admit to casting an extra glance at her during lessons avert their eyes from her in the morning. They fear her, and her riding crop.

For the Cadians, their discipline is already second to none in the wider galaxy and on Remnant, they have no fear for the professor. Though she possesses the same aura of personality as a member of the commissariat or the higher ranked Sororitas, Goodwitch holds no fear for them. Instead, they treat her with the respect such a being would deserve. Whenever the woman passes by a Cadian or a small group of Cadians, each one to a woman and a man nods their head in greeting, offering words such as "Good morning, mamzel" or "Morning, ma'am".

For those seated at tables away from the woman however…

"You know who she reminds me of?" Tychos says, taking another sip from his cup of coffee. Not recaff, but Remnite coffee, which is sweeter to his palette than recaff, but he doesn't mind. At least it tastes good.

"Who reminds you of who?" Jaune asks before he puts the spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Professor Goodwitch. She reminds me of-"

"Scholar Antonia!" Sophia suddenly chirps up as she quickly guesses who the other Cadian is talking about, before she catches the looks from the teens around. "She was an old school teacher back in Kasr Drak. Oh, she was a master with the yardstick. Remember how everyone said she used to be a former inquisitor?"

At that comment, Tychos lets out a laugh, joyful and memory filled as he remembers the old woman, with those purple eyes of her that seemed to be as piercing as a lascannon shot straight to the soul, skin as leathery as a sergeant-major's boots, and the ability to almost flay flesh from the bone with a wooden yardstick.

Quickly though, Tychos' laugh trails off as melancholy replaces joy. Did she get out in time? Or did she stand?

An impact against his side jolts him slightly, not enough to make him drop the coffee, makes him look down. Carmen has her arms around as much of his torso as she can manage and is staring daggers at anyone who tries to get Tychos' attention away from her. Which is everyone.

"Come on, little bun." Coco says warmly but sternly to the child as she pushes a plate of pancakes towards the Faunus girl. "Have your breakfast, you'll feel better."

"No!" Carmen suddenly snaps back, making Tychos frown a bit. Being at Beacon has, in some ways, brought the girl out of her shell, getting her to interact with others a bit closer to her age. But the way she's acting has him worried. Should a six year old be acting like that? It's not quite because of anger, though Carmen was clearly not happy with him for leaving her in CFVY's room while he slipped out in the morning. But she's been in a bad mood for a while now.

"Carmen." Tychos says simply, putting his cup down and taking the plate directly in front of him. "Come on, eat your food."

Carmen doesn't say anything, just letting a pout sit on her face. It makes Tychos sigh in exasperation to see. He had a younger sister, yes, but he never had to deal with her like this.

It doesn't mean the Cadian misses the hand of one orange haired girl sneaking across the table to try and make a grab for the plate of untouched pancakes. A hand that Tychos quickly grabs by the wrist to stop and exert just enough pressure to make the fingers stop dancing.

"That's not yours," Tychos says in a voice just a little above a whisper as he looks directly at Nora's face, purple eyes locking with light blue. Such an act has made hive gangers, tough-guys, wannabe heroes and a general class of lunatic stand down readily to slink away.

In her seat, Nora only lowers her body, not taking her eyes from Tychos'. But it's not an act of submission. Rather, her motions put into Tychos' mind the acts of a feline predator. One ready to pounce on an enemy, ready to…

"Nora," The calm voice of her companion draws the girl's and the Cadian's attention, the former's eyes opening wide before her mouth does the same.

"PANCAKES!" A whole plate, stacked as high as a heavy bolter's ammo box with pancakes, is placed in front of the girl. Instantly, her hand is pulled back though Tychos has the sense of mind to release his grip before he's pulled over the table with it as Nora wraps her arms around Ren in a hug. A big hug. "You're the best, Ren!"

The boy with long black hair and the single pink streak through it doesn't say anything, just giving a look at Tychos that screams "You're welcome". Tychos returns the look with his cup raised in a toast and a salute, before he turns his attention back to the young girl at his side.

"Come on, Carmen. Eat your food. You'll need the energy."

The girl doesn't respond, just holding onto him tightly. It annoys the Cadian, both at Carmen for being like this, and also because he doesn't fully know how to deal with it.

Though he is hungry himself. Quickly, an idea forms in his mind as he sets his cup down.

"Fine," Tychos picks up a fork from beside the plate, his intent clear. "I'll have it then."

He makes a few cuts with the fork before stabbing the food.

"Wait!" Carmen suddenly cries out, almost in fright, before she makes a grab for he own fork and begins to work to eat.

Tychos sets his jaw as he lets out a subtle sigh before he eats his forkful of pancake.

"Don't worry about it," The voice of Jaune gets Tycho's attention, the blonde boy having a bowl of cereal in front of him. The look on his face is sincere and knowing. "I had a similar issue with my younger sisters. They grow out of it."

The Cadian doesn't say anything for or against it. He has no idea how Arie would have turned out. No thought or idea if she would be like the young Faunus girl at his side or completely different.

The sound of a fork striking a cup repeatedly, the sharp resonating sound filling the space quickly and easily, gets Tychos' and everyone else's attention as they turn towards the head of the cafeteria.

Seated at a specially arranged table, in that it follows the width of the room not the length, are the command officers of the company, Captain Thade and the others, seated alongside Professor Ozpin. A rare occurrence apparently, but a good way to get relations up for sure. Right now, it is the Remnite professor who has gotten everyone's attention as he stood up from his seat.

"I'm pleased to see all of us here, or as many as can be fitted in our cafeteria. It does make me glad to see that the spirit of friendship that we had hoped to foster between our two groups, both defenders of humanity, can be strengthened by that simplest of human pleasures: food."

A small round of applause, a thumping of fists on tables and general "Here, Here's" sound out before petering out to silence as the professor continues to speak.

"And, to further that spirit of friendship, I had a talk with Minister Gale and the Minister of the Interior, along with Captain Thade here, we have something special for you Imperials. Captain Thade, if you will?"

Thade nods his head as he stands. Still proud in his uniform, the medals freshly polished and cleaned, his clothing free of lint or creases, with his unlit pipe held in his hand, the captain puts a hand behind his back as he begins to take on the style he used so often for briefings.

"I'll keep it short and simple for every one of my Cadians: we'll be pulling a special escort duty, or at least some us will. At the invitation of the Valean government, Sister Famulous Agaethe has been invited on a tour of the city of Vale itself. As per our agreement, an honour guard for her will be formed from chosen troopers from Bravo Company as well as chosen student Huntsmen from Beacon."

A low murmur spreads through both the Cadian soldiers and Beacon students, each group wondering who would be chosen. It quietens down as Thade speaks again.

"Obviously, due in no small part to their efforts that Carterstown, Team CFVY has been chosen as the student Huntsmen side of the escort."

"No surprises there," Weiss Schnee says simply, looking at the members of Team CFVY with a small smile.

"And," Thade continues, "For the Imperial side, select soldiers from Bravo company will be in attendance too."

A strange silence falls across the Imperial soldiers, each of them unsure of what is going to happen. Bodyguard detail? Not out of their wheelhouse, sure, but it's still weird for them to do. And into the main city of their hosts?

"Forward reconnaissance," Sophia says, speaking in Cadian, a language she and the others know that no Remnite will understand. "Has to be. Lie of the land, important buildings. How the city is built."

"In case we fight in it?" Tychos asks before he eats another mouthful of pancake. This stuff is good.

Sophia just shrugs her shoulders, leaving the unsaid implication unsaid, to which Tychos just nods. What will be will be. It honestly never paid to plan too far ahead in the guard.

Thade continues speaking. "Since we can't have every Cadian from the platoon going, we'll be drawing a lottery after you've had your breakfast to decide who goes. So eat up. It's gonna be a long day."

With that, the mess hall fills with the sound of people eating quickly and talking animatedly amongst themselves.

---

"If you didn't get chosen, I'd have been genuinely shocked," Coco Adel says as she looks at a slightly embarrassed Tychos and a grinning Sophia.

Tychos shrugs his shoulders. "Well, at least Lieutenant Deckard had the decency to pick my name in the middle instead of the beginning, or the end."

It had still drawn looks from the others around them when Tychos' had been called from the 'lottery', which at that point clearly had to have been fixed in some manner, since Sophia's name was drawn afterwards too, though hers was at the end.

Right now, Tychos and the others are outside the Beacon Academy cafeteria, basically milling around after their meal, waiting to be told what to do. Carmen is in a happier mood for sure, since she's going into Vale with Tychos and the others. And the realization of that kind of irked Tychos.

"I mean, it makes sense," Yatsuhashi says from his place on a nearby bench, Reinhardt and Fox sitting on both sides of him. "Tychos saved Carmen; that's kingdom-wide news, and I don't doubt its global news too."

"'Hero Cadian saves imperilled Faunus child!'" Fox calls out, moving his hands across the air like he's unveiling a script only he can see… kind of.

"You cannot buy that sort of thing for all the tanna on Valhalla," Reinhardt says with a chuckle of his own. "Like something right out of the Regimental Standard."

"Everyone likes a cute kid," Sophia adds in, reaching down to gently pinch Carmen's cheek, making the girl squeal out at the treatment. At least she's calmed down a bit, which makes Tychos smile.

Something niggles at the back of Tychos' head and makes him turn on the spot. Behind him, he sees the black and white clad form of Professor Goodwitch talking the black clothed form of Commissar Schreiber, both standing near the open door frame to the cafeteria. Again, Tychos is struck by how similar each is to the other, even though separated by the millions of light years of distance between them (Tychos is not sure where he pulled that figure from but he goes with it). Both represent order, stability, power, and discipline.

Not figures any regular guardsmen would approach for anything, but the memory of his dream still lingers in Tychos' mind, and he knows there is only one he can talk to about it. So, when he sees Professor Goodwitch nod her head respectfully to the commissar, Schreiber returning the gesture with a small tip of his cap, before walking away, an idea solidifies in Tychos' mind.

"Watch after Carmen for a bit, Coco," The Cadian says, looking at the fashionista with a small smile. "I'll be back in a bit."

Coco gives an affirmative answer, so Tychos begins to walk away… until he feels a pair of small hands latch onto his trouser leg.

"Of course," He sighs out gently before turning to look at the young child holding onto his leg. Her eyes are wide open in fear again, as if her world will shatter if Tychos takes more than a step away from her. Tychos does not have time for this. "No."

Carmen flinches slightly at the word. "B-but…"

Gently, Tychos kneels down to look at her directly, his face level of expression. "I need to go and talk with one of the teachers here about serious, adult business. I'll only be ten-minutes, at the most. So I need you to go with Coco and Velvet and get ready. Okay?"

The young rabbit Faunus looks like she's about to cry again, sniffling slightly, but Tychos does not budge. "Okay?"

Carmen doesn't reply verbally as she drops her head slightly, her ears wilting a bit, but she nods all the same. Leaning forward, Tychos press his lips against her head of hair gently before he lifts his head to look up at the two female members of CFVY. "Ten minutes, tops."

"You got it, Tychos," Coco responds, giving the Cadian a thumbs up as he stands up and moves away from the group, heading towards the interior of the Academy.

And Tychos thought that he's past asking teachers for help.

---

The interior of Beacon Academy gives Tychos a serious case of déjà vu, though it's hard for him to put a finger on why. The hallway is akin to any of the Ecclesiarchy temples he has been to in his time, either on Cadia or off-world, but only in its most simplistic form. The ceilings are high, their roofs held up by angular pillars, while the walls have large windows that nearly reach both the floor and ceiling. But there's no major ornamentation to anything. Green flags bearing the crossed axes of Vale, either the kingdom or city, Tychos can't tell, hand from the ceiling and from poles set into the walls at angles, but that's it. No cherubim, no hooded angels of death or Angels of Death. No skulls or eagles. It's… strange, to the Cadian.

Tychos pays it no serious mind though, moving through the various students in the corridor. There's not many of them, but he definitely sticks out like a sore thumb amongst them all. His dark khaki stands out against the black jackets all students wear, let alone his height carrying him a full head above the majority of them. He also knows that he's moving with a form that gets people to stand aside at the best of time, or fall over themselves to avoid him. Thankfully, this is only the form for him. But it is presenting a problem: he cannot find Professor Goodwitch, and he has no idea who to ask.

Coming to another intersection, this time a T-junction, Tychos stops and lets out a small huff in annoyance. This is getting annoying. He needs to speak to the professor, and it's best he get it out of the way quickly than later. If there is a later…

"You seem to be lost, trooper."

The deep baritone voice from beside him nearly makes Tychos jump, since he heard no footsteps coming up beside him. And for a man like Professor Port, there would have been footsteps. Though he doesn't say anything about that as he looks at the moustachioed Huntsman tutor with a wry grin.

"Yes, I am, sir," The guardsman responds, easily slipping into the tone of voice he uses when speaking to a superior officer. "I'm trying to find Professor Goodwitch, sir."

"Glynda?" The rotund man asks in surprise, the only hint of surprised facial feature being his thick eyebrows raising in question. "Well, now. I am surprised."

That has Tychos raising an eyebrow of his own. "Sir?"

"Oh, I didn't think a fighting man like yourself would need any more lessons!" Professor Port chuckles at his own joke, a deep belly laugh, at the same time as he delivers a hard smack to Tychos' back. Thor's blood, but the man nearly knocks Tychos flat on his face with that smack. But he recovers quickly, putting on a good mannered smile.

"Well, you know… always something new to learn, sir…"

"That's exactly what we want to teach at this academy, my good man!" Port calls out again, standing perfectly straight as if on the parade ground, a finger pointed at the ceiling. "What we want to teach the young students: that no matter how much you think you know, you must always be ready and willing to learn more. Because… well, I'm sure you know the alternative…"

The man's jovial tone drops for a second, and Tychos looks at the man in a new light. Professor Port's eyes are open only slightly, enough to show the hint of dark brown eyes, but Tychos knows those sorts of eyes already. He's seen them hundreds of times, in every Cadian face he's seen. Eyes that have seen too much. Eyes that have not been broken by the horrors. So Tychos nods his head respectfully.

"Right you are, sir."

"Good man," Port says again, giving Tychos a more gentle pat on the back this time. "As for Glynda, just follow this hallway down, second door on your left. Just… knock before you enter."

"Will do, sir," Tychos says, throwing his hand up in a small salute, looking at the professor in a new light. "Thank you, sir."

With a simple nod, Professor Port walks, humming a tune to himself, leaving Tychos to walk in the direction given to him. Quickly, he finds himself at the door he needs to enter and, doing as he was told, he reaches a hand up and knocks on the door.

"Enter!" An authoritative woman's voice calls out from the other side, so Tychos opens the door and enters.

The classroom is like an amphitheatre; the tiered seating arrayed in a semi-circle cut by steps down to the seating and down to the floor, with the central focus being a desk in front of large blackboard in the floor semi-circle, large enough for someone like Tychos to swing a lasgun in, or letting Ruby Rose swing her scythe in easily. And standing at the bottom, a look of surprise plain on her face, is Professor Goodwitch, standing before the blackboard.

"Trooper Litten. I'm surprised."

Last night does still sit in Tychos' memory, and clearly hers.

"Is this is a bad time, mamzel?" He asks. "I can return another time."

"No, please enter," The woman answers, stepping around the large desk, prompting Tychos to walk down the stairs. "Actually, it is a good thing you're here, because I would like to apologize for last night's… unpleasantness."

Tychos falls silent for a few seconds, even as he walks to with a short distance of the professor. Admittedly, he is a bit pissed at her for suggesting, either vocally or not, the idea that Carmen shouldn't stay with him. It smacks him in his personal honour, and the honour of Cadia too. They aren't some jumped-up, drug-huffing, hiver scum you'd need to constantly watch your back around. But… he's also been called worse. So he just shrugs his shoulders.

"Don't pay any mind on that, mamzel," Tychos says, literally waving off the comment, a small smile on his face. Which turns slightly as he thinks on what he has to say next. "Although… I do want to talk to you. About Carmen."

That gets the woman's attention as she crosses her arms in front of her, an intrigued but sceptical look on her face. "Yes? I'm listening."

For a moment, in one of the few times in Tychos' life, he wavers. The idea of what he's about to say is… strange to him, almost akin to admitting defeat in a way for the man. But he resolved to talk about this with the professor, since she was the one who had been focused on helping Carmen in her own way.

So, nervously, Tychos places his hands together as if he is praying before he speaks. "Umm… how… how difficult would it be… for you to find out if… if Carmen has any living relatives?"

For a moment, Professor Goodwitch is silent as she processes the question before a look of surprise comes to her face. "Might I ask what brought this on?"

"In a nutshell, last night, I…" Tychos opens his mouth to say he had a dream, but he realises how daft that would sound. Hell, even talking to an Astartes Chaplain about dreams was going a bit far for him, so he quickly rephrases what he's going to say in his head. "I had time to… stop and think about our position, the Cadian's position here, and her position with us too. And… I think she deserves something better. Much better."

"Why do you mean, better?"

Tychos breathes a sigh. "I had a sister, younger than me. The same age as Carmen is when I… when we… when she was… killed. It was the enemy… of our planet, our Imperium. They attacked with such ferocity and anger, and she…"

A shudder comes to the Cadian's throat as he realises what he's saying, to this woman, and he has to stop himself from remembering. So he pushes that aside to focus on the main topic.

"I don't want to imagine Carmen getting caught up like that, and I know that if she's with us, that's what is going to happen. We're frontline soldiers. We're always in the most dangerous places, and if Carmen is with me, she will be too. And… I don't… I can't…"

Tychos looks at Goodwitch square in the eye with what he knows is a pleading look on his face.

"She's been through hell as it is. She doesn't need to go through more with us."

The Beacon professor is silent, processing his words as she look as the man in front of her. Without saying a word, Professor Goodwitch lets her arms drop to the side before she takes a few steps closer to the Cadian. She raises a hand and gently places it against Tychos' arm.

"I'm sorry about what I said and thought last night, Trooper Litten. You're a good man. I know some people in the Vale city council. I'll send them word in a bit and see if they can dig anything up."

Tychos nods his head simply. "Thank you, mamzel."

That makes Goodwitch smile, a small but clear smile that really makes her beauty shine. "My advice for now, though? Don't give Carmen any hint about your plan. Until we hear back about any family, just carry on as normal. And if you get sent against the Grimm, we'll get her here for safety's sake. Is that all right by you?"

Again, Tychos nods his head. "Perfectly all right."

"Oh, and some more advice," Professor Goodwitch says as she moves back around the desk, sashaying smoothly across the floor. "Today… buy her something nice, if you can. A new dress, a new toy or something. Something she can remember you by. No matter what happens."

"No matter what happens…" Tychos repeats before he shrugs. "Then I pray to the Emperor for his help on this."

As he turns and walks away, Tychos misses the confused look coming to Professor Goodwitch's face as he leaves.

---

When he comes back, Tychos can't find the others outside the cafeteria, but Yatsuhashi is waiting for him, the giant teen doing some meditative movements, slowly moving his arms in specific patterns as he turns slightly. Though he stops when he sees Tychos approach.

"The girls weren't sure how long you'd be, so I said I'd wait for you here while they went back to the dorm."

Accepting that as the answer, Tychos follows the giant teen as he mulls over what he's set in motion.

'Carmen's not being sent away right now,' he tells himself. 'It's just a precaution, in case the worst comes to it.'

Another voice chimes in. 'You're a Cadian. You're always in the worst. This is just the prelude for something bad, and you know it. Get her out of the way.'

To Tychos' shame, both voices sound sensible to him as he continues walking on autopilot behind the largest member of Team CFVY. He falls back on rote motions, copying the teens footsteps as he keeps his eyes on Yatsuhashi's back as they head to Team CFVY's room.

"Hi, guys."

The voice catches Tychos by surprise enough that he feels like he's been hit by a lasbolt. Snapping back to the waking world, he looks around to see the girls and Fox looking at him.

"Hello, everyone," Tychos responds, smiling warmly at them all as he moves further into the room, heading to the two rabbit Faunus on the same bed. "We ready to go?"

"Ready!" Velvet calls out, Carmen picking up the call as she smiles at the Cadian. The young Faunus girl is smiling so widely at Tychos that he can't help but feel guilty over his talk with Professor Goodwitch. Like he's betrayed Carmen's trust in him.

But he shunts it aside as he moves towards the young girl, picking her up from the bed. "Ready for your big brother to get you a nice new dress?"

"Yay!" Carmen called out in glee, throwing her arms up in the ai was she was lifted up.

"Do you have money? I never asked," Coco chimes up, intrigue in her voice. "Do you even have money in the Imperium?"

"We get paid in arrears," Tychos replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "We'll get something sorted. Come on, let's go."

At the edge of his hearing, Tychos hears the sound of an engine, definitely a Valkyrie coming into land by pitch and tone.

---

Once out of the building, the group soon join up with the rest of the Cadians waiting to be taken to Vale. It's not a huge group of people; about a dozen or so men and women from Bravo Company, enough to not be unwieldly to move around in the city nor be seen as anything threatening by the populace. Though it went against many tenets of the Guard, not a single one is wearing their flak armour or carrying a weapon in any form. Like Tychos, they are dressed in their uniforms only, with either a beret or a cloth cap on their heads. There is no order to them this time, all of them milling around in some form, several of them smoking lho-sticks.

Sophia perks up as she sees the group approaching, pointing them out to Lieutenant Deckard, who smiles in turn.

"Good," The lieutenant says warmly. "Now we're all here, let's head out to the landing zones. Move out!"

Moving out as one, the chosen group passes by other Cadians going to their assignments for the day. The vast majority were lectures by the academy staff, some on local history, the majority on combat against the Grimm. A lot of talk was given about more cross-training with the Huntsmen cadets, getting them used to fighting alongside the Cadians and vice versa.

Doesn't stop the Cadians staying behind from jeering at the 'chosen few'.

"Part-timers!"

"Being transferred to the PDF?"

"Get us some beer!"

At many times, the group would have responded with more ribald replies, but they have been told to be on their best behaviour, so kept their replies to simple one-handed movements, or single or double fingered gestures.

"General Creed! Sir!"

As one, each guardsman present stands to attention, their feet stamping in uniform as they raised a hand to their head in a salute. Even Tychos does, quickly handing off Carmen to Coco so he can salute as the seniormost Cadian officer walking towards them.

General Creed is in his parade uniform, a double-breasted khaki green uniform with more gold filigree on the edges, gold and red epaulettes on his shoulders, and a freshly starched peaked cap on his head with a mix of all three colours. His uniform is freshly starched and laundered, decorated with all the medals and decorations the man himself and the various units he's served with have accrued over the long years of combat, and a trio of golden aglets going from his left shoulder to the centre of his jacket. A holster of freshly polished black leather hangs on his belt, the pistol connected by a silver chain to his belt. The perfect archetype of the Cadian officer class, especially when he's accompanied by a five-man squad of Kasrkin, and walking with Sister Agaethe, holding her hand gently and gentlemanly.

As he approaches the group, General Creed lets a smile come to his face as he stops, releasing the Sister's hand. Compared to the first visit, the Sister Famulous' dress is less extravagant but still conservative; an ankle-length dark blue dress, long sleeves with white lace at the wrist and the short neckline showing a small hint of cleavage and the Aquila pendant hanging around her neck. Her hair is down in a row of curls down to her shoulders, and a clutch bag is in her hand.

"Good to see you all ready for today," Creed says warmly as he releases the Sister's hand before placing both of his behind his back. His purple eyes do not reflect the smile as he looks at each man and woman in turn. "Now, I trust that each one of you will be on your best behaviour today. Am I right?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Each trooper calls out in parade ground unison, even Carmen joining in. That made the general's eyes lighten up a bit, making him move forward to give the child a rub on her head.

"Good. Because remember: you are Cadians! You are Cadia! You represent all of us here. So, it goes without saying that you will be on your best behaviour today. You will not instigate, you will not retaliate unless you truly have no other recourse! You are soldiers of the Gate, and you will bloody act like it! Am I understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Each soldier replies at once.

General Creed is silent for a few seconds, taking in each person's answer stoically, before another smile graces his lips. This time, the smile is repeated in his eyes.

"Then have fun all of you. Don't do what I wouldn't do. Sister, I leave you in their care. Enjoy today."

The Sister Famulous nods her head demurely, a small smile gracing her lips as she looks up to the teens in the group. "And I trust that Team CFVY will provide an informative tour of Vale."

Coco smiles broadly at the older woman. "It's going to be fun."

With that said, the leader of Team CFVY gestures to the landing pad, the larger group of Imperials moving out at her insistence, while Creed and his honour guard head in the direction they came from.

---

His honour guard left at the central base of the tower, the Kasrkin's uniforms clashing heavily with the interior design, General Leontij Creed ascends the tower quickly. The glass and metal construction affords him a view of the locale he's in now. Similar in height to that given to him from the Aquila Lander he took from Fort Tempest to Vale, but now he can get a better appreciation of things. Vale is as much as higher class of hive city he has seen in his years of service, and already he has been studying the urban megalopolis with the studied militaristic eye of the Cadian officer corps. He's already seen bridges that can be demolished to create choke points, parks that can be converted to artillery fields or staging areas. A part of him hopes that such information will not be needed, but he thinks on it anyway.

A suspicious mind is a healthy mind.

Leontij looks closer, refocusing his sight to look at his reflection in the glass. His uniform is crisp, freshly laundered and starched. The cut is austere and utilitarian, the extra gold fabric on the cuffs, collar and breast differentiating it from his battle dress. His medals are polished, though not to a shine, just enough to catch the light but not be glaring with it. His cap, a combination of khaki on the top, red in the middle and the black leather rim, sits neatly on his head. Everything is in place.

For a brief second, he closes his eyes and whispers a prayer to the Emperor.

"Oh, Him on Earth; guide me now in this hour. Guide my tongue and my heart to speak true and plainly. Guide me to the path you set your holy angels and servants upon… and see me through this day without trial."

The lift stops just as he opens his eyes. Leontij is facing opposite the door, so he quickly executes a sharp, 180 degree turn to face the doors seconds before they open, allowing him to exit.

"General Leontij Creed, I presume?"

Six people face him in the grand and ornate office space; three of flesh and blood, three shown through digital screens.

Leontij's hand snaps up parallel with his head as he salutes, the heels of his boots clacking together smartly as he stands to attention, before he steps forward, extending the same hand towards the bespectacled man in front of him.

"Professor Ozpin, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person," The officer says with a small smile as he shakes hands with Beacon's headmaster. "I hope this meeting between our groups goes well."

"As do I," Ozpin says before he releases his grip, placing it back on his cane as he introduces the Cadian to the other people present. He greets Minister Gale with a handshake, while to Professor Goodwitch he gives a gentleman's shake and a kiss to the knuckle. To the others on the screens, Leontij can only give a simple nod of the head as he is introduced to them one by one: Professor Lionheart of Haven Academy, Headmaster Theodore of Shade Academy, and General Ironwood of Atlas.

At the rank being given, Leontij's hand snaps up to his head in salute, the man on the screen copying it with equal speed and professionalism.

"If you don't mind me saying, it is good to know that we have a member of the local military here too."

"I share the same sentiments, general," General Ironwood responds, nodding his head professionally. "It will be interesting to have an outside perspective on matters."

"Matters that I think can be brought up another time, gentlemen," Professor Ozpin interrupts. "I do not wish to sound selfish on this, but the focus right now is Vale. Let us deal with the one kingdom, before we move onto the others."

Minister Gale steps forward, a selection of sheets in his hand that he gives to Leontij. "I have given the proposal that the… Herald Ordinary put forward, to the Vale council, and they are unanimously for the idea of a shared and mutual defence agreement against the Grimm, as well as allowing you and your Cadians to evacuate villages and towns further afield out of harm's way."

"As well as allowing Huntsmen teams to use Fort Tempest as a friendly operating base in the field," Ozpin chimes in, nodding respectfully to the general. "I must say, these conditions are quite weighed heavily in our favour."

"Too heavily, I have to say," The image of Headmaster Theodore says, his arms crossing over his chest to reveal powerful, toned muscles beneath a well-tailored shirt. "Vacuo has a bad history of taking outsiders at just their word. Especially ones who talk of giving a bit too much."

If the shocked look on Minister Gale's face is any indication, the Vacuon has just committed a serious breach of protocol, especially with the commentary that Professor Lionheart and General Ironwood are directing at him. For himself, Leontij cannot help but smile thinly. 'A suspicious mind is a healthy mind'.

"I take no offence at the headmaster's comments," The Cadian says, interrupting the three holographic images as they turn to look at him. "I know these conditions are weighed heavily for you against ourselves. And that is just the fact of it. We wish for no special treatment. No Guardsman does, and especially no son or daughter of Cadia, myself included. Our wishes are simple: the ability to draw fuel, if we can find such a compatible source on your planet for our vehicles and equipment, and to also be allowed to take a meagre stock of food from Vale, or any kingdom, to supplement our own rations. That we be allowed to operate against the Grimm, either as we see fit by ourselves or alongside your own forces."

"What of your 'Imperium'?" General Ironwood asks, looking askance at the other general. "What are its interests in this matter?"

Leontij opens his mouth to answer, but stops as he finds none coming immediately. What are the interests of the Imperium on this world? For the Cadians, the interest is letting loose their anger on the Grimm, a way for them to vent the fury and anger at the loss of their world on a foe that deserves a measure of slaughter visited upon them. For the Mechanicus, it will no doubt be in the technology of this world. The cogboys are always eager for more knowledge, no matter how it's gained. For the Ecclesiarchy, it is a new mission field, with priests and missionaries champing at the bit to be let loose planetside. For the Astartes…

"Now, we must show them why we fight for them."

The words said by Chapter Master Remudes echo through Leontij's ears.

Reaching to his belt, Leontij unclips a small dataslate. A more luxurious model, by Cadian standards, its exterior is covered with Nalwood while elegant silver aquilas are stamped at the corners. He activates the dataslate before handing it to Professor Ozpin, the man tucking his cane underneath his arm as he takes it and begins to scroll through the date already on the screen. The man's eyes furrow at what he sees before they relax into something… forlorn.

"What is it, Professor?" Headmaster Theodore asks, voicing the question the three holographic images want to ask.

"These the names of all the townspeople we have rescued from Carterstown, Steelmoor and Riverbury" Leontij answers, turning his head to look at the screens. "In fact, just last night too, our forces responded to another town in distress. A place called Mountainside. Our total number of rescued Remnite civilians is now nearly two thousand souls; men, women and children. This town also had more Faunus this time, so we can categorically say we do save them as well as humans."

The room is silent as all present digest the information. General Ironwood breaks the silence as he asks the question that the Cadian knows would be asked. "And what were your casualties?"

In answer to that, a click sounds as Ozpin moves to the next set of data, looking intently at the screen through his glasses. "One thousand wounded in action, over seven hundred killed in action. Rough figures I see. But not insubstantial."

On the screen for Atlas, Leontij sees General Ironwood blanche at the casualty figures before he prepares to speak. "That's…"

"An acceptable casualty figure for cumulative operations, I assure you," The Cadian interjects. "We've suffered worse in our history. And I promise you, that for every Cadian fallen, ten Grimm went with them."

"And yet the numbers are still weighted heavily against you, general," The stern voice of Professor Goodwitch chimes in, as the woman presses a sequence of buttons on her own datapad – her scroll, Leontij reminds himself. Seconds after the last button, a square of light interposes itself between the Cadian general and the Remnite headmaster. On it is a map of the portion of Vale the Cadians are in. Locations are picked out, marked with various icons: a castle's keep for Fort Tempest, a set of lower towers for the towns of Carterstown, Steelmoor, Riverbury and Mountainside. A destroyed set of towers for Marysville and other towns. Too many towns. Far too many towns.

Leontij tries to keep his face neutral, but he feels his teeth grind together and his knuckles tighten in his fists at the sight before him.

"We are… aware of these lost settlements, Professor Goodwitch," The general finally says, keeping his voice level. Whether it was an intentional slight hidden or an innocent statement of fact, it highlighted something: that the Cadians were failing in their duty. "It… stings, put simply, mamzel. It stings to know we can't be everywhere at once to help those who need it."

Looking up, Leontij sees a sympathetic look on the bespectacled woman's face, a look copied on the face of the head master of Beacon and the others. Even Minister Gale has a similarly downcast look on his face.

"We can only be in so many places at once," Professor Ozpin says, stating the unspoken fact so simply. "Our Huntsmen are some of the best in the Kingdom, but the resources needed to fight the Grimm, not even to reclaim the lost territory but to merely cull the Grimm, is too much, even for Atlas."

"We are making strides in that, Ozpin," General Ironwood responds, a tinge of something akin to… regret? Annoyance? Leontij can't fully place. But even as he hears it, an idea is forming in his mind.

"What if you had those resources?"

That causes all heads to look at him in confusion.

"W-what are you implying, General Creed?" Professor Lionheart asks in a meek voice totally at odds with his name.

Leontij steps closer to the map, raising a hand to point at the towns his Cadians have rescued. All lie in a near perfect semi-circle around Fort Tempest. "One hundred kilometres is our maximum operational range before the Grimm become too numerous to deal with without it becoming a true suicide mission. Seventy-five is our peak operational distance, so we call that line out finish line, but we still have Grimm filtering in through the demarcation line. Or just popping up behind the line itself. Our adepts are still not sure, and I wouldn't be surprised if you'd tell me it was both."

All heads nod at his words, which does not do well for the confidence of the general, but it buoys his resolve.

"Before I give my idea, I have to ask… what is the history of grand scale fortifications used against the Grimm?"

---

Day gives way to evening, and it can be said that the 'amazing grand tour of Vale', as Coco calls it, was a success. Though they couldn't fully have said to have appreciated all the amenities that the city had to offer, the Imperials found the trip enjoyable. With the funds provided by the Vale city council's chamber of commerce, and helped by the useful application of several hundred pound-weight of gold into the city's coffers, very little was spared for their enjoyment. The only thing truly holding them back had been the taciturn nature of the Cadians.

Though that was not to say that many of them hadn't enjoyed their time out in their way. Tolya, the young vox operator now sporting a bandana to cover his scarred head, had bought a selection of X-Ray and Vav omnibuses, with help from Velvet, along with the issues of Mogar the Barbarian versus The Mad King. A few of them threw in their lots together to buy Captain Thade a collection of Mistralian tobacco for the man to enjoy. And, of course, the men and women had all ended up buying something or other for the smallest member of their outfit. Though they'd all needed a few pointers from Coco and Velvet in choosing gifts for Carmen. A new backpack, a few bracelets with her name on it, new shoes both formal and field. Though, of course, Tychos had followed Professor Goodwitch's advice and gotten the young Faunus a new pair of dresses, similar to the ones that she had brought with her from doomed hometown, but more formal and glamorous now.

Perfect for the event being held at the Vale City Hall.

A large and grandiose building, built almost in the same style as Beacon Academy except on a smaller scale and less… pointy. Part governmental building, part society function building, the city hall is the perfect choice for the newcomers to Vale to mingle in a more official overt capacity with some of the city's, and the kingdom's, upper crust.

A normal gathering for the Herald Ordinary and the Sister Famulous to take part in, but less so for the Cadians. But, true as Cadian blood, they try their hardest to be good guests.

Though, even the best guests keep their talks private.

---

"So I take it your original plan did not pan out as intended?" The Astartes herald asks, the giant of a man just short of becoming a true demi-god of war standing off centre in the private room. No piece of furniture could bear his weight, so he stands as a statue.

General Creed's head nods simply. "Yes. It was made quite plain that the defences as what I proposed were… hell, not even inadequate. Just worthless."

Antorus nods his head. While he had not been present at the meeting between the Cadian general and the representatives from the other kingdom's Huntsmen academies, feeling that having a more genuine human to human interaction between the groups would be the best course for fostering good will between the Imperial crusade and Remnant, he has been given a full debrief from the Cadian general on the minutiae of the meeting. And the outcome was, while not bleak, it was a bit… off-putting, to say the least for the Astartes.

"The idea that such forces can bypass the hardiest fortifications humans can create is unnerving and frustrating to hear," Sister Agathe chimes in, her form resting on a chaise lounge, her body dressed in a style of dress more in common with what the group has been told is 'in fashion' in Vale. Off the shoulder dress, in a swirling pattern of various blues, with a slit up one side to allow the Sister's long legs to be seen through. Her hair is down in ringlets at the back and sides, while her face is done up ever so slightly with a small amount of makeup with small bits of glitter in it. An addition given to her personally by Coco Adel herself.

"Which begs the question," Antorus says, one hand coming to rest on his chin in thought. "Why does this city still stand?"

The trio are talking in High Gothic, the lingua franca of the upper echelons of the Imperium. A measure of security for the group to talk in true privacy, even after Antorus has used an anti-snooping device to try and suss out any bugs implanted in the room. None were found, which struck the Astartes herald as odd. Even the most trusting Imperial planet had some form of device to listen in on conversations held by others, especially on the more mercantile planets.

To have no such devices in play showed a decidedly high level of trust which set Antorus on edge.

Creed shrugs his shoulders. "The answer I got to the same question was simply that the Grimm… just don't. They've learnt that if they do, they'll almost instantly be put down. But even if the response time was quick enough, we're still talking about a massive level of damage that could be carried out by the Grimm on an urban population centre before being destroyed. It makes no sense."

"And we know that they do not attack the external fortifications of the city, or cities rather, directly," Sister Agathe adds. "At least the aged ones do not. A sort of natural selection, as it were. But it still does not explain…"

"Why have the Grimm not simply swarmed every settlement in the kingdom, let alone the world?" Creed completes. "Even Tyranids are not as restrained as the Grimm are when in numbers. Only their… their synap… synapsi…"

"Synapse creatures, general," Antorus says in Low Gothic, taking over from the Cadian's struggling High Gothic. "And you're right. That level of intelligence and control is only reserved for higher Tyrannic creatures. To see it proliferated among a whole host of creatures, the intelligence to learn and adapt to such an extent, and yet they also do not wholly act as one to wipe out humanity on this planet…"

Only one force in the whole galaxy was capable of such malevolent thinking.

"The Great Enemy," Creed whispers out, in equal parts religious fear and fury, while Sister Agathe makes the sign of the Aquila against her breast. Though Creed quickly shakes his head at the thought. "But with all due respect, my lord, I cannot see it."

"What do you mean, general?" The Sister Famulous speaks up in confusion. "The Herald's reasoning is plain and clear…"

"But you forget, dear Sister," The Cadian quickly interjects. "I am a Cadian. I have been brought up, since birth, to know the signs of the Archenemy. To know their tricks and their forms. We of Cadia know Chaos as much as anyone in the Imperium can. And these beasts are chaotic, yes… but not of Chaos."

The Sister Famulous' incredulous look does not leave, only deepening as Herald Antorus speaks. "I agree with the general's words, Sister Agathe. From the after-action reports from my veteran battle-brothers, and from the dissection of combat footage taken from their helmet vids, our Chief Librarian and Reclusiarch have decreed these beasts to be a form of xenos. Not creatures of Chaos."

Sister Agathe is silent as she reaches to the table and picks up a small glass of wine, quickly taking a swig from it before placing it onto the surface again.

"Allowing for the fact that, compared to my more militant Sisters, my combat training only extends to the usage of various pistols and knives, and for the fact that I have never truly been in a situation where I've faced off against the creatures of Chaos – Emperor willing," She reaches to the side and taps the side of the couch she is sitting on, her knuckle rapping on the wooden frame twice. "How exactly do you know these creatures are not the daemons the inhabitants of this world claim them to be?"

Lifting a hand, Creed taps the side of his nose. "The creatures of Chaos always have an aroma to them. Something foul and malevolent about them, usually mixed in with whatever the scent of their patron god is."

"A smell of foulness undercutting a scent of beauty as my Chief Librarian describes it," Antorus explains further. "The Grimm do not possess this smell. Or any smell that my brothers noted."

Agathe looks at the pair incredulously before she shrugs her shoulders in acceptance. Seeing the gesture and look, Anton speaks up again.

"Whatever their origin, these creatures have a foulness about them that cannot be denied. But they can be slain by more conventional means than true daemons, which is a bonus for all involved. After this evening's talks, I shall see if our chapter's Librarium will be allowed access to any information about the Grimm that might not be commonly available."

The Sister Famulous didn't reply to the statement, keeping an incredulous look on her face, though it has lessened in intensity until she nods.

Any further commentary is stopped by a polite knock on the door before it opens and Professor Ozpin steps into the room. His clothing is still the same as it was back at Beacon in their first meeting, but it is decidedly more… prim, for lack of a better word. More astute, perfect for the event about to take place.

"Herald, general, madam," He says to each in turn. "The stage is set and everyone is ready to meet you."

"Are my boys and girls behaving themselves?" Creed asks as he stands, giving his uniform a quick tug to straighten out, making his chest of medals dance with a jingle.

"The perfect example of discipline and restraint," Ozpin says with a small smile. "That does make them quite an attraction, I must say. Though not a one has stepped out of line."

Creed nods his head with a smile. "Good. Glad to hear it. Lead the way, Professor."

---

The main gallery of the Vale City Hall is one many times given over to functions to the notables and worthies of the city and kingdom. Spacious in width, length and height, the room is now adorned with many tables covered in canapes of all sorts; fish from Atlas' and Vacuo's shorelines, meat from Vale and Mistral, all mixed with Mistralian herbs and spices to create a delicious blend of aromas and tastes. The finest wines from southern Vale, where the climate mixes with that from Vacuo's warmth to create the perfect grapes, whiskey, beer and brandy from the other kingdoms. All created an amazing feast for the people to pick and choose from.

And it created an amazing mess to clean up, which Ruby and Blake are neck deep in down in the bowels of the building.

"I thought we'd been punished already!" Ruby can't help but call out as she washes another plate of the majority of the food on it before putting it into the rack beside her, ready to be put into one of the large industrial scale dishwashers the city hall's kitchen's possesses. "And we still can't use our Semblances?!"

"Miss Rose," Professor Goodwitch's distinct and commanding voice easily cutting through the clamour of the kitchen at full steam to keep the myriad of guests fed. "Your Semblance, while it would be useful for this task, still has you careening around the room like a cannonball. In tight confines, you'd knock any and all of the staff and instruments and food to the floor and create a true hazard."

Blake's voice chimes in as she wipes down another dish quickly. "And while having the clones that move would be nice, my Semblance only creates stationary clones."

Professor Goodwitch simply nods her head at the logic, watching the two teenage girls working at their task. "Just another forty-five minutes, girls."

"Thanks again for this, professor," One of the waiters says, sliding past her easily as he carries an empty tray. "Having these two cover two sick calls is a gods-send. We need another tray of the Mistralian flame-broiled beef! That Astartes guy goes through a plate like a damn vacuum!"

"On it!" Came the reply from the head chef, the woman moving around with a purpose that even had Glynda raising an eyebrow in appreciation.

In the midst of the organized chaos, through the swirl of cooking flames and the clatter of utensils, everyone's focus is on the cooking and the food being handed out to the relevant servers. Each chef knows their job, and some of them are pleasant enough to know the waiting staff by name, while others know them only by features. So a short girl, barely five feet in height, with black hair tied in two braids and bright green eyes, dressed in the black and white waiter's uniform of the city hall's waiting staff. She easily makes her way through the hustle and bustle with natural grace and poise as she approaches the kitchen line and picks up a tray of food ready to go out. She gives the statuesque professor Huntress a wide berth, looking at the woman in both confusion and trepidation at the elegant woman before she exits out of the swing doors into the main chamber.

Instantly, the girl is surrounded by another sort of noise. Chamber music, delivered by a professional string quartet, plays just under the swirling noise of conversation from the myriad of guests. Men in suits and ties, women in dresses, all of some of the most expensive fashion brands or as close as they could manage on their budget. Various styles, colours and cut clash with the other; Mistralian curves, Atlesian edges and Valean lines, all create a kaleidoscope of fashion. And standing out as rocks of uniformity in the sea of irregularity, many of the soldiers from space stood at parade rest, their hands behind the backs of their khaki uniforms. Each one is focused and still as statues, even as they are the centres of attention in their own rights.

The girl bypasses them all, easily dodging around and between the knots of guests, holding her tray of food easily and confidently as she makes her way to her target. The main refreshments table always needs to be restocked. Especially if the present giant of a guest is the reason why.

"Herald Antorus, I must say; I am envious of how much you can just… pack away," The man the girl knows as Minister Gale says in a voice that can only be amazement.

"We Astartes are… we possess a very high metabolism by our nature," The giant man in the steely grey cassock says warmly, even as he holds a partially chewed steak rib (he's even got his little finger out as he holds it!) in one hand while the others holds a plate full of ribs and other foodstuffs. "My brothers who take part in combat actions are capable of much greater ingestion than I am. I'm merely able to enjoy more… more pleasant fare than they are."

The group of notables around the giant can only chuckle at his words, the sound a sycophantic chorus of laughs, each one unsure of what to actually say to the giant spaceman. Even if she could speak, the girl won't know what to say either. The sight of the… man unnerves her on a level she doesn't even know exists. So she focuses on her path, on her job, as she heads towards the refreshment table.

Until some airheaded bimbo of a socialite steps backwards the wrong time, her elbow connecting with the girl's head.

The girl lets out a quiet gasp of shock as she finds herself pitching forward, the tray almost flying out of her hands.

"I have you, miss."

Something thin but solid blocks her fall, the unmistakeable sensation of a cane at her chest keeping her from falling flat onto her face. In shock, she looks to the side, seeing the well-known figure of Professor Ozpin keeping her upright. The girls mouth opens and closes in confusion.

"Is the food all right, herald?" The bespectacled man asks, making the girl suddenly realise that in her fall, she's dropped the tray. So she looks up, and her eyes open wider in shock.

Directly in front of her face, in the same level as she was carrying it but only a few inches away from where she had been, the tray is held level and fine. The contents are slightly jostled, some of the sauce spilled from the plates onto the tray, but otherwise unmoved.

"Perfectly serviceable," The giant responds before he takes a questioning sniff of the food. "Hmm. Smoked beef, over an oak fire. I am interested to try these. Are you harmed, child?"

The girl can only stare in mute shock at the being before her. He's so big, easily twice her height and twice her width, and doubtlessly many, many times her weight, but he moved so quickly, so easily. As he stands up, the herald easily handles the tray single handedly, easily accounting for the weight of the meat and the crockery on top without problem.

Her eyes never leave the giant, even as she mutely holds her hands out to take back the tray.

"You've terrified the poor girl, herald," One of the socialites says with a slight and worried chuckle.

"A common thing when dealing-gah-when dealing with Astartes," A uniformed officer, his chest alight with medals, says as he sets down a plate… no, the plate the giant had carried before he helped the girl. "I believe the term is 'trans-human dread', my lord?"

"And a minor example in myself, I will say," The herald says, putting his hands behind his back after giving the girl the tray. "Wait until you meet my brethren in their full panoply of war. That will be…"

The girl tunes out the conversation as she hurriedly heads to the table, depositing her tray on it before she moves away from the main chamber. She dodges and weaves easily around the people in the chamber, making sure to especially avoid the soldiers, feeling some of them directing a gaze at her before she slips out of sight. There's an empty storeroom off the beaten track, which the girl enters.

It's empty, so the girl brings out her Scroll, immediately bringing up the feed of another room, somewhere in the city proper. The unconscious figure of a young woman with her black hair tied in two braids rests bound and gagged in a corner of the room. She is definitely not dead, as the figure wearing a Grimm mask shows off by checking the bound girls neck. She is alive. Having a dead body in the room is not a good look, and easier for Neo to clear up.

She gives herself a quick second, making sure she isn't followed, before she raises her finger to her right ear, moving a small bit of hair out of the way before pressing the button in the device she wears.

"Plan go without a hitch?" Roman asks.

Neo taps the stud once. Yes.

"Good. No problems?"

Neo pauses before she presses the button once.

"Wait. Yes as in no problems, or yes, there was problems?"

Rolling her heterochromatic eyes, Neo can't help but shake her head, not even bothering to press the button. 'Dum-dum.'

Seemingly sensing her actual answer, Roman continues. "Right, no. Sorry, Neo. I know. If there was trouble, we'd know. Sorry. So was the bug planted?"

Letting out a low, soundless huff as a chuckle, Neo presses the button once for yes. The bug was a perfectly tiny thing, smaller than her pinkie nail and just as thin, it's a work of genius. Given to Cinder from her own 'associates', as the mad woman calls them, it receives audio clearly no matter the background noise in any given area, even when its placed under the bottom of a plate on a metal tray. The design of it meant that it would dissolve in water, leaving no trace of its presence.

The perfect tool for snooping.

Roman speaks up again. "Okay, give me a second on my end... got the audio," The man lets out a sigh. "Here's the annoying part of these sorts of jobs; waiting for someone to talk about something important. Got all the bugs in place, Neo?"

Two taps against the button. No.

"Got long to go for the others?"

Two taps again.

"Good. Neo, I'm serious about this, okay; keep your head on a swivel. I don't trust this situation at all, especially with so many soldiers around. So be safe. Okay?"

Neo smiles sweetly at hearing the concern in Roman's voice as she presses the button in her ear.

"Good," Roman says. "Now get back to work. And see if you can get me a few of those ribs. I'm hearing good things about them."

Neo rolls her eyes again. 'Dum-dum.'

---

The evening wears on and the topic of discussions never stray far from the Imperials.

"But, good herald," A man in a white suit bearing the label of the Schnee Dust Company says, one hand gently holding a small plate of canapes. "I still cannot wrap my head around how your vehicles, nor yourselves, cannot use Dust to operate. I mean… it's used for everything on Remnant."

Antorus nods his head calmly and good naturedly, though inside he's beginning to find the topic annoying. He should have expected a man from the SDC to talk about Dust, just not so much.

"I am aware of your world's relationship with Dust, and it truly is a fascinating relationship. One I am sure the adepts of the Mechanicus are fully intent on exploring. And if we can use the same fuel as you, it would be to our mutual benefit. But alas, our vehicles just cannot use Dust to function."

The man nods his head in what Antorus hopes is understanding, though the man begins to open his mouth to speak again. It is quickly silenced as a woman, dark skinned with bright green hair, from the Vale Commerce Guilds speaks up.

"You mentioned something before. Pro… promethium? That is your fuel of choice, correct?"

Antorus cringes slightly, though not as an insult to the woman's knowledge. "That is correct, though promethium is not a singular source of fuel. It is used by the Adeptus Mechanicus and Adeptus Administratum to refer to any burnable fuel that does not classify as plasma. A common variant is petroleum, refined from the earth."

"That sounds like something that would be found as a by-product of Dust extraction, isn't that right, Mister Shale?"

The SDC man nods his head. "I.. I believe so, though I'll have to check."

Antorus capitalizes on the hesitancy. "I have been made aware that Vacuo is in part home to a large number of Dust refineries, no? I feel that would be a good place to look for any amount of promethium. Would you not say so, Madam Ramil?"

The Herald Ordinary is a slightly paradoxical position in the Steel Drakes chapter. He is never a full-fledged Astartes, as the herald of the chapter master and leader of the Dracon Guard is, he is a failed aspirant that survived enough to be of true use to the chapter. As such, Antorus does not have the full mental conditioning that his battle-brothers have, allowing him to see that his question has not landed on fertile ground and has caused some manner of offense.

"The actions of the SDC in Vacuo," The Faunus woman, with a small section of scales on her cheeks and forehead as well as small osteoderms akin to a lizard, says with what is only barely constrained anger and grief in her voice. "Stripped Vacuo of all her worth and turned our home into its current state. Forgive me, herald, but we Vacuon's don't trust so easily anymore, especially from groups such as yours."

The air drops a few degrees, many of those around the small gathering in the corner of the hall holding their breaths. Antorus sees it, along with Professor Ozpin too; Shale of the SDC begins to flush with anger, his face beginning to turn red with indignation, while General Creed prepares to step forward to give a true lasman's opinion on the matter. The Herald Ordinary and the Headmaster are both of one mind in their actions.

His body still ramrod straight and with a look of serene detachment, Ozpin's cane comes up suddenly and sharply, perfectly arresting the Cadian's progress, making his words die in his throat. As for the Steel Drake…

"I understand your statement, madam," Antorus says with a curt bow of his head. "For I have read of the history of Vacuo and how the SDC and other such companies have essentially strip-mined the kingdom for its resources. I can understand since it is a situation that has been repeated in the Imperium many times over."

To others, admitting such a thing would be seen as political weakness, an admittance of mistake. But only from pride can such a statement of human commonality be seen as a weakness. Though Antorus does… alter some facts.

"Me and brothers have fought on several worlds where we have seen the planet's resources stripped to almost nothing. Planetary residents living in choking landscapes of ash and dust, waterways tainted with heavy metal soilage. Wrecks of discarded vehicles, behemoths of industry, left to rust and be stripped in turn like carrion for the few hardy residents to subsist on. And from my readings of Vacuo, I'm not wrong to say that your kingdom is the same. Am I wrong, Madam Ramil?"

The woman's eyes take on a watery aspect, even as they look at Antorus hard, the Faunus shaking her head. "No, you are not."

"And even in those worlds, strength was found. Is found. That any human could survive in a world without succumbing to their baser and more brutal instincts, to build the communities that I know exist in your kingdom, speaks of strength. I have heard it said that in Vacuo, though acceptance is tough, it is often found regardless of heritage, race or creed. Does that not speak of strength and honour in its own right?"

To the surrounding group, the words have struck a chord, many heads nodding in agreement along with mutterings of acceptance. But to the Faunus woman, her arms folded across her chest…

"Words are useful as a warm gust of air on a hot day. Worthless."

Antorus smiles at the woman's words. She's brave. He can respect that.

"I understand. Words offer little except, as you say, hot air. So maybe we can approach this from a more material aspect," Antorus places one hand placidly behind his back as he speaks. "Many of the brothers of my chapter are from a planet that is ninety percent desert, Sigilis IV. As you can imagine, it's a hard life, with many necessities being hard to find and harder to keep. Water especially. No different to Vacuo, no?"

The Faunus looks at the Herald Ordinary with interest and intrigue. "No difference at all, aye."

"So how about this; promethium," he moves the hand behind him back in front, palm up, before the one joins it. "For water. Our adepts in the chapter, and especially those in the Adeptus Mechanicus proper, are easily able to build many devices and machines able to trap and collect moisture, either in the air or the ground. Or, at the least, able to help communities find water more easily.

"In exchange, local guides help either Militarum, that is Cadian, groups find access to promethium depositories, or aid the Mechanicus in finding them. I'm certain that the adepts of Mars and Forge World Norstra would be more than able to convert or use existing machinery to extract and refine what we need."

Antorus looks around the small gathering, gauging the reaction. The Remnites are mulling it over, many of them casting intrigued looks at the woman who has now become the de facto voice of Vacuo. Even the man from the SDC is looking at her expectantly, waiting to hear her words.

"Obviously, I cannot agree that anyone would instantly accept your idea…"

"Naturally, of course," Antorus says, lowering his hands.

"But… I'm not against passing on the idea to Shade and letting them pass on the word," The woman continues. "Lots of people in the deep desert need water."

"I can understand, and regardless, I thank you for considering the idea," It's not a lie at all. The Steel Drakes in the past have given out water collectors and their like to groups in desert environs as a way to garner support and aid. Granted, such a thing was left more to the serfs of the chapter than the battle-brothers proper, but it never hurt to garner support and trust in locals that needed them.

"Umm… excuse me," The man from the SDC speaks up again. "I… I'm sorry, but I don't think that any such talk about your 'Mechanicus' converting SDC plants to your own ends was discussed."

Antorus looks at the man, doing his best to suppress the sensation of annoyance he feels at the man. He reminds the Herald Ordinary of one of the guilders, men who would drain a man dry of his blood, spit and bile if they thought they could extract gold from him.

"No, we have not, Mister Shale," Antorus says disarmingly. "But, we have all night to discuss such matters. And I'm sure that the… adepts, would be interested in talking to you about Dust."

It shall be a long night, and not for the first time in his long years of life, Antorus is thankful for the hypno-indoctrination that allows him to follow such meandering talks.

---

"That's eight-thirty, girls!" The head waiter calls out to Ruby and Blake as he appears through the entrance to the kitchen from the back, a young man and woman in toe dressed significantly more suited for the task of washing dishes than either student Huntresses are. "Thank you so much for the help tonight. Even if it was… punishment."

The man looks at Professor Goodwitch in confusion, though she merely shrugs her shoulders slightly. "It was merited."

Turning to leave, the Huntress misses the askance look the man directed her way before he turned back to the two girls, the pair passing the aprons, hats and gloves off to their replacements. "Seriously though, thank you, girls. I've had some desserts left in the service area for you to take your pick from as payment for tonight."

"It's no problem, sir," Blake says, working out her neck slightly as she walks towards the indicated area, leaving the man to his job. "At least I'm more appreciative about the food services industry now."

"Tell me about it," Ruby responds, following her to the waiting food. The young teens quickly choose a dessert to their liking, Ruby going with a slice of chocolate fudge cake while Blake goes with a piece of cheesecake, before they head out of the door.

Though they quickly freeze at who they see Professor Goodwitch talking to.

"Herald, it is a pleasure to see you again, but I…"

"Ah, just the two I was hoping to see," The giant spaceman says warmly, looking at both students. "I'm glad that I've been able to run into you."

Even as Professor Goodwitch tries to stall him, the man easily makes his way past her to approach the pair. Only now does Ruby realise how big the man is. Same size as Yatsuhashi in height and bulk, but everything about him seems… larger, out of scale. Not majorly, but enough to send her on edge. Instinctively, she takes a step backwards, Blake copying her movement before the Herald stops.

"I was wondering if we could talk, if you don't mind."

"Please don't make us wash any space dishes!" Ruby blurts out, quickly moving the plate of food behind her protectively. "We've learnt our lesson!"

For his part, and unknowingly to Ruby, the Herald Ordinary looks at the girl in sheer confusion before he looks at the black-haired girl.

"Our… punishment for… for spying on the others when you came to Beacon," Blake says, pitching her voice down to avoid being heard by everyone. "We've been made to wash dishes. A LOT of dishes."

For a few moments, wherein Ruby stares at the giant unsurely, no-one makes a sound before the giant suddenly lets out a short, strong, loud belly laugh, a laugh of unbridled hilarity.

"Oh yes! Oh, I need to pass that on to the captain of the tenth! That'll put the fear of Dorn in the neophytes for sure," He says, quickly getting his laughter under control, rubbing his chin with a large hand. "No, I was made aware of what you did. I just… did not expect washing dishes as a punishment. I can see how that would work."

Turning back fully, Ruby looks at Blake in confusion before she speaks. "So… we're not in trouble with your leaders?"

"Of course not," The giant replies, smiling warmly. "You are children, more or less. And children act in silly and stupid ways. It is how they are."

Unexpectedly, the man leans forward, bringing his face closer to the two girls before he lowers his voice.

"When I was a neophyte, me and a few others snuck out of our dorms and snuck down to the motor pool to have a look at the vehicles. We got caught, and I will not say what the punishment was, but believe me when I say I know the urge."

It's hard for Ruby not to, but she quickly smiles up at the giant at the admittance, even with Blake cracking a disbelieving smile as he stands upright back to his full height.

"Now, with that out of the way, I believe introductions are in order," Smartly, the man places a hand on his chest before bowing slightly. "Herald Ordinary Antorus, of the Steel Drakes chapter."

"I… I'm Ruby Rose, from Beacon," The girl responds, curtseying ever so slightly and lopsidedly as she tries not to drop the cake. "Well, from Patch, before that but… you know."

"Blake Belladonna," Her teammate says, bobbing her head in a slight bow. "From Beacon too, and… and Mistral."

Standing upright, with Professor Goodwitch coming to stand beside him, the giant looks intrigued by something. "Now, I know that I'm getting a handle on naming conventions on your world, with colour related names being the norm… but is alliteration also common?"

All three Remnites blink in confusion at the man, so he speaks again. "Ruby Rose, Blake Belladonna, Professor Peter Port… and, if you don't mind me commenting, Professor Goodwitch, but I know that your first name starts with a G."

Opening her mouth slightly before closing it, Ruby turns to look at Blake, the other girl looking at her before she turns to look at Antorus. "That's… what you want to talk to us about?"

"No, of course not," Antorus replies, shaking his head simply. "Just an idiosyncrasy I found interesting to note. No, what I would like to talk about is you being Huntsmen. Student Huntsmen, in particular. If I may?"

He asks the question towards Professor Goodwitch, the blonde woman looking in surprise at the giant before she looks at the two girls in question.

"Only if it's all right with my students."

Blake and Ruby look at each other, the former looking at the latter pointedly in a look that basically screams, "You are team leader."

"Only if we can sit down and eat?" Ruby asks hesitantly, not sure how to approach the topic.

Antorus smiles a not-quite smile but still a warm smile, nonetheless. "Not a problem at all. This way then, if you please."

The Herald Ordinary leads them to a small table, just slightly away from the main group in the hall but still within sight and earshot of the others. The perfect place for a small, intimate conversation. Taking their seats easily, the two girls from Beacon wait as Antorus takes what looks like a specially reinforced stool for him to sit on. It looks comically small, but sitting down at the table, it still means that he towers over the pair. Ruby is certain she can hear a slight groaning sound from the giant's chair. Though that might be from her own stomach.

"Now," Antorus begins, placing his hands on the table, his fingers interlinked together as he looks at the two girls. "An important question first: did you choose to become Huntsmen or were you chosen to be Huntsmen by someone else?"

"We chose to become Huntsmen," Ruby answers, digging into the cake with a fork, though she refrains from eating until she finishes speaking. "I can't think of anyone who's ever been forced to become a Huntsman."

"The role of Huntsman is an entirely voluntary one, Herald," Professor Goodwitch, standing to the side of the table, adds. "There have been efforts to increase the numbers of them, but never through forced conscription or the like."

Antorus nods his head in understanding.

"What about you?" Blake asks. "Did you choose to become… become a Steel Drake, or were you… chosen?"

For a few seconds, the giant is silent as he looks at the girls. No, Ruby realises even as she swallows the piece of cake and goes for another. He's not looking at them. He's looking past them. His eyes, storm grey and hard now, are distant.

"It was admittedly a mix of both," The Herald Ordinary suddenly says, surprising the girls. "The Astartes only take the best of a planet's population to join them, and that number is very small to begin with. And, admittedly, the only real way to test the population is to let the young men choose to take the various trials. If they pass, they are chosen to become more than what they were."

Ruby can see that, looking at the giant's body. Even though the cassock is long sleeved and voluminous, it still does nothing to hide the sheer muscle and power underneath. Much of it looks to Ruby's eyes like steroid use, if the stuff Uncle Qrow had shown her about the stuff is true, but Antorus' strength… It looks genuine.

"My turn to ask a question," Antorus says, leaning forward slightly. "If you voluntarily came here, I have to wonder: what do your parents think on the matter?"

Ruby can't help but cringe at the question. "Well… it's… complicated."

"Do your parents not like the idea of joining a group of prestige and honour, one that is sworn to defend humanity on this planet?" Antorus asks, confusion plain on his face.

"Parent, in my case," The youngest Huntress says in reply. "My mom… disappeared when I was very young… I don't know what she'd think of me being a Huntress. I hope she'd be proud."

The comment draws a look of shock from Blake, the older girl looking with wide, disbelieving eyes at the younger girl, while Antorus and Goodwitch just look on in solemn understanding. The giant turns to look at Blake.

"And you, Miss Belladonna?" Antorus asks. "I take it you aren't in a similar situation as young Miss Rose here."

Blake's eyes stay wide for an extra moment longer before they fall slightly. "It's… complicated as well, but in a different way to Ruby. Family stuff… I'd rather not talk about it with an… outsider."

The giant nods his head once. "I understand. I will not pry. Now, do you have a question for me?"

Ruby isn't sure when this happened, but seeing the spaceman smile disarmingly, his short beard reminding her a bit of her dad, Tai, the girl can't help but ask something. So she asks the first question that comes to mind.

"Why are you called the 'Steel Drakes'?" She asks, pushing herself up slightly onto the table in her enthusiasm. "Do you have dragons in space?"

The questions make Antorus chuckle, the deep baritone sounds coming out as a rumble. "I'll answer in reverse order; though they're not called 'dragons', the beasts we honour, the Sigilian Dracon, is a real creature of flesh and blood and bone. I think that your friends in Team CFVY have seen our chapter's veterans wearing their honours on their armour, no?"

At the mention of the Second-Year team, Ruby leans her body slightly to look past Antorus towards the main room. She can see the aforementioned team clustered together, actually dancing. Coco is dancing with a female Cadian officer, the woman smiling warmly at the teen while Velvet is dancing, in a way, with Tychos and Carmen held between them. They look like they're having fun if the smiles they all have, even from Fox and Yatsuhashi seated off to the side, say anything.

In a flash though, Ruby instantly remembers the details that the team had shared with her and Blake about the 'Sternguard' and their armour. About the large skulls, big enough to be the same as Ruby from her head to her waist, worn on the shoulders. About the large pelts of colourful, hard leather worn from their backs or belts, and the strings of large sharp teeth worn on cords across their armour.

She must have a look on her face since it makes Antorus chuckle again. "However, if you wish for proof…"

He reaches into the neck of his cassock before pulling something. It's a chain, silvery but not a jewellery type chain. The links look too strong and thick. Though once Ruby and Blake see what's at the end, they know why the chain is so strong.

It's a tooth. A tooth about the same size as a kitchen knife and just as broad. It's slightly curved towards the tip, with stops slightly as the tip is blunted. But that doesn't make the serrated edges look any less sharp nor terrifying. Antorus holds it easily, turning it side to side slightly to let the pair of girls and Professor Goodwitch, who had stepped forward in intrigue to look at the tooth better. Blake spoke up as she saw writing on the bottom, letters engraved into the tooth.

"Ranneck IV?" She repeats questioningly. "I thought you were from… Sigilis?"

The giant smiles at the question. "I was born on Sigilis, Sigilis Prime to be specific. But I earned this tooth for actions on Ranneck IV in combat. It is a chapter tradition that actions deemed worthy are rewarded with a tooth of a dracon, neophytes especially. We call it 'earning our teeth'," The Herald Ordinary explains. "The older veterans, the warriors who have done great feats of strength and honour are allowed to hunt a dracon themselves, to earn their pelts and skulls to wear once they become a member of the vaunted First Company.

"As for why we are the Steel Drakes?," Antorus says as he replaces the tooth back in the folds of his clothing. "It is a two-fold honour: the colour is from the armour worn by our home world's warriors of old, who joined the first Astartes of our Chapter in battle against truly foul and terrible aliens; the orks."

The man holds up a hand to stop Ruby, her mouth open with another question loaded. "All in due time, Huntress. And there are some in the chapter better for telling this story than I, but I will answer your original question. As for the drakes, the dracons; we carry their name because we saw how great and terrible such beasts were, in slaying orks and men alike, and even nearly laying low our first Chapter Master.

"Through the colour and the name, we honour our world and its history in our own way. Through our actions, we bring honour to them, and to those who fell because we could not act."

Ruby and Blake digest his words, taking them in. It's easy to write them off as something theatrical for their benefit, but from what they know about the Imperium so far, they know such words are anything but theatrical. They mean it, wholeheartedly and true.

Blake looks up at the giant. "What are you?"

Antorus smiles again, that smile that spreads his lips in a way that seems too big and oversized for a normal man, that shows a hint of gigantism in his face, how out of proportion his face is even if he's quite handsome to look at.

"We are the Last Wall that defends all."

"That doesn't answer her question," Professor Goodwitch says in annoyance as the giant stands to his feet.

"The answer will come in time, I assure you," Came the response as Antorus places his hands behind his back. "I see that I've taken enough of your time. You two should enjoy the festivities while you're still here. I must speak to the others. Good night to you all."

That said, the giant walks away, his size belying the noise, or the lack of noise he makes as he walks away to wherever he needs to go for the night. Still seated, all Ruby and Black can do is watch him disappear before they turn to look at an equally perplexed Professor Goodwitch. The woman lets out a sigh as she looks at the two girls.

"If you expect me to have any answers, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Finish your cakes, girls. It'll soon be time to return to Beacon."

Taking that as their cue, the two continued to eat their food. Normally, Ruby would have no problem wolving down her cake, but she's slow as she chews, letting her ruminate on a single sentence in her mind.

'We are the Last Wall that defends all.'

---

Letting out a barely stifled yawn, Roman blinks his eyes tiredly as he looks at the ceiling of the small hideout he's been using for this little escapade. It's been productive for sure. Long but productive.

The Imperials have needed help with getting a lot of stuff from the planet. Fuel and food have been the two big items, and of course, Vale has obliged them with both, with tentative offers of support from Vacuo, Mistral and Atlas. Of course, there were no political bigwigs tonight, but people connected to those bigwigs for sure. Enough for word to easily spread that these spacemen needed things only Remnant could provide, or least help them procure more easily.

Those required supply chains, and even though they would definitely fall part way under the remit of the Cadian army, Roman knew that to begin with, they'd have to go through Remnite hands. And those hands were also easy to grease up with the right amount of Lien.

Goods would flow one direction, then some would get diverted or maybe some extra things would get added in, and Lien would flow in the other direction. Easy money, and Roman doubts the Cadians would mind if they were a few bottles short of brandy, or maybe had a few extra magazines to read. The fuel… that one would be harder to get money on for sure, but it could be done. Somehow.

Though, as the criminal brought his cigar back to his lips and began to chew the end again, a thought entered Roman's mind: should he tell Cinder, or even let the White Fang know?

To the latter… no, definitely not. Working with them is already as annoying as it can get, and Adam Taurus is not a man who is easy to get along with if you're a human. And that was when Adam was in a good mood. Seriously, Roman can understand the desire and need for a Faunus liberation group for sure. Humans are shit at the best of times, and when the shit flows, it always flows down, and no matter where you are in Remnant, the Faunus are always below the humans. But Adam? No. Roman knows who he was. Beneath that veneer of low charm and desire for good and 'justice', Adam Taurus has a black heart. A heart that wants nothing more than to spread pain and misery to whoever got in his way.

He'd kill Roman if he had a chance, and if he finds out and sees, in his twisted way of looking at things, that Roman is helping the Cadians?

Taking the cigar from his mouth, the criminal taps out a small bit of ash into the dish beside him before he picks up a shot glass of vodka. Downing the liquid in one gulp, Roman grimaces and not just from the taste of the alcohol.

Which just leaves the fire starter. And Roman is quick to decide… what she doesn't know, won't hurt her. Cinder isn't focused on the Cadians right now, she said so herself at her last meeting, where Roman was introduced to her two little peons for the first time. Her goal is her own, and the less Roman needs to know the better.

So the less Cinder needs to know, Roman decides, the better for him.

He's got enough material to throw a plan together, so he prepares to shut down his scroll. The bugs are nearly at the end of their lifespan and the audio quality is getting bad, plus with how late it's getting there's no way he's going to get anything useful.

"So, are we in agreement, Minister Gale? Professor Ozpin?"

The voice, heavy and low, of the man Roman instantly clocks as that 'herald', staticky though it is, instantly draws the criminal's attention, making him listen intently.

"We are, Herald Ordinary," That's Professor Ozpin, that sleek, cool and collected voice that even Roman can't help but respect. Guy could make a killing doing audiobooks. "I have shared the news with my staff, and though there are some reservations, it is an undertaking they can agree on."

"The council members," That's Minister Gale. Guy sounds tired for sure. "Have agreed to the proposal and will go along with whatever Professor Ozpin says on this matter. He does handle matters of defence, of course."

Roman places his cigar back in his mouth as he listens, intrigued as Professor Ozpin speaks again.

"In one week's time, we'll send selected Huntsmen cadet teams to Fort Tempest, allowing them to familiarize themselves with the Cadian forces and to get a better understanding of their units and…"

Even if the audio wasn't cutting out slightly, Roman would have lost interest anyway. More cultural exchange bullshit. Fun!

"… Then during that time, the Cadian and Aeronautica Imperialis units will begin prosecuting targets of opportunity in preparation for ground assaults…"

Roman's eyes shoot open wide at what he hears. No… no, there's no way.

"Is that wise, Antorus?" Minister Gale asks. "I mean, Remnant hasn't… war in eighty years and we…"

"… is not war, dear minister," The herald says, his voice undercut heavily by static now that was really getting hard to hear past. "This… extermination… it as pest control… Operation Typhoon will com… weeks' time…"

Static replaces the men's words fully now.

"No, no, no!" Roman pleads, gripping the Scroll tightly, trying in vain to will the bug to continue listening. He needs to know more! "Shit!"

The Scroll falls to the table as Roman stands up, fingers gripping the cigar tightly as he begins to pace slightly in the room. There's no way. There is no way there's going to be a major conflict in Vale. Not a chance. The Imperium has been doing all the right things to keep on everyone's good side. They've been nice, polite and so sweet that it makes Roman's teeth itch. And they're going to start slugging things out?

Roman lets the smoke fall out of his mouth as he thinks. There's no way the Imperials have found out about their group. No way. Those robots Talon encountered, they've not done anything overt against the group this time around, which means that the message hasn't been passed to higher ups, which means that wasn't what the trio were talking about.

The White Fang? No, they've not so much as raised a fuss over anything the Cadians have been doing. Roman has heard some rumblings about a little PR campaign directed at the child, and Adam has been strangely quiet about the Imperials. Roman thought that the idea of a human-centred empire would have sent the guy into a rage.

So who or what could the Imperials be going against?

The idea comes to Roman in a flash, and he smacks his forehead with a hand as he realises it.

"Dum-dum," He says to himself, a smile on his lips. It should have been obvious from the start, but of course he had to get all into a twist about it. Who is the one group that virtually everyone barring a few nutcases can agree on should be killed at the first possible opportunity? Who have the Imperials become known for fighting and have probably been fighting since day one?

The damn Grimm of course.

"Dum-dum," He mutters to himself, a small smile playing across his lips.

"You say something, boss?" The voice draws Roman's attention, making him look at the masked White Fang member sticking his head out of the doorway leading to the kitchen area. A mouse Faunus, with large circular ears, the man was one of the guards Falon assigned to 'protect' Roman. At least he was a pleasant guy.

"Nothing to worry about, Gris," Roman says, waving a hand disarmingly. "Just me thinking aloud. Hey, is dinner ready? I'm famished."

"Just finished the tacos now, boss!" The Faunus calls out, his head retracting back into the kitchen, making Roman smile broadly. Tacos are always good.

As he walks off to eat, a thought enters Roman's mind: should he let Cinder and co know about what the Imperials are planning on doing?

He stops for a few seconds as he thinks it over before shrugging. What Cinder doesn't know won't hurt Cinder, or Roman. And Cinder doesn't need to know that Grimm are going to die. He doubts she'd care anyway.

---

Candles flicker in the purple room, casting a weak glow that is almost needless in the room, lit as it is by the series of tall windows that ring the space. Not only lit by the ambient glow of the Land of Darkness from without, bathing the room in a dead red light, it is also lit from within by a collection of glowing purple crystals, each one the height of a man at the most. Crystals made from gravity dust, though their effects rendered inert by use of a power far older than any on Remnant, they could only cast a small but strong purple glow.

It is enough to illuminate the interior of the room, showing the single table; long and almost oblong like a coffin, the numerous seats around the table, and the denizens within. There's only three at present, but that's all the rule of this domain requires right now.

Their attention is on an enlarged Scroll screen, showing the visual of audio waves as they replayed the messages they've just heard and listened to with interest.

""… is not war, dear minister… This… extermination… it as pest control… Operation Typhoon will com… weeks' time…"

"Thank you, Doctor Watts," A silky smooth but authoritative female voice rolls out, prompting one of the figures to reach a hand forward and close down the display. It dims the room just so slightly. "Your skill at espionage is still as keen as ever."

The man, tall, pale, and possessing a thick moustache and a pair of sharp green eyes that take in every detail around him, bows his head. "I am pleased that you are pleased. But I have to ask: are we allowing this to proceed, your highness?"

"Allow what to proceed, my dear doctor?" The speaker asks in return. There is no annoyance in her voice, no anger at the question being asked. She sounds calm and collected.

"These… 'Imperials' launching an operation to clear out Grimm in Vale," Arthur Watts, former preeminent scientist and engineer in Atlas before being cast aside for an insipid fool, states simply and logically. "I know that the numbers of Grimm are worthless, in any sense of time, long or short. But to have that morale boost to the people of Vale? To themselves?"

A low, manic giggle comes as a reply. Though high in pitch, it does not come from the woman seated at the head of the table, but from the figure seated opposite Arthur Watts.

"Oh, do you not see the goddess' plan, my dear doctor?" The figure, squatting on the seat like a grotesque, replies in a snide, mocking voice. He is a scorpion given human form; long, lean limbs, coupled with the wicked looking blades, currently retracted on his wrists, and the foul looking stinger waving above his head behind his back. Tyrian Gallows smiles sharply, sardonically, sadistically at the man across from him as he speaks. "She is allowing these newcomers to rise, and rise, and rise, in the esteem of the people of Vale… only to allow them to be crushed when they finally fall so far!"

Tyrian suddenly doubles over as he begins to laugh loudly, the rolling sound echoing through the hall.

"Oh, it will be glorious to witness!"

The woman seated at the table says nothing, allowing her two subordinates to argue between themselves. She allows them this as she ponders. Yes, Tyrian is correct in her plan. The loss of several hundred or thousand Grimm, if Watts' projections on the scale of destruction are accurate, and they so often are, is nothing. The destruction of the environment in Vale is nothing to Salem, nor will the amount of blood spilled or ammunition expended, be of any consequence to her plan.

Let these Imperials, a group so enamoured with bloodlust, death and destruction unleash their fury on the Grimm. Let the world see that humanity beyond the stars is one powered by war and fuelled by blood. Allow them to see how alike humanity in its broad spectrum is.

Allow the people of Remnite to see how these newcomers can only bring more ruination to an already ruined world.

Salem smiles a chilling smile at the thought. This has factored into her plan nicely. For how can the Gods not see how pitiful humanity really is, when these Cadians are naught but weapons in human form? And what can a weapon do but destroy?

---

To Learn

The sound of a spent bolter shell, the brass casing striking the ground and rolling to a stop, fills the firing corridor seconds after the bolt strikes home into a target. Specially made ballistic gel, layered under specially formed carapace armour, explodes outwards in a visceral explosion of burnt gelatine and metal.

The approximation is just similar enough to a Beowolf Alpha. Almost.

His target down, Moein lowers his bolter and studies his target. He has removed his helm, the white Mark III 'Iron' helmet placed carefully on a bench behind him, letting his grey eyes study the scene before him carefully. The Sternguard sneers in annoyance.

The facsimile before him is good, but it is not perfect.

Lowering his gun, letting the spent propellant waft away into the oxygen vents high above his head, Moein lets his mind go back to that field. To facing those Grimm. His gene-enhanced mind, capable of near perfect recall of memories, filters the events of that fight through an analytical, military focused lens.

No emotional attachment. Just the facts. Practical facts.

Bolter rounds of all types available to the brotherhood of the Sternguard were more than capable of maiming and killing a Grimm. Rounds easily sever limbs, perforate bodies with flechettes and deadly acid, detonate and shower hide with fragmentation rounds. His mind's eye recalled the sights of the Grimm he saw through the scope integrated to his helm.

And then, he frowns as he looks again at his handiwork on the target mannequin.

It's still not right.

The notification chime goes off and draws Moein's attention away partially from the target dummy. It's not his serf. Josefina had still a few hours before she was scheduled to meet him to begin the disarming and disrobing of Moein's bolter and power armour. And if it was any of his squadmates, they would simply vox him.

"Enter!" The Sternguard calls out, still not taking his gaze from the dummy as he hears the door opening. The sound of heavily armoured footfalls draws his attention fully, as they are not the sound of any current mark of powered armour. That makes Moein turn.

A Primaris stands past the threshold of the door. A newcomer wearing the colours of the Steel Drakes. Their armour is as clean as freshly forged steel, their pauldrons the perfect matt of crisp onyx paint, surrounded by the glistening gold of their company, and surrounding the shining, silver icon of a roaring dracon's head. Unblemished, untarnished. Untested.

And that face too. Yes, it was definitely the face of an Astartes initiate, and one from the famed ice-world of Inwit, the home of their gene-sire and father legion: hard-bitten, dour and tough, especially evident from the bionic left eye. But to see the pale skin of the Primaris Marine looking at him… Moein can't help but see the other as a child.

"Firstborn Moein," The Primaris says, nodding his head slightly in a bow. His voice is deep, deeper than any of the Firstborn in the chapter, though his voice is hesitant. "I hope that I am pronouncing that correctly."

The Sternguard veteran nods his head as he maglocks his bolter to his back. "You are. It means 'guardian' or 'caretaker', in the dialect of Sigilis IV, my homeworld."

Again, the Primaris nods his head. "Noted, Firstborn Moein. I am Nickolas, Beta Squad of the 2nd Company."

"I can see that," Moein responds, his eyes having taken in the detail of the suit of Mark X armour easily, the Codex-compliant heraldry on the Primaris' armour easy to read at a glance. "Why are you here?"

Bluntness is a known hallmark of the Adeptus Astartes, especially those of certain Dorn's lineage. The various drilling and shooting galleries on the Dracon's Fang are not private quarters. Any Steel Drake of any rank, be they neophyte, initiate or veteran, even serfs are permitted to hone their weapon skills under tutelage of a master-at-arms or their Astartes masters. But to Moein's knowledge, no Primaris had ever ventured to one of the galleries, nor talked to one of the Firstborn singularly before.

Nickolas' face is perfectly calm at the question, only letting the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly into a small, thin smile. His grey eye looks out at Moein, and the Sternguard can't help but stare down the newcomer. A battle-hardened stare locked with a gaze akin to a child.

The Primaris Marine says nothing as he advances slowly towards the Sternguard veteran, his eye turning to look at the target dummy.

"You do not approve of me and my kind," Nickolas says bluntly, not shamed in the fact at all as he moves to within a foot of Moein. Even through his own armour's thickness, Moein can feel the power from the Mark X armour's power-pack as a gentle but persistent thrumming. "I know that for a fact."

Moein says nothing, just turning slightly to keep his front to the Primaris.

"You are not from Inwit, are you, Firstborn Moein?"

Moein feels his eyebrow arche at the question, but he cannot refuse to answer. This conversation is leading somewhere, and he wants to know where.

"No. As I said, I am from Sigilis IV. We Steel Drakes do not recruit from our Primarch's honoured homeworld."

"So what do you know of my homeworld?" The question would have been rife with sarcasm if said by another, but the words are genuine, so Moein has no reason not to answer.

"A world of ice. Ice and snow, with all your hives below ground. I have been before, for the Feast of Blades."

"'Feast of… Blades'?" Nickolas repeated in a confused tone of voice, finally turning to look at Moein. "I hope that is not literal."

The words are unexpected and the laugh that comes from Moein fills the gallery is loud and sharp, but honest and heartfelt.

"Dorn's Blood! Are you sure you're not a neophyte under all that ceramite?" Moein's fist strikes Nickolas' pauldron loudly, the Primaris looking at the Firstborn in deeper confusion. That gets Moein to relent slightly in his humour. "Though I guess it would be a bit… after your time?"

Nickolas nods his head in agreement. "Yes, I believe so. I have no memory of the Feast of Blades occurring on Inwit during my time before I became an Astartes."

Moein just nods his head in reply, a small note of intrigue in his voice as he speaks. "So you truly are an Inwit native. But, as I said, I know of your world."

"And of its people?" The Primaris asks simply. That earns a shake of the head from the Sternguard veteran.

"I have met my brothers in the Imperial Fists, who have come from Inwit, but not the inhabitants proper."

Again, Nickolas turns his head to look at the target dummy. The construct is the same height as the Primaris Marine, and just as thick, nearly matching the physique of the new Astartes if it weren't for the limbs being more out of proportion and animalistic. The artificers had a hard time getting the head right, so they have just used a copy of a dracon skull to make do for the head of a Beowolf. All of this, Moein sees Nickolas study with an appraising eye as he speaks.

"Our world is tough and brutal, and so were we. My childhood was spent on the move, both on foot and in the cargo-haulers. We fought against other tribes more than we traded, and against the beasts and the cold of our world. And above all, we learnt. We learnt of our tribes, other tribes, the creatures of our would and our world itself. And I have not stopped learning."

The Primaris turns to look at the Sternguard. The look in Nickolas' eye is… reproachful, which strikes Moein as odd since it is such an alien look on the face of an Astartes.

"We wear the same colours, bear the same insignia, carry the same genetics as our gene-sire. Yet there is a gulf between us, Firstbrorn Moein. Not just you and myself, but between the Firstborn and the Primaris too. We are weapons, crafted by the same maker, for the same purpose."

Moein knows there is much that can be said about the Primaris. All the claims made by his brothers about their purposes and their intent; about them being automatons with human skin, glorified servitors, at the best… and replacements at the worst. But how can such beings, fresh from the laboratories of the Adeptus Mechanicus, or wherever they have come from, replace the Adeptus Astartes in full? And Moein knows that Nickolas speaks the truth: though are different, they have been created for the same purpose by the same beings: to defend humanity and the domains of the Emperor, as ordered by Him and His Primarchs.

"What was your training like?" Moein asks out of the blue, looking at Nickolas intently. "It hasn't been shared how you Primaris are trained?"

"Hypno-induction mostly," The Primaris responds, turning back to face the target dummy. "Implanted memories and skills. Simulated battlefields and simulated enemies. I must admit that I have been… slain, more times than I admit."

Moein quirks an eyebrow in confusion at the comment, though he admits it makes some sense. If the Primaris have been in stasis for all of ten millennia, then their actual physical training would be non-existent, relying on simulated battles and memory ingrams for their knowledge. Deaths in those battlefields would be less… impactful than on a real battlefield, or even in the training regimen of the chapter proper.

"So no actual combat against flesh and blood targets then?"

Nickolas shrugs, still looking at the dummy. "Not even during the transit in the void were we able to face a foe. And now we are here to face these… Grimm."

"And I would even hesitate to call these things flesh and blood… Oh, Dorn's oath!" The Sternguard calls out in frustration, even as he chuckles slightly. The sounds make the Primaris turn to look at him in confusion.

"What is wrong, Firstborn Moein?" Nickolas asks in confusion, even as Moein turns away and stomps back towards the bench bearing his helmet.

"I have been attending this practice incorrectly!" Moein calls out in answer, a tone of laughter in his voice. "These beasts are confounding in as many ways as they are familiar."

The heavier footsteps from behind tell Moein that Nickolas is following him. "I have read the after-action reports disseminated to the chapter from your squad and Squad Dassian. These beasts sound almost daemonic in their nature, but they also are strangely not."

Moein rounds on the Primaris, a quizzical look in his eyes. "You know of the daemons of Chaos?"

The Primaris nods his head. "Our training was comprehensive, Firstborn Moein. And I must admit, I too find the Grimm perplexing. Being obviously xenos beasts… but also ones based around Terran-based wildlife truly does lend something daemonic to their being."

"How do your fellow Primaris view them?" The Sternguard asks, genuinely curious about the turn of events.

Again, Nickolas shrugs. "Mixed. Some see them as you see them; a confounding and annoying mix of xenos and daemon. Others are split between the two."

Turning on the spot, now in the original position he was in when he was firing his bolter at the simulated enemy, Moein looks at the Primaris, at Nickolas, as he finally pieces together what the newcomer is here for. "And what of you, Primaris Nickolas of Inwit?"

A smile comes to Nickolas' lips. Predatory, evil, but sincere. "I wish to learn how to kill them. Fast."

Moein nods his head, a smile of his own. "Collect your weapon then."

---

The shooting gallery is filled with intermittent blasts of bolter rounds and silence, as Moein of Squad Gaiun, First Company of the Steel Drakes and veteran of three and a half centuries of combat in the Emperor's Astartes, teaches Primaris Nickolas, newly added to the Second Company of the chapter and, for all intents and purposes, a neophyte in all practical sense, on the art of fighting and killing Grimm.

Their knowledge is limited to the beasts fought at Carterstown, both those faced by the Sternguard squads and also those faced by the Cadians and Sergeant Thaddeus' neophytes, but Moein makes it as comprehensive as he is able to. He is no instructor for sure, but he applies all the lessons he has learnt from his time in service in the chapter and also his time with the Death Watch.

Even though the Primaris did not fully need it, Moein drilled in heavily the lessons for dealing with Grimm as passed down from the Huntsmen.

"Headshots are best, but limb shots are just as good. Though without any blood to lose, only singular strikes dealing mass damage will put down a Grimm quickly.

"Deal with a Boarbatusk at range, before it's able to deploy into a ball. If too late for that, strike from the sides where there is no armour."

"Use grenades to unbalance?"

"Sound plan with a good theoretical behind it, though we've yet to try it."

Even after the time had passed for his serf to come and help him remove his armour for cleaning and blessing, Moein is still focused on training with the Primaris, switching from ranged combat to close quarters. Which basically results in the Sternguard veteran, his serf and Nickolas' serf watching the Primaris tear a target dummy to pieces with his fists.

"Never assume that you'll be able to use your combat knife in action," Moein say, watching Nickolas drive a powerful blow to the dummy's head, shattering carapace armour and bone. "I've had to kill my share of xenos with my fists when necessary and you will too."

With a loud roar, Nickolas punches down, driving the remains of the skull to the floor of the gallery with a resounding clang. Like the bell of a stage fight, the sound signals the end of training. For a few seconds, Nickolas is breathing hard through gritted teeth before he swiftly gets his breathe under control as he stands up right. Turning to face Moein, Nickolas is smiling that evil looking smile of his again.

"That is more entertaining than the simulations," The Primaris says as he walks back to the rest area of the gallery. His boltrifle is resting against the bench beside Moein's helmet. "I truly thank you for today, Moein. It has been… insightful, to say the least."

Moein nods his head in agreement. Nickolas has stopped using the term 'Firstborn' around the veteran, becoming more personable in the last few hours.

"I'm glad it has, and it's good that you've accepted what I've told you. Make sure the other Primaris know this information quickly. Get them up to speed on how to fight the beasts on Remnant."

Nickolas pauses as he stops to retrieve his boltrifle, and Moein catches the motion.

"If you worry about dying, do not. Simulations are always different to true battles. Your body will know."

"It is not that," Nickolas says, retrieving his gun and holding it in one hand by the foregrip. "It is now that I feel… I do not know."

Moein says nothing, keeping silent to let the Primaris find the right words.

"When we do make planetfall to face the Grimm, which both of us know we will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday. But I cannot help but wonder… how many of my fellow Primaris will I see again?"

The veteran understands the question, and he also knows he was right to call Nickolas a neophyte. Because it is the same worry that all neophytes have before they truly become Astartes. The last fear that must be quashed.

"Some will die," Moein says simply, flatly. "Some will not. You may day, I may die, we may not. Battlefields are capricious places, made even more so by the foes we face. These Grimm are the same, and I do not feel that we have seen all the forms they take. But this?" The veteran raises his hands to gesture to the shooting gallery. "What we have done here? This allows us to work the odds closer to our favour. To lessen the strength of our foes and to bolster ours. To make sure that we strike truer and harder, and to make sure we do not fail. We might fall, yes, but this training makes sure that if we fall, we take down a great number of the foes with us."

Nickolas is silent as he processes the veteran's words before he nods and smiles again, the smile less evil on his lips. "Do you wish for me to tell the others it was you who taught me?"

Moein shrugs as he moves to retrieve his own helmet. "Tell, do not tell. Just as long as they learn, Nickolas. That is all that matters."

Standing ramrod straight, Nickolas slams his fist against his cuirass, the sound of metal striking metal filling the air as he salutes before walking off, his own serf in tow. Leaving Moein alone with his own serf.

"What do you think of him, Josefina?"

The woman, middle aged and dressed in a steel grey cassock, ponders for a few moments before she speaks. "At least he listened to what you said."

Moein nods in agreement. "True, true. Better than I did when I was a neophyte."