Chapter 1

The early morning silence filled Team RWBY's new dorm room, a larger space given to them by Professor Ozpin after the events that had nearly destroyed Beacon. This room was different—bigger, sturdier, but it could never quite replace the old one, which held memories of late-night talks and shared laughter. A little over four months had passed since the Battle of Beacon, and though life had settled into a routine, the pain and loss were still fresh, lingering in the shadows.

In her bed, Yang Xiao Long stirred, her breathing quickening until she woke with a jolt. She gasped, heart racing, her skin damp with sweat. Her hands clutched the sheets as she looked around, disoriented, the faint moonlight casting long shadows on the walls. Her teammates lay still in their beds, their breaths deep and even. Yang listened to their rhythmic breathing, grounding herself, reminding herself she wasn't alone.

After a few moments, she looked down at the floor, her gaze catching on the faint glint of her metal fingers. Her prosthetic arm. Even now, it felt foreign, heavy and strange, a constant reminder of the events she could never outrun. She inhaled deeply, trying to shake the weight of her memories, but they came rushing back, taking her to a place she'd tried so hard to forget.

Pain. That was all she knew.

Yang opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness of the sterile, white hospital room. The dull hum of machinery filled the air, and the scent of antiseptics was thick and sharp. She felt a weight on her hand and, with effort, turned her head to see Ruby slumped forward, fast asleep in a chair by her bedside, clutching her remaining hand as if it was a lifeline.

Yang tried to lift her other hand but found it stiff, heavy, and…wrong. Confusion and panic swelled within her as she struggled to sit up, but a hand gently pressed her back down.

"Easy, Yang. Don't push yourself," a voice said softly. She looked up, meeting the steady gaze of Professor Ozpin, standing at the foot of her bed with his hands folded behind him.

"Professor…?" Her voice was barely a whisper, raw and cracked. She tried to steady her breathing, feeling the weight on her left arm that wasn't really there. "What…what happened?"

Ozpin's face softened, and he took a seat beside her, glancing at Ruby before looking back at Yang. "You've been through a lot. You fought bravely, Yang. But there was…damage."

Yang swallowed, her mouth dry as she tried to process his words. She turned her head slowly, eyes widening as she took in the sight of her left arm—or the metal replacement that had taken its place. She stared in shock, her mind reeling, memories flooding back in a rush.

She saw Cinder Fall, the wicked gleam in her eyes as she unleashed an attack. She remembered Qrow—her uncle, her mentor—diving in front of her, taking the brunt of the attack aimed at her, saving her life at the cost of his own. But even as Qrow fell, a fraction of that deadly blow had struck her arm. The pain, the blinding light—it all rushed back, crashing over her like a wave.

She looked back at Ozpin, the question in her eyes too heavy for her to voice. His expression was gentle, but she saw the sadness there.

"Qrow didn't make it," he said softly. "He…saved you, Yang. His last act was one of bravery, to protect you. To protect his family."

Her breath caught, and the room seemed to blur as her eyes filled with tears. She looked down, unable to meet Ozpin's gaze, her chest tightening. She hadn't been able to save him. He'd given his life for her, and all she had to show for it was this hollow, aching emptiness and a metal arm that would never feel like her own.

Through the fog of grief, Ozpin's voice broke through. "Your team…they're all here, Yang. Ruby's hardly left your side. Blake and Weiss insisted on staying too. They fought for Beacon, and they fought to stay with you."

Yang glanced at Ruby, who was still slumped over, exhausted from keeping watch over her. Despite the pain, a small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. She'd always been the one looking after her little sister, but now, Ruby was here, making sure she wasn't alone.

Blake and Weiss hadn't left her either. Despite everything—despite Blake's fear of Adam, despite Weiss's battles with her father—they were here. They hadn't abandoned her.

But even with the knowledge that her team was still together, the grief of losing her uncle, of losing her arm, weighed heavily on her. As she lay there, feeling Ruby's hand in hers, she blinked away the tears and closed her eyes, letting the darkness take her again.

In the present, Yang blinked, the memory fading as she sat alone in the courtyard, the moonlight washing over the memorial in front of her. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the names etched into the stone, tracing each one until her eyes found his name:

Qrow Branwen.

Her vision blurred as the pain resurfaced, raw and sharp. She clenched her fists, feeling the cold metal of her prosthetic press against her skin, a constant reminder of the sacrifice her uncle had made. He had given his life for her, and here she was, alive, broken, but still standing. She couldn't stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, "I'm sorry, Uncle Qrow."

She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out his old, battered flask. She'd found it only a few days ago while cleaning through some of his belongings. Holding it now, she felt a pang of longing for the man who'd been a second father to her, the one who'd always been there with a quick joke or a gentle reminder to look out for Ruby. Now he was gone, and the weight of his absence left an ache that would never heal.

With trembling hands, she placed the flask at the base of the memorial, right below his name. It was a small tribute, but it was all she had left of him. She stood there for a moment, letting the moonlight reflect off the flask, shimmering in the quiet.

She didn't know how long she stayed, her heart heavy, the night silent around her. Eventually, she wiped her tears, took a steadying breath, and turned to head back to the dorm.

The next morning, Yang stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her uniform. She took a deep breath, forcing a bright smile to her face, the kind that used to come naturally but now felt like a mask. She was determined to keep going, to hold herself together, for her team and for her uncle's memory.

Today, she would pretend to be okay. Inside, she was fractured, carrying wounds no one could see. But she would try, she told herself. She owed it to herself, and to her team.