The night air was cold, the shattered moon reflecting the state of the world below. The city of Vale had grown quiet as the usual bustle from the day died down, and the streets turned dark. The majority of people that still roamed the streets were homeless or undesirables looking to collect the next easy paycheck. Any business brave enough to stay open late always did so under the looming threat of being robbed. The grey and black buildings that made up the city were still, only occasional light in a window showing any signs of the life that resided within.
Slowly emerging from one of the many cramped and eroding alleyways was a group of men in black suits, black pants, and red tinted glasses. Each had in his possession either a single edged sword, or an automatic rifle, ready to be used if, but more likely when, things got messy.
"Well boys, who's ready to make some money?"
The black suited men all turned towards the source of the question. The speaker was none other than the devious, cunning, and highly wanted criminal Roman Torchwick. He wore a white suit vest with a red collar, a small grey scarf around his neck. His pants were black, accompanied by black shoes and gloves. His trademark item, however, was the black and red banded bowler hat that sat atop his bright orange hair.
"Yup, we're ready. Just say when," replied one of the thugs, switching off his rifle's safety.
"Excellent! Let's get this show on the road people!" Torchwick sneered, spinning a grey and black cane around in his fingers. Smoke floated up from a cigar in his mouth, lighting up his features. His dark green eyes were framed by thick lashes, though his right eye was completely hidden by long bangs swept to the side of his face.
Torchwick and his lackeys ambled out of the alley and down the street towards a shop that still had its lights on. Nearby civilians steered away from the gang, unwilling to be pulled into any conflict that arose.
Torchwick smiled to himself as he moved, drinking in the fear and intimidation people expressed as he passed.
Ahh...I love it when I'm about to pull a heist that should go off without a hitch, and we can all go home happy! Well, except for this poor fellow we'll be borrowing from. Torchwick thought with a smirk as they closed in on the shop. He glanced up and read the name "Nova Dust and Crystals" written in lights atop grey brick. A glass window on either side of the door showcased some of the wares that could be found inside.
The group crowded into the store, some of them striding right up to the counter. A middle aged man stood behind a glass display casing a vast assortment of colorful crystals. There were various tubes on the sides of the store that housed different types of Dust, and small shelves in the center of the floor holding individually packaged goods.
One of the henchmen raised his sword, its tip resting against the base of the shopkeeper's neck. The ageing man raised his hands in the air, a look of pure terror painted across his features.
"Alright then..." Torchwick began, slowly pacing back and forth in front of the counter with his head down, "Here's how this is going to work: you're going to stand there and wait while my men siphon every bit of Dust out of this sleazy, rundown shop, and you aren't going to say a word about it...or my friend's sword might slip. Understood?" Torchwick raised his head to meet the shopkeeper's eyes, smirking at the old geezer's fear.
"Y-yes, sir!" the man squeaked, sweat trickling down his face.
"Excellent! It's nice to meet someone so understanding." Torchwick sneered. He turned to face his grunts, "Grab the Dust. As quickly as possible, if you don't mind, I've got other business to attend to tonight." The men in black each gave a nod and pulled out a small, black cylinder from their jackets. They connected them to the tubes filled with Dust and extracted every ounce capable, leaving the dispensaries dry and bare.
While they did that, Torchwick placed a grey briefcase onto the glass counter housing Dust crystals. He opened it and pointed to the items before him.
"Put them in. Every last one." Torchwick demanded.
The shopkeeper whimpered helplessly as he was forced to relinquish all of his goods into the care of the thief, his hard work slipping away.
Little by little, the once prospering Dust shop was emptied, devoid of all its valuables.
"Pleasure doing business with you, sir." Torchwick grinned, giving a mock bow as he and his underlings exited the building. The man stared helplessly after them as they filed out, despair flooding through him as he surveyed his empty shelves. "Now, boys, if you could start making your way to the Bullheads, that would be lovely. I have the feeling it's going to get a little lively around here soon."
No sooner had he said the words than Torchwick's hat was knocked from his head by an unknown force.
There were shouts of "What the heck!?" "What was that!?" and "Where'd it come from!?" from black suited goons, who all looked around like mad men.
"Get a hold of yourself!" Torchwick barked, grabbing the attention of his inferiors. "You four, get to the aircraft! The rest of you, with me! Looks like we've got an idiot that wants to play hero." He bent over to pick his hat off the ground. He was surprised (and angered) to discover that there was an object lodged comfortably in his hat, right below the red band.
It was an arrow.
"Oh for the love of-"
"Sir! Up there!"
Torchwick followed his henchman's direction, looking towards the other side of the street. Perched on the roof of a building, framed by the moon, was the figure of a person in a white hooded cape. From this distance Torchwick couldn't make out any other colours, but he knew that the inside of the newcomer's cape was crimson, and that the hood concealed their identity. Little else of their attire was visible, but he knew that the boots were white with metal bands circling the top and heel of the shoe. Black, fingerless bracers covered their arms, reaching almost their elbow. A bow rested in their right hand, eagerly waiting to be loaded from the quiver on their back that housed all of the apparition's arrows.
"Oh, so it's you!" Torchwick called out, carefully dislodging the arrow from his bowler hat. "Nice shot. A hair lower and you would've had me!"
The hooded figure remained silent, cape rippling the soft night breeze.
"Well? Why the pause, you idiots?" Torchwick grumbled, pointing at the assailant. "Get him!"
The remaining men aimed and unloaded a barrage of bullets in hopes of killing the archer quickly. As soon as the speeding metal balls came close to contact however, the person vanished, seemingly evaporating into thin air.
"What the- who is this guy?!" exclaimed one of the goons, anxiety creeping into his voice. He spotted the figure again, now on the ground, as they sprinted towards him at an incredible speed. the bow had disappeared, replaced by two single edged blades held in a reverse grip.
"Oh sh-" The thug began, firing his gun once more in hopes of hitting his enemy.
It was of no use, however, the attacker deflecting the bullets with his blades. Slipping around behind him, the suited thug was knocked upside the head with the blunt edge of a sword, knocking him unconscious. Another thug drew his own blade and rushed the attacker. The individual sidestepped the charge easily and executed a quick combo with the flat ends of their swords, finishing the move with a forceful kick to the chest. There was an audible *crack* as some of the ribs broke.
The last two thugs glanced at each other and rushed in, alternating their attacks between gun and sword. The hooded figure used his blinding speed to close the distance between them, blocking and dodging any blows the grunts threw at gunman's feet were knocked out from under him as the caped attacker dropped under his fire. The hilt of one of the blades connected with the rifleman's torso, knocking the air from his lungs before he even hit the ground. The last goon stood, dumbfounded and terrified, glancing frantically to see his associates lying on the cold pavement in varying degrees of consciousness. The hooded fighter raised their head,and the man got a clear look at their face.
The young man's eyes were a deep green, full of focus and murderous intent, making his opponent's blood run cold. His stare didn't waver, his mouth a straight, hard line that revealed no emotion.
"Screw this! I'm outta here!"
The last goon turned tail and ran as fast as his body would allow. He was a good hundred feet away before he felt a great pain in his back and was knocked forward. The man he was running from had shot an arrow tipped with explosive Dust, hitting him squarely between the shoulder blades. The thug groaned, his vision going dark, and the archer turned his attention to Torchwick, pulling another arrow from his quiver and nocking it to his bow.
"Bravo! Bravo, I must say!" Torchwick cheered, mockingly clapping his hands in false respect. "I can see why you were her favorite to work with. You have such skill! It's really too bad you decided to leave, we could use someone of your talents!"
The archer raised his bow and took aim, refusing to respond verbally.
Torchwick raised his hands in surrender, reluctantly admitting that he was at a disadvantage. "Now, now. Settle down! No reason to get excited." He could hear the unmistakable sound of approaching engines and smirked.
"Well, as much as I love chatting with you..."
An airship came roaring over the rooftops, a rope ladder unravelling to meet the thief. " ...I'm afraid I must take my leave."
The airship turned, hoping to make a speedy getaway. The hooded archer loosed his arrow, the shaft flying on a collision course with Torchwick's head. However before it hit its mark Torchwick flicked his cane, and the arrow fell back towards the earth.
The cloaked man remained still as the airship flew further and further into the the night until he sensed an unfamiliar presence behind him. He spun around, his bow dismantled into twin blades in a flash and ready for use. But it didn't take long to recognize who had come up behind him, and he soon let the weapons drop.
A man in a dark suit jacket over a buttoned vest and green undershirt stood nearby. He had white gloves on his hands, black trouser shoes, and a green scarf with a cross shaped pin attached around his neck. His pants matched his jacket. His skin was pale, brown eyes glinting from behind shaded glasses and tousled grey hair. A straight, cane like object sat comfortably his right hand.
"That was quite the feat, young man. Your skills are incredible. Especially at your age." the man said, taking small steps toward the other archer.
"May we speak in private? I have a proposition for you." he continued pleasantly.
The hooded man gave a slight nod, stashing his blades in his quiver.
"Very well. follow me."
After only a few minutes of walking they arrived in a small room to the back of one of the many buildings that lined the street. Inside sat a small rectangular table with a chair on either side of it.
"Feel free to take a seat." Said the man in the suit, lowering himself into one of the chairs.
The hooded man hesitated before copying him.
"My name is Professor Ozpin." he began, "I am the headmaster of Beacon Academy, where we train young men and women to fight the evils of this world. Upon graduation they become known as Huntsman and Huntresses. Have you heard of it?"
The hooded individual raised his head to meet Ozpin's eyes and nodded.
Ozpin looked into the archer's green gaze and rested his chin on his hands. "May I ask your name?"
The cloaked archer gave a small nod and finally pushed back his hood. His spiky hair was snowy-white, and his bangs nearly touched the tip of his nose. He looked young. Far too young to be fighting vagabonds and ruffians on the streets.
For the first time that night he opened his mouth to speak.
"My name is Azure. Azure Knyte."
"Well, Azure, it's a pleasure to meet you. I have some questions for you, if you don't mind." Ozpin smiled reassuringly.
Azure resumed his silence, waiting for the headmaster to speak.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"I was taught."
"By who?" the professor pressed.
"Myself, mostly."
"Alright, then." Ozpin hummed, picking up on the fact that Azure wasn't comfortable disclosing the information "I was merely curious. I haven't seen someone fight in that style for a long time. My next question is this: do you wish to be a Huntsman?"
The white haired boy shifted his cape, revealing a white tunic and warm grey pants that had been hiding underneath his long cloak.
"I've been considering it for a while now."
"I see. My final query for you is this: Why do you want to be a Huntsman? Is it to slay monsters? Gain fame?" asked Ozpin, regarding the boy with intense interest.
Azure closed his eyes as he pondered the question, reopening when he was ready to give his answer.
"I'm not sure," he began, "This was never on my mind until recently, but..." Azure paused, pulling out a silver necklace with a small sapphire hanging from the chain, eyeing it. "I've got a promise to keep," he answered, tucking the stone back under his tunic, "and I intend to make good on it."
After a moment's thought, Ozpin nodded. "I see. Well, Azure, congratulations. I've decided to add you as a potential candidate for this upcoming year." He extended a hand. Azure took it and gave it a quick shake, surprise and confusion written across his face.
Ozpin smiled at the expression. "Beacon's main bulk of the student body takes students that have gone and graduated to preparatory combat schools," he explained, "But we have the rare occasion where due to personal circumstances of the applicant, they didn't have the opportunity to attend one. That does not negate their experiences though. Hence why we have a practical entrance exam to determine one's qualifications for ourselves. "
"...Not to sound ungrateful, but that's it?" Azure asked blankly. "Pass a test, and I can be a student?
"Indeed."
"I feel like I should do more⦠"
Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would you call what I just witnessed? Beating all of those trained men without aid? Not just anyone can do that, Azure. You didn't just wake up with those skills one morning, now did you?"
Azure mulled over the headmaster's words as he continued.
"Understand this: Beacon Academy strives to include students from all walks of life. While you may not be willing to divulge your past to me, it would be a shame to let your gifts go to waste. I only wish to extend an invitation to what might be a bright future for you."
Azure paused, weighing his next desicon. "...Alright then. I accept your invitation. Thank you, sir." He expressed, smiling appreciatively.
"Not a problem. The air transports for the new semester leave tomorrow at ten o'clock. Don't be late. From there you'll be taken to the academy for the practical entrance exam, hence why the lack of transcripts won't be an issue."
Azure nodded.
"Right then! Have a good night, and may your exam go well. Here's hoping to see you more around campus."
The professor left the small room with a smile, closing the door behind him and leaving Azure alone. Untucking the necklace he wore from his shirt and holding it in one of his palms, he watched as the light danced off the polished surface of the sapphire jewel with a wistful he was content, the young man pulled up his hood and left the room, vanishing into the night.
