CLIFFSIDE – 1 Month After Beacon Fell
The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffside was a soothing melody, each wave pulling back with a gentle hiss before it rushed back to the shore. The golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows on the rocky ground. Blake Belladonna stood at the edge of the cliff, her black bow fluttering slightly in the cool breeze, her yellow eyes reflecting the vibrant colors of the sky. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, but her mind was elsewhere—lost in memories she'd rather not face.
"Blake?" A soft male voice broke through her thoughts.
Blake turned her head, her eyes softening as she saw a Faunus boy with antlers perched atop his head. His dark brown skin contrasted against the pale green shirt he wore, and he held a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He was around her age, maybe a little younger, but there was a wisdom in his eyes that made Blake feel less alone in the world.
"Thank you," she said quietly, accepting the cup from him. The warmth of the tea seeped through the porcelain, grounding her, as she took a small sip. "And I appreciate you letting me stay here for the last month, Matthew."
Matthew flashed a small, genuine smile. "Anything for a friend." He stepped closer, his hooves making soft sounds on the grass beneath him.
Blake followed his movement, her eyes wandering back to the horizon as Matthew settled beside her. For a moment, neither spoke, the peaceful sounds of the ocean and the world around them filling the quiet.
"It's beautiful," Blake said after a while, her voice soft, almost as if she were talking to herself.
"Yeah." Matthew's tone was quiet too, thoughtful. "It really is." His gaze lingered on the sunset, the last rays of light slowly sinking beneath the waves, but his attention was split between the sky and the Faunus girl beside him.
They stood there for a few minutes, neither of them willing to break the silence, as if the world itself were asking them to hold this moment just a little longer. But then Matthew's voice pierced through, like the calm before a storm.
"I know what you're thinking," he said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that hinted at understanding. "You're thinking that being here... puts me in danger. Right?"
Blake stiffened, the weight of his words sinking in. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, and then looked down, her fingers tightening around the cup in her hands.
"Yeah..." Blake's voice wavered slightly. "I know I'm putting you at risk, Matthew. But I had nowhere else to go. After Beacon fell..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The words felt like knives in her throat—too sharp, too painful to speak. Instead, she stared at the scar on her wrist where Adam's sword had pierced her skin, a reminder of everything that had happened, everything she had lost.
Matthew took a step closer, his voice soft but firm. "It's been a month now, Blake. Maybe... maybe it's time to head back. To Patch. Go talk to her."
Blake felt a knot form in her stomach. She had been dreading this moment—the moment someone would tell her it was time to face her past. To face Yang. Her heart beat a little faster, and the tea felt suddenly too hot against her trembling fingers.
"I..." Blake hesitated, her voice catching. She shook her head, staring out at the ocean, trying to avoid meeting Matthew's gaze. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"But why?" Matthew pressed, his voice sincere. "Surely, Yang can't hold that long of a grudge."
Blake finally turned to look at him, her face a mask of emotion. "Trust me," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. "If you ever met Yang, you would know she holds grudges for a long time. And... what I meant is... Adam wants to hurt those I care about. If he finds out I've been near Yang, Ruby, or anyone else, he'll come for them. And I... I can't let that happen."
Her hand trembled slightly, and some of the tea sloshed over the edge of the cup, spilling onto the dirt below. She stared at it for a moment, watching the tea mix with the earth, before her gaze dropped to the scar on her wrist again. Memories of Adam's blade flashed in her mind, and the weight of that pain threatened to consume her once more.
Matthew reached out, his hand hovering near hers, as if offering silent comfort. "Don't give in to your fears."
Blake looked up, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What... what do you mean?"
Matthew's expression softened as he lowered himself to her level. "It's what you told me back when I left the White Fang," he said, his voice almost nostalgic. "You caught me trying to leave, and you had a chance to alert anyone nearby. But you didn't. You helped me leave. And just before I left for good, you put your hands on my shoulders, and you quoted, 'Don't give into your fears. Whatever happens, as long as you do things right, you'll be safe.'"
Blake blinked, the memory of that moment flooding her with unexpected warmth. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Here I am, two years later, and not a single White Fang has found me," Matthew continued, his voice growing more confident. "I did that without giving into fear. But if they ever find me... I'll fight back. And if I die, so be it."
Blake's heart tightened at his words. She had never thought of herself that way—not as someone who could face her fears head-on. She had always been the one running, hiding, trying to protect others from her own mess.
Matthew placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm yet reassuring. "All I'm saying is this: You're afraid to go back because of Adam. Because you don't want to put those you care about in danger. But did you ever think that maybe... maybe you have friends who'll stick by you? Even in the face of danger?"
Blake opened her mouth to speak but faltered. Her mind raced, but her words failed her.
"You do," Matthew said, his voice unwavering. "You have friends who fought with you. Who protected you. Who care for you. And when it comes down to it, you're stronger when you're together. Stronger than Adam. Stronger than the White Fang. When you have people who love you and will protect you, there's nothing you can't do."
Blake stared at him, her chest tight with emotion. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear those words until now. She swallowed hard, then took one last sip of the tea, the warm liquid comforting her in a way she hadn't expected. She handed the cup back to Matthew with a small smile, the first genuine one in weeks.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "And... you're right. I've been living in fear for too long. But I won't run anymore. I should go back. Hopefully, Yang won't be too mad."
Matthew's smile widened, a proud gleam in his eyes. "That's good. Now, let's head back inside. It's going to be dark soon."
Blake nodded, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. She followed Matthew back toward the small cottage, the weight of her decision settling in her heart, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she was finally moving forward.
PATCH
Yang sat on the couch, staring at the television screen with a mug of coffee in her hand, the steam rising lazily into the air. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the television and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. She didn't feel like watching, but the noise was enough to fill the space that felt too empty. The familiar face of Lisa Lavender appeared on the screen, her cheerful demeanor contrasting sharply with the somber atmosphere in the room.
"This is Lisa Lavender. Today, Vale officials, along with former Professor Glynda Goodwitch, reported that the Grimm presence at Beacon Academy has now been reduced to 36%, as many volunteers have joined the fight to clear the grounds. The group consists of former students, Huntsmen, and Huntresses—all working together to reclaim the once-great academy."
The camera cut to a Huntsman, around 25 years old with golden hair, standing in front of the destroyed walls of Beacon.
"Beacon was where I learned everything I know about being a Huntsman. Seeing it fall, it broke my heart. That's why I volunteered, to help clear the Grimm and hopefully, one day, Beacon will rise again. It'll be a place where those who want to make a difference can learn to protect this world from threats like the Grimm."
Lisa Lavender's face reappeared, her expression more solemn now.
"That was one of many interviews with volunteers. Ms. Goodwitch has projected that they should be able to clear the Grimm presence at Beacon by the end of the month. Back to you, Cyril."
Yang flicked off the television with an irritated sigh. She set the remote down on the coffee table and stood up, walking to the kitchen. Her empty cup clinked as she placed it in the sink, her eyes drifting to the refrigerator. A photo stuck to the door—a picture of her, Ruby, and their father, Taiyang, smiling beneath the shade of an old tree. The sight of it made her heart ache, and she reached up to take it, her gaze lingering on their faces.
But then her eyes drifted down to her arm—or where it used to be. A stump, still raw and unfinished.
Yang folded the photo in half and shoved it into her pocket. The image of the people she loved seemed like a lifetime ago.
A knock at the door startled her. Tai wasn't supposed to be home for another hour, which meant it was someone else. Someone unexpected.
Yang's muscles tensed. Her heart rate quickened. She reached for a kitchen knife and crept silently across the floor. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.
She carefully moved toward the window and peeked through the blinds. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the familiar white glove and long trench coat.
"What's he doing here?" Yang muttered under her breath.
"Miss Xiao Long?" A deep voice called out from the other side of the door. "This is General Ironwood. I believe we may have conversed during the Vytal Festival Tournament. I wish to speak with you. And yes, it's very important."
Yang lowered the knife onto the nearby table and pulled the door open, her eyes narrowing as she faced the General. Behind him, two soldiers stood at attention, and an Atlas airship hovered in the distance. The sight of it stirred something cold inside her.
"What do you want?" Yang asked, her voice sharp and bitter.
Ironwood stepped forward, his posture rigid. "I wish to speak with you... and your sister. Ruby, is it?"
"Yes." Yang's response was clipped. "But unfortunately, she's long gone. Where she went, I don't know."
Ironwood's expression softened, his gaze flickering with something like regret. "I see. Well, the least I can do is speak with you. May I come in?"
Yang hesitated, her eyes studying him for a long moment. She stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. Ironwood ordered his soldiers to stay outside, and Yang slammed the door shut with enough force that it rattled in its frame.
"I see your house is in good shape, despite it only being you here while your father assists at Beacon." Ironwood observed, his voice betraying a hint of surprise.
"Eh." Yang shrugged, her voice flat. "Better than lying in bed all day."
Ironwood glanced at the knife still resting on the table, his sharp eyes narrowing. He picked it up without a word, turning it in his gloved hand as if inspecting it.
"Were you... expecting someone? Someone dangerous?"
Yang walked over and snatched the knife from his hand, sliding it back into a drawer. "Is there anything I can get you, General? Water? Coffee?"
"I appreciate it, but no." Ironwood's gaze flickered over her, a subtle tension in his eyes. "Miss Xiao Long, your attitude toward me since I arrived here... it hasn't been the most welcoming."
Yang's lips twisted into a mock smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you prefer I act like a nice, sweet, down-to-earth girl?" She laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Forgive me if I said 'screw you,' General."
Ironwood sighed, running a hand over his face. His eyes caught a photo on the mantle, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought.
"Miss Xiao Long, I understand losing your arm must have changed you a lot. But it would be nice if you could at least show a little kindness."
Yang's fist clenched at her side, the pain of her loss surging to the surface. "Nice, huh?" she muttered. "Did Ozpin nicely insist that bringing your entire fleet to the Tournament would bring danger to Vale?"
Ironwood froze. "How do you know that...?"
Yang stood straighter, her expression hardening. "I have my ways." She didn't add that it was Uncle Qrow who had told her, that he'd spoken of the "Inner Circle" and the discussions about the Vytal Festival, of Ironwood's calculated moves.
"Maybe you should've listened to him, General. Your Atlesian Knights turned on you, and killed dozens of innocent civilians. That's why there's severe mistrust across the Kingdoms now! People don't trust you anymore. They don't trust Atlas. Your arrogance might be the reason Beacon fell. Why Penny and Pyrrha died. And why I lost my goddamn arm!"
Ironwood's eyes flickered to her stump. He didn't speak immediately, but his jaw tightened.
"Miss Xiao Long, I didn't come here to be lectured by a defeated, young girl who's given up."
"I haven't given up." Yang's voice cracked with anger.
"Did you really?" Ironwood's tone was quiet but challenging, almost mocking.
Yang felt her breath catch. She turned her back to him, marching down the hallway.
But then Ironwood's voice rang out again. "I can help you find the man who took your arm away."
Yang froze, her heart skipping a beat. "How do you know who did this to me?"
Ironwood's cold, calculating gaze met hers. "His name is Adam Taurus. He's the leader of the White Fang."
Yang's body went stiff as she turned back toward him. "And why would you want to help me?"
Ironwood removed his white glove, revealing a cold, metallic hand. Yang's eyes widened. She had thought his glove was just for show, a fashion statement.
"You're not the only one to lose something because of him." Ironwood's voice was gravelly, and he returned the glove to his hand with a deliberate movement.
"Miss Xiao Long, I am prepared to offer you something you may not want to refuse." He snapped his fingers, and one of the soldiers entered, carrying a wooden box. The soldier set it down on the table and saluted before leaving.
Ironwood opened the box slowly, revealing a golden-yellow robotic arm. Attached to it was Yang's gauntlet—her Ember Celica.
"Is that... how...?" Yang's voice faltered, the question catching in her throat.
"It was recovered while we were clearing the Grimm," Ironwood explained. "A Huntress found it and felt unsettled by it. But we managed to fix it up and attach it to this new arm."
Yang touched the arm cautiously, her fingers running over the cold metal, disbelief etched on her face. "But... why?"
"It was your Uncle Qrow's idea." Ironwood's gaze hardened. "Thought it might help you when you go back into the world."
Yang's thoughts raced. Qrow had done this? Maybe when she saw him next, she'd give him a hug. Or a slap.
"I expect you want something in return." Yang said, her tone bitter.
Ironwood smiled thinly. "Of course. I'm offering you the chance to find Adam Taurus. You help us locate him, and we'll back you up."
Yang narrowed her eyes. "That's it?"
"That's it," Ironwood said. "And in return, we want you to send us the coordinates once you find him. My men will assist you if you need it."
Yang hesitated, still eyeing the robotic arm. Her thoughts flickered to Ruby and Weiss, to the people she cared about. She sighed, looking at the photo of Ruby still in her pocket.
"Alright. I'll do it. But on one condition: I want to see my friend, Weiss Schnee. I haven't heard from her in a while, and I'm worried about her. That's all I want, General."
Ironwood's face darkened, the weight of her request lingering in the air. "The Schnee Company is a key supplier for Dust. Asking something like that could risk our partnership with them."
"I don't care!" Yang snapped. "You want my help? Then make it happen!"
Ironwood considered this for a long moment, his gaze flickering over Yang, before he finally nodded. "Fine. I'll arrange it."
Before he could say anything else, the door opened suddenly, and Taiyang stepped inside, a bag of groceries in hand. He froze, his eyes flicking between Yang and the General.
"General." Tai's voice was low, guarded.
"Taiyang." Ironwood nodded and stepped forward, offering his hand. Tai hesitated before shaking it firmly.
"Why are you here, General?" Tai asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.
"He's here for me." Yang stepped forward, holding up the robotic arm with an unreadable expression.
Tai's eyes widened in surprise. "Yang... what's going on?"
Yang turned to him, her gaze hardening. But there was something else in her eyes—something darker, something set in stone.
"Things are about to change, Dad."
INT. DARK ROOM
A young woman in a flowing red gown stands before a large, ornate window, gazing out at the crimson sky. Her figure is bathed in the warm, flickering light of the setting sun, her expression contemplative. She raises her hand gracefully, and a small, vibrant ball of fire ignites in her palm, casting dancing shadows on the walls. With a focused flick of her wrist, she releases the fire, sending it sailing through the air before it lands near a pair of gleaming robotic legs, which glow softly as the fire dissipates.
"Whoa," comes a voice from the shadows. Mercury Black steps forward, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "You really need to be careful where you aim those. I'm pretty sure you could burn a hole through the entire building if you're not careful."
Cinder turns her head to face him, her gaze cold yet serene. Beside him stands Neopolitan, the pink and brown-haired mute, who watches quietly with an unreadable expression. Her gaze flickers between Cinder and the fireball, an unsettling tension in the air, as if she senses something dangerous about Cinder's presence.
"What do you want, Mercury?" Cinder's voice is calm but carries an edge, the kind of confidence that commands respect.
"We spotted her," Mercury begins, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Ruby Rose. We know where she is."
Cinder's posture shifts as she takes a step toward them, her attention fully captured. "Where?"
"They were last seen leaving a ferry, heading into Mistral," Mercury continues, eyes glinting with purpose. "You want me to take care of her? Make sure she's… dealt with?"
Cinder's lips curl into a subtle, satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming with a calculated focus. "No need for that... not yet, anyway. You've both done well despite the setbacks we've had. And you, Neo..."
She turns her gaze to the quiet, brooding figure of Neopolitan, who shifts uncomfortably under the weight of her stare. There's a flicker of something painful in Neo's eyes, but it's quickly hidden.
Cinder steps closer to Neo, her voice softening, an almost maternal tone. "I am truly sorry about Roman." She places a hand gently on Neo's face, her thumb brushing over the pale skin in a gesture of reassurance. "Rest assured, he will be avenged. We'll make sure of that."
Neopolitan, her expression unreadable, steps back, looking away. Her lips quiver slightly, but she says nothing. She exits the room without a word, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.
Mercury watches her leave, his eyes narrowing with a hint of concern. "She'll come around eventually," he says quietly, though there's a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
"I'm not so sure," Cinder responds with a quiet intensity, her gaze lingering on the door Neo just exited through. "Roman was like a father to her. This isn't something she'll get over quickly."
Mercury looks at Cinder, his usual cocky demeanor faltering. "What about Emerald? Any word on her?"
Cinder's face darkens slightly at the mention of the name. "Still missing," she replies, her voice sharp. "She ran when things got tough... after all we've accomplished. I don't know where she went, but when I find her..." Her eyes narrow as she lets the sentence hang in the air, her meaning clear without having to say more.
Mercury shifts uneasily but says nothing.
Cinder takes a breath, her eyes cooling again as she turns her attention back to the matter at hand. "As for Rose... we will keep our eyes on her and her team. See where they're going, figure out their next move." She pauses, her expression hardening, her voice now cold and decisive. "And when the time is right, we'll strike."
Her eye flickers a vibrant, dangerous shade of orange, glowing faintly as she clenches her fist. The air around her seems to crackle with quiet intensity.
"And after all her friends are dead, I will personally make sure Ruby Rose pays for everything she's taken from me."
Mercury nods, a dark smile crossing his face. "Sounds like a plan."
Cinder turns away from them, her eyes looking out into the distance, as though she can already see the future unfolding before her.
INT. SCHNEE MANSION - NIGHT
The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the room as Weiss Schnee moves quietly but swiftly, packing a small backpack with a few essentials. She places each item in with precision — a notebook, a few personal mementos, a map — but there's no rush, only a quiet sense of purpose. Her movements are deliberate, and yet there's a weight in her actions, a heaviness she can't ignore.
Her gaze drifts over to Myrtenaster, resting against the wall. The sight of it stirs something within her — something that feels both familiar and foreign. She reaches for it, her fingers tracing the hilt with a tenderness that contrasts with the sharpness of the weapon. A part of her wants to linger on it, to remind herself of the person she used to be, but she knows she can't. She slides it into its sheath with practiced ease, the sound of metal fitting into place more final than she expects.
She moves to the desk next, where a small, sleek device lies. Winter had handed it to her earlier, the weight of her sister's words still echoing in her mind. "Be careful, Weiss. This isn't just about you anymore."
Weiss picks up the device and inspects it, running her fingers over its surface. She doesn't fully understand it, but she knows it's important. It feels foreign, like another symbol of the life she's trying to leave behind.
She places it into her backpack with a quiet resolve, her eyes catching the time on the clock. 8:25 PM. The numbers seem to blur in front of her, and for a moment, everything feels distant.
"Oh, boy," she mutters to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of her decision presses down on her chest, the gravity of it all settling in. There's no turning back now.
She stands still for a moment, her gaze scanning the room. The mansion, her home for so long, feels strangely suffocating now. The cold elegance of the walls, the perfect furniture, all of it feels like a prison. A cage she's been locked in for far too long. Her father's influence is everywhere, and it's something she can no longer pretend to ignore.
She reaches for the doorknob and pauses. Her fingers hover over the cold metal, the silence in the house almost unbearable. In this moment, she feels the weight of the years spent here — the years spent trying to be something she never wanted to be.
She exhales slowly, the breath shaky, as if she's trying to find the courage in the act of simply moving forward.
"I can't stay here anymore."
Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but the finality in it is unmistakable. She feels a pang in her chest, a mix of guilt and relief. The mansion, her family, the expectations — everything she's known — it's all slipping away. But she knows, deep down, that this is the only way to truly find herself.
With one final glance at the room, she turns away. The door opens with a soft creak as she steps into the hallway, the weight of the moment still heavy on her shoulders. The mansion behind her feels like a lifetime ago, a distant memory, and yet the reality of leaving it all behind is sharper than ever.
For a moment, she stands in the hall, the stillness of the house settling around her. Her future is uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, Weiss feels like she's finally taking control of it.