The forest felt gloomy and hostile at this hour of the night. The trees seemed strangely taller and more dangerous, and crashing into a branch at high speed didn't sound like a good idea. Waylon Branwen wasn't ready to test those concerns.
The boy kept running, pushing his legs to their limit. His ears sharpened as he tried to pick up any sound out of the ordinary while moving, jumping, and sliding across the ground, dodging and occasionally bumping into obstacles among the trees. It was part of his training routine, though this time, the difference was that his mother, Winter, was supervising.
Using the forest as a training ground had become something of an odd family ritual. Ruby and Yang did it in Patch, and Qrow had done it once as a member of the tribe. So it wasn't surprising that Waylon continued the family legacy—now being the one who had to avoid slamming into a tree trunk.
However, he was usually supervised from a distance by his father, who would turn into a raven. Qrow didn't impose too many demands on his son, as some might expect. The obstacle course wasn't overly challenging under the retired Huntsman's guidance. It primarily served to keep Waylon in good physical condition and sharpen his senses.
Qrow had done his part—Waylon, at only 13 years old, already had a well-toned physique for his age and had nearly mastered multiple combat techniques with various weapons. The process wasn't too long, considering the boy's innate talent for all things combat-related.
Winter, however, was much stricter—a fact much to the young Branwen's dismay.
Waylon growled in frustration when his shoulder collided with a particularly well-hidden tree. The teenager ended up on the ground but got up as quickly as he had fallen, leaping over multiple ropes and sliding across the ground to avoid a few branches.
The boy came to a stop when he faced a steep, muddy slope. Without a second thought, he let himself slide down, but upon landing, a metallic pressure plate sank beneath his feet, forcing him to leap to the side.
A rather large net fell from the darkness, narrowly missing him. Waylon panted heavily, his throat burning and his chest begging him to stop, even for just a few minutes. He glanced at his left hand, feeling a dull ache. He had been training for almost half an hour and still hadn't finished the course.
Next to his watch was an aura damper—Winter wanted to push his physical endurance without relying on his aura.
Struggling, Waylon managed to stand. His throat burned like molten steel searing his skin, and his aching chest seemed to work harder than necessary just to keep him upright. Even so, the boy pressed on.
Waylon resumed his efforts, his feet moving at great speed as he weaved through the trees. His crimson eyes caught the faint sound of heavy footsteps approaching, prompting him to stop and look around for the source.
He didn't manage to dodge the charge of a rather large Beowolf. The Grimm's coloration was bluish and emitted particles of the same color. Waylon recognized the creature and merely groaned softly, giving the summoned beast a small pat to make it back off.
"The chances of encountering a Grimm in the forest while not having aura are enormous," came Winter Schnee's voice, instantly making the boy tense up. He stood straight in a firm, albeit tired, posture—almost like that of an exhausted soldier. "If this had been that Grimm, you'd be dead."
Waylon looked at the summon with irritation, blinking a few times and trying to control his emotions. "I've been at this for half an hour, Mom. I need to rest for a bit."
"Will you say the same thing when your life is in danger?" Winter asked, frowning at her son's excuse. "Your time has worsened. Last month, you reached this point in 20 minutes. This time, it took you 15 minutes longer."
"The training at Pharos is getting tougher," Waylon murmured almost timidly, feeling the piercing gaze of his mother. "The international tournament is coming up soon. I've already won it once, and…the Headmaster expects me to win it again this year."
"You won't win anything with an attitude like that," Winter said simply, shrugging, seemingly blind to the pain in her son's expression. "Alright, let's start again—"
"Dinner's ready!" Qrow Branwen called out from the house, his voice loud enough for his wife and son to hear. The man seemed calm and relaxed, his gray-streaked hair slicked back and his red eyes at ease. He was wearing a pink apron, which gave him a surprisingly friendly appearance.
"Let's go," Winter said with a faint smile upon seeing her husband. She began walking out of the forest but stopped when she didn't hear her son's footsteps. She turned her head slightly to look at him. "Is something wrong?"
"I'll rest for a bit," Waylon murmured, standing still under Winter's cold gaze. The woman shook her head disapprovingly before heading back to the house.
Winter took great pride in the unique architecture of their home, which bordered on being a small mansion with its absurd number of unused rooms. Each was intended for a specific member of the Schnee family. The house also boasted a decently sized garden, a large kitchen, an impeccably clean basement, and an office that Winter rarely used.
The Branwen-Schnee residence was serene and tranquil—a place where Winter felt at peace, which wasn't often. The sense of calm she experienced sleeping beside her husband was something Schnee Manor had never been able to offer during her time there. Winter had even considered expanding their home into a full-fledged mansion but decided it wasn't necessary.
This was her castle, her empire.
Winter loved having control over everything in her life, even the smallest details: the finances, what they ate each night, when employees got their days off. It was a level of control she never had under her father's rule, and even Ironwood had partially deprived her of it.
Even having control over her son felt good.
"You seem at ease," Qrow's voice snapped Winter out of her thoughts. "Was the training good?"
"He's not at his best," Winter replied, referring to her son. "Perhaps you're too soft on him, making him weak."
"He's only 13," Qrow said, chuckling softly at his wife's words, which earned a frown from her. "I think…maybe you should ease up a bit. He has immense potential—he'll be one of the best, sooner rather than later."
Winter bit her lip, making an effort not to lose her temper in front of her husband. She sat at their luxurious dining table, which had only three chairs. She sat in the largest one. Her eyes focused on the plate of food before her: vegetables, meat, and some rice—high in protein. Qrow must have thought of Waylon when preparing the meal.
Winter blinked a few times, trying to ignore her husband's piercing gaze. She barely lasted a few seconds before snapping, "Do you have something to say, dear?"
"Yang's been asking about Waylon. Actually, they all have—Blake, Oscar, Weiss, Jaune, even your mother," Qrow said as he sat at the other end of the table, his expression conflicted. "He's isolating himself. Loneliness is awful…believe me, I know."
"I was alone for most of my life," Winter replied, rubbing her forehead and looking to the side. "Waylon is special. You know it. Since he was born, he's rarely gotten sick, has no chronic issues, and his aura is incredible. He unlocked his glyphs at just six years old. Can you blame me for wanting him to become what he's destined to be?"
"I can't blame you, but don't expect me to just smile about it," Qrow said nervously, fidgeting with his hands to avoid stammering. "Jaune said Roy seems sadder since he and Waylon argued. It's been so long, and they both still seem affected. You haven't done anything to fix it."
"You act like you're better than me," Winter growled, feeling deeply uncomfortable with the discussion. "You haven't done anything to help him. You haven't stopped me. Qrow, you have no right to complain about how I'm raising him if you've allowed me to do it."
"You're right," Qrow replied simply, unable to come up with a valid counterargument. "I'm just waiting for him to realize things for himself…and for you to do the same. This is what you think is right, and I don't think I can change your mind."
Winter decided not to continue the argument and simply began eating in silence. Qrow followed suit, and an awkward silence settled over the pair.
—-
Waylon was completely silent. His aching body didn't allow him to do much in the dark except repeatedly kick a tree—not hard enough to hurt himself, but just enough to help him think more clearly and calm down.
He had an overwhelming urge to scream.
He hated and loved that his mother was home. Being with her and meeting her expectations meant receiving praise, which would instantly uplift him. However, failure brought harsh glares and various forms of disappointment that would weigh him down for days.
He couldn't fully understand why it was like this.
Waylon knew his mother pushed him to be better. He didn't understand why his training was so different from that of the other students at Pharos. His mother explained that he was special, different from the rest—that his potential was limitless and that she was more than willing to help him reach it, unlike what his grandfather Jacques had done for her.
Waylon appreciated that. His popularity at Pharos had skyrocketed in his first year. He had already won the international championship once, and this year, his goal was to win it again. His self-confidence made him feel his current abilities were sufficient, but his mother thought otherwise, always pushing him to go further and further.
The expectations placed on him were something he half-ignored. Meeting them was too easy for him, but his mother's expectations mattered far more. Failing to meet them felt like a dagger in his stomach, a pain that only seemed to grow sharper.
"I hate this," Waylon growled, kicking the tree harder than necessary. "Why the hell is it so hard to be as strong as her?"
The boy stopped for a moment to think about his family—Roy Schnee, Bryan Xiao Long, and Neithan Rose. It had been some time since he decided to cut ties to focus on his training. Winter had occasionally mentioned that he spent too much time with his family. Traveling to Atlas every week so he could spend time with his maternal relatives was difficult for her, leading to a few complaints on her part.
Waylon decided to stop going to Atlas, but not before having an argument with Roy, accusing him of being weak and claiming his training wasn't helping. That had fractured what was supposed to be an unbreakable bond.
Bryan was saddened when Waylon told him he would be distancing himself, while Neithan didn't seem to fully understand. Since then, everything had become lonelier. Playing video games and having fun with other kids at Pharos didn't fill the void.
He felt sad.
Waylon kicked the tree once more. A strange sound came from the branches, and a moment later, a bird fell to the ground, making odd noises. Waylon raised an eyebrow and looked at the animal, recognizing it as a black raven.
Its eyes were red.
Waylon sighed softly, picking up the bird in his hands. "Sorry, little guy. I'm just really angry right now. I didn't mean to knock you down."
The raven opened its beak but made no sound. It stared at Waylon with an unusual curiosity. The boy chuckled faintly, placing the bird back on the ground and sitting down, leaning his back against the tree.
"I gave up my own family to focus on my training and make my mom proud of me," Waylon said in a mocking tone, glancing at the raven as if sharing a secret. "But you know what? I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything."
The raven cawed softly, seemingly more interested in the boy's words.
"I feel so lonely. At Pharos, everyone wants to be my friend because I'm rich or the strongest. Roy and Bryan never cared about that," Waylon murmured, staring at his hands with conflicted emotions. "Mom thinks they made me weak. I guess distancing myself was her solution…"
The raven climbed onto Waylon's leg, curling up on his thigh and looking at him oddly. The boy chuckled again, stroking the bird's head.
"Dad doesn't try to stop her either. I don't know what's going on in his head. He's not good with emotions…neither is Mom," Waylon shrugged, unwilling to blame his father entirely. "I don't know what to do. What do you think I should do, huh, little guy?"
The raven pecked at his hand—not to hurt him but more as a gesture of affection. Waylon laughed softly, continuing to pet the bird as he vented his frustrations.
"Can't Mom see how hard I'm trying to be like her?" Waylon asked in a low voice, his tone tinged with anger he had buried for a long time. "I always try to improve in every way possible. I train with all kinds of weapons until my fingers bleed. I run for hours until my legs give out, and yet she still dares to demand more."
His breathing grew heavier. The raven on his leg nuzzled against his hand, trying to comfort him, but it didn't help.
"What's the point of being so strong if I don't feel good?" Waylon shook his head, laughing bitterly. "You know the worst part? I obey without a second thought. Instead of pushing back…I just stay quiet, like a damn coward. I hate it. I hate feeling so weak…so weak for her."
Waylon stopped his monologue when he heard a shout. He looked to the side, finally recognizing his father's voice. The boy glanced once more at the raven on his leg, which seemed as though it wanted to say something.
"Sorry, little buddy. I have to go," Waylon murmured, placing the bird on the ground before standing up. "It was nice talking to you. You should spend more time in these woods."
Without waiting for the bird to react, Waylon turned and started walking back to his house. He gave his father a simple pat on the shoulder as the man clapped his son's back a couple of times.
Qrow glanced into the trees and saw a strange figure—a woman with long, unkempt black hair and crimson-red eyes identical to his. The sight made him uncomfortable, so he turned and entered the house.
Raven Branwen sighed softly, genuinely worried about her nephew's situation.