A/N: This part is where I took inspiration for the RWBY Ice Queendom, Holy cow, It's actually not bad! So you better watch it!
I'll be using one of RWBY Ice Queendom's characters; Shion Zaiden, The Nightmare Huntress
"The answer lies within the nature of his very existence."
At first, Jinn's words seemed simple, almost benign. But as she raised a hand, the ethereal glow of the Relic expanded, enveloping the room in a soft, dreamlike haze. Shapes and figures materialized within the mist, shifting, fleeting images that danced like echoes of something both ancient and unseen. It was as if she were pulling the very secrets of the universe into view.
The swirling mist coalesced into two flickering flames, burning side by side. Their glow pulsed rhythmically, moving in tandem with an unseen force.
"These represent souls," Jinn began, her voice rich with the weight of ages. "The very essence of one's being—a tether between the physical and the intangible. It is not merely a collection of memories, nor is it just the force that breathes life into flesh. It is identity. Purpose. The core of all that you are, woven together by the experiences that shape you."
With a single flick of her wrist, the flames drifted closer, their edges flickering as if drawn to one another. Slowly, they intertwined, merging into one.
"This... is the natural occurrence of reincarnation. When a soul returns to the world, it does not come alone—it finds a vessel. The new body houses both itself and the remnants of the soul that was once there. They do not remain separate; they become one. Once a soul merges, the memories of the past life fade, becoming mere echoes—fragments lost in the subconscious. This is why déjà vu occurs, a whisper of something once lived but long forgotten."
'Reincarnation...' The word stuck in their minds.
The group watched, mesmerized by the sight of the flames fusing, their forms becoming indistinguishable. But before they could fully grasp her meaning, the mist shifted once more, and Jinn's expression darkened.
"Most living beings undergo this cycle. It is the natural order—the way fate has woven existence." Her gaze turned sharply toward Weiss. "However... Rinko Schnee is different."
A ripple passed through the group.
Weiss furrowed her brows, unease coiling in her chest.'What exactly is she implying?' She thought.
The flames in the mist changed again. This time, instead of merging, one flickered violently before fading entirely—snuffed out as if it had never been. The remaining flame burned alone, wavering and unstable.
"The original Rinko... died."
A heavy stillness settled in the air.
Yang stiffened. Blake's ears twitched. Ren's normally composed expression wavered. Even Qrow, ever the skeptic, lowered his flask.
Weiss froze.
"When his soul left his body, another should not have taken its place—not like this. Normally, when a soul undergoes reincarnation, it binds with what remains of the original host's soul. But here..." Jinn gestured toward the lone flame. "There was nothing left to bind with. The soul that entered his body did not merge. It did not merely adapt. It replaced."
Weiss felt her breath hitch, her fingers curling into her palms.
"Are you saying..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "That Rinko... isn't Rinko?"
Jinn turned to her, unreadable and calm.
"That is precisely what I am saying."
The weight of those words crashed down like an avalanche.
But Jinn wasn't finished.
The mist rippled again, but this time, something was wrong. A shadow slithered through the haze, inky tendrils stretching through the depths of the unknown. The lone flame shuddered, its glow weakening.
Jinn's gaze sharpened.
"And yet... something else has interfered."
The mist darkened, and the flame flared wildly as if struggling against an unseen force. A grotesque shape slithered into existence—thorn-like appendages curled along its back, a white bony mask protruding a single red eye.
The Nightmare Grimm.
A shiver ran through the room.
"This creature," Jinn continued, "is a parasite. The Nightmare. A Grimm that feeds not on the body, but on aura and mind. The very fabric of the soul itself."
The mist swirled, and the Nightmare Grimm latched onto the flame, its tendrils constricting around it.
"It should not be possible for a Nightmare Grimm to latch onto a soul brimming with willpower, a soul so strong... And yet..." Jinn's eyes narrowed. "It has."
Weiss felt her stomach drop.
"Then... that means..?" Ruby whispered.
Jinn exhaled softly. "When this new soul replaced Rinko's soul, the balance remained undisturbed. The moment was so brief, so seamless, that the body did not recognize the absence before another soul had already taken residence. It did not resist. It was not rejected immediately. It merely... accepted the new presence as its own, as though it was the Original's soul."
She paused as she closed her eyes, "But a body and a soul must always be in harmony. Due to this Grimm, the body has begun recognizing the soul as foreign. And now... the rejection process has begun."
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.
"The coma... this is not random," Jinn said. "The body is fighting back. The Nightmare Grimm has made it worse." The mist around them shifted, forming ghostly images that flickered like candlelight.
They watched as Rinko Schnee, a scene back when they were stuck at the Brunswick Farm. He and Selene searched for each house, and the residents each of the houses they searched so far, were dead in their beds.
But he didn't give up. He was still searching.
Checking for signs of life—though deep down, he knew there would be none.
As he stepped out of the last house, the shifting shadows of a broken doorway, something stirred.
A Grimm.
Small. Silent. Unseen.
It clung to him in an instant—latched onto his back unnoticed. A parasite in waiting.
The scene played out in eerie stillness. Rinko stopped abruptly, the fine hairs on his neck standing on end.
The snowfall swirled around him as he stood at the front door, and for a fleeting moment, he hesitated. His head tilted slightly, his instincts whispering that something was wrong. He turned back, scanning the darkened room with narrowed eyes. The air was heavy—too still.
Then, with a scoff, he dismissed the feeling of paranoia and stepped into the blizzard, heading back to the main house.
Behind him, clinging unseen to his back, the Nightmare Grimm slithered into view.
A shiver ran through the group.
Jinn's gaze swept over them, solemn. "The Nightmares in Brunswick Farms had grown desperate. With all the residents lost to the Apathy, it had no hosts left—until Rinko arrived."
No one spoke. No one even moved. The weight of the revelation bore down on them like an unforgiving storm.
"Two possibilities remain. One... his body continues to reject the soul, and he dies."
The sheer finality of those words made Weiss's breath hitch. Yang clenched her fists.
"Or the second... you stop the Nightmare Grimm, and the body fully accepts the soul and lives."
The silence stretched between them, each of them grappling with the weight of what they had just learned.
Rinko Schnee—their friend, their ally—was not who they thought he was. And now, his very existence hung in the balance.
Weiss felt frozen. Her hands trembled as she tried to process what she had just heard. Rinko—her brother, her twin—wasn't Rinko.
Her heart clenched. Yang's fists shook.
"How can we stop the Grimm?" Yang stepped forward, determination burning in her eyes.
Jinn turned to her, and the mist swirled once again. This time, an image formed before them—a worn-down apartment building. A woman, small in stature but walking with purpose, stepped through the entrance.
Maria Calavera.
And then, another figure appeared—a woman with purple clothing, a witch hat, and an air of quiet authority.
"Shion Zaiden," Jinn announced. "A Huntress who specializes in eliminating Nightmares. Find her, and she will assist you in entering Rinko Schnee's dream and saving him from within."
Ruby's eyes widened. "That must be Miss Maria's apartment building!"
Jinn's form began to fade back into the lamp, her voice lingering in the air.
"Go. Time is short."
As Jinn's final words echoed into silence, the ethereal mist dissipated, and the golden glow of the Relic dimmed. The room returned to normal—as time began to move—yet the weight of the revelation lingered, heavy and suffocating.
No one hesitated.
There would be time to process this later—to question, to grieve, to understand. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, Rinko's life was slipping away.
Team RWBY moved first, urgency burning in their eyes. Team JNPR and Oscar followed without hesitation, determination hardening their resolve. The door swung open, and their boots struck the floor with purpose as they rushed toward their next destination.
Qrow remained behind. He leaned against the wall, watching them disappear into the night. Slowly, he lifted his flask and took a long, deliberate swig.
"Well," he muttered, exhaling as he lowered the flask. "I'll be damned."
Dreamscape, Rinko
Rinko could feel his heartbeat.
Slow.
Steady.
Loud against the silence. He opened his eyes, his brows furrowed. He was sitting in his Hokage office.
The familiar scent of old parchment, ink, and candle wax filled his senses. Moonlight streamed in through the large window, casting a soft glow over the stacks of paperwork scattered across his desk.
He blinked. "Wait... What?"
His confusion deepened. He lifted his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the weight of the gloves he had worn so many times before. His gaze traveled over his office, over the familiar clutter—scrolls, reports, books stacked haphazardly, a steaming cup of tea at his side. Everything was exactly as he remembered it.
Kakashi clutched his head. "I must've taken a nap.." A heavy sigh left his lips as he leaned back in his chair.
"Ugh... Maa... My back's a bit stiff," he muttered, stretching. Before he could question anything further, the door swung open with a thud.
Shikamaru entered, a towering stack of papers in his arms. His expression was the same as ever—bored, tired, and vaguely annoyed.
"Hokage-sama," Shikamaru said, not even looking up, "here's the paperwork for the night."
Kakashi's shoulders slumped.
"Ah..." His head simply lowered in exhaustion.
Shikamaru dropped the papers onto the desk with a dull thud before making his exit, muttering something about how he should've never taken the advisor job.
"Mm... And yet, here you are," Kakashi mumbled under his breath.
Shikamaru paused at the door, shooting him a half-hearted glare. "Tch. Like you're one to talk, Hokage-sama."
Kakashi chuckled, though it felt oddly distant.
As the door clicked shut, silence crept back in, filling the office like a suffocating fog. His mind felt... hazy. Off.
Still, his body moved on autopilot, the years of routine guiding his actions. He reached for his pen, sighed, and began signing.
One document. Then another. And another.
Time slipped by unnoticed. He was halfway through the stack when his gaze wandered. Through the window, the full moon hung high in the night sky, glowing silver against the darkness.
A passing thought drifted through his mind.
'Mm... I wonder what food I should bring Yang...'
His pen halted mid-stroke. A breath caught in his throat.
"Yang?"
His fingers twitched around the pen. The name sat in his mind like a foreign object, like something that didn't belong—yet at the same time, it did. A warmth stirred in his chest, a familiarity he couldn't place.
"Yang..."
Blonde hair. Bright lilac eyes. A teasing smirk. The warmth of her hand against his.
Laughter.
Sunset.
A voice calling his name. Not Kakashi.
"Rinko."
His breath grew unsteady.
What was that memory? Why did it feel so... real? As if it actually happened?
He exhaled shakily, pressing a hand against his temple. His thoughts felt scattered, like puzzle pieces just out of reach. The more he grasped at them, the further they slipped away.
Yang. The name shouldn't mean anything to him. And yet, it did.
He clenched his jaw, frustration settling in his bones. 'This doesn't make sense.'
Kakashi turned to the window, seeking comfort in the familiar sight of Konoha—His breath hitched.
Snow.
Konoha was... snowing. A cold breeze slipped through the cracks of the windowpane, sending a shiver down his spine.
"What is this..? It's not even time for winter.." Kakashi muttered, wondering what this strange feeling was.
Snow fell in a steady, silent descent over Konoha.
Kakashi watched from his office window, his gaze tracing the lazy drift of each flake. The rooftops, the streets, even the towering Hokage Monument—everything was softened beneath a pristine white veil.
For a moment, there was peace. A quiet stillness that settled in his chest, light yet weighted.
Then, like an old photograph surfacing from beneath the currents of time—
A memory.
A flicker of familiarity.
A face.
'Weiss.'
Sharp blue eyes, colder than the winter air yet burning with something unspoken. An elegant posture, poised yet distant, as if carrying the weight of an invisible burden. Her hair, impossibly white, shimmered under the moonlight like the snowfall before him now.
Kakashi exhaled slowly, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Why am I... Remembering names and faces..?" he murmured, brows furrowing. Before the thought could fully form, the air in the room shifted.
A pressure. Unseen, yet suffocating.
The hairs on Kakashi's neck stood on end. His muscles tensed—an instinct honed through years of battle. Something was here.
He turned away from the window—And froze.
A boy stood before him. Or at least, something that resembled one.
Darkness coiled around its form like living smoke, twisting unnaturally and distorting the air around it. Its skin was pitch-black as if carved from shadow, and its veins pulsed with an eerie, unnatural glow.
And its eyes.
Blood-red.
Recognition stirred in the back of Kakashi's mind, clawing its way forward, yet refusing to fully surface.
A silhouette of Rinko Schnee. But before his thoughts could align—The figure moved.
A blur.
A shadow against the dim light of his office.
Kakashi's instincts screamed. He sprang from his chair just as the air split apart. The desk exploded into splinters, papers scattering like dying embers. The chair he had been sitting in crashed against the far wall, the sheer force of the attack splitting the floor beneath it.
Kakashi landed in a crouch, hand braced against the cold tiles. His eyes narrowed.
Fast. Too fast.
He barely had time to adjust before the figure was on him again. A cold grip clamped around his throat.
Then—
BOOM.
The reinforced glass of his office window shattered.
Kakashi felt the world shift as he was hurled backward.
The wind roared in his ears. The city lights below blurred into streaks of gold and white. The cold night air bit at his skin as he plummeted from the Hokage Tower. And yet—despite the fall, despite the sheer force of the attack— Kakashi's eye never wavered from the figure falling alongside him.
His hand twitched.
Lightning crackled.
No hesitation—Purple Lightning.
Bolts of violet energy erupted from his palm, surging forward like a viper striking its prey. The crackling tendrils of electricity lashed out, connecting with the shadowy figure mid-air.
The very sky trembled.
The figure convulsed as the lightning ripped through it, dark aura writhing, its form flickering like a dying flame.
CRASH.
The roof of the Hokage building shattered slightly upon impact as Kakashi rolled with the landing, absorbing the impact of the cobblestone path outside the Hokage building, muscles burning in protest. He came to a stop in a crouch, one knee pressing against the stone.
Steady breaths. Calculated movements.
The figure was already rising.
Slow. Deliberate.
It stepped forward, shadows still twisting around its form, red eyes locked onto him with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. Kakashi's fingers flexed. His mind raced. "Tch... What are you?" he asked, voice calm but firm.
The figure said nothing. A glyph flared beneath its feet, in the next instant—It vanished.
The figure reappeared mid-strike, a fist already hurtling toward him. Kakashi's eyes widened and with pure instinct, Kakashi barely managed to duck. But the figure didn't stagger—He didn't even flinch.
It pressed forward, relentless.
Kakashi dodged, parried, countered. Each strike he landed only seemed to make the figure faster. He was holding his own.
He gave the shadowy figure a knee on the face, sending it reeling to the ground.
Scene Shift, Argus
The streets of Argus lay in eerie silence at this hour, bathed in the dim glow of flickering streetlights. Their amber hue stretched long, distorted shadows across the uneven cobblestone roads, the occasional gust of wind stirring fallen leaves in ghostly spirals. A faint murmur of ocean waves rolled in from the distant cliffs, swallowed by the hurried footsteps of Team RWBY and Team JNPR.
Their breaths came in soft clouds of condensation, proof of the biting chill in the air. But none of them faltered. Their eyes were locked onto the looming apartment building ahead—Maria Calavera's residence.
It was just like the image Jinn had shown them.
The structure stood sturdy despite its age, its weathered bricks and faded paint bearing silent witness to a long and unspoken history. Rows of dimly lit windows stretched across its facade, some flickering inconsistently, casting eerie shapes against the pavement.
The occasional groan of the wind sent a shiver through the bones of the city, making the air feel thick with an invisible weight as if Argus itself was holding its breath.
Near the entrance, a small security booth sat adjacent to the doorway. Inside, behind a scratched and fogged-up glass window, a middle-aged man lounged in his chair. His uniform was slightly disheveled, and a half-empty cup of coffee perched precariously on the desk beside him. He barely lifted his gaze, eyes dull with fatigue.
"Hello," he greeted, his tone flat, almost uninterested. "How may I assist you?"
Ruby stepped forward, her silver eyes glinting with urgency. "We need to speak with Maria Calavera. It's urgent."
The guard gave her a slow, tired look as if debating whether to entertain her request. His fingers tapped lazily against the desk before he exhaled a quiet sigh, rubbing his temple.
Then, the shrill ring of the telephone sliced through the silence.
The guard flinched slightly before reaching for the receiver.
"Yeah?" he muttered into the line.
A pause. His posture stiffened slightly, his tired gaze flickering toward the group before nodding.
"Understood."
The line went dead with a soft click.
Slowly, the guard placed the phone back in its cradle and looked at Ruby once more.
"She's expecting you."
Above them, a small security camera whirred softly, its red light blinking—a silent observer. Maria had already seen them coming.
A loud metallic clunk echoed as the front door's lock disengaged. The guard pressed a button beside his desk, and with a low, grating creak, the entrance swung open.
"Don't cause trouble," he muttered, leaning back into his chair as if the entire interaction had drained what little energy he had left.
Team RWBY and Team JNPR exchanged brief glances before stepping inside.
The lobby was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood and dust lingering in the air. The old floorboards creaked softly beneath their weight, and the occasional drip of a leaky pipe somewhere in the building echoed through the hall. At the far end, a vintage elevator with a flickering indicator light waited, its ancient metal doors slightly dented from years of wear.
Oscar glanced around uneasily. "This place feels... old."
"Yeah, well, so is Maria," Yang muttered under her breath.
Weiss exhaled sharply. "Let's just focus. We don't have time to waste."
The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open. Without hesitation, they stepped inside, the air thick with an unspoken urgency.
As the numbers climbed, the tension between them only grew.
Finally, the elevator stopped with a jolt. The doors opened, revealing the dimly lit hallway leading to Maria's apartment. And there she was—standing just outside her door, arms crossed, her signature blue visor glinting under the weak ceiling light.
"Hello, kids," she greeted, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "It hasn't even been an entire day, and you're already back to see me? Missed me that much?"
Ruby stepped forward, her expression serious. "Miss Maria... we need your help. It's about Rinko."
Maria quirked a brow. "Mmm... What happened to him this time? First, he collapses. Then he ends up in a coma. What's next?"
Weiss stepped forward, urgency thick in her voice. "It's a Grimm. A Grimm has invaded Rinko!"
Maria's playful demeanor vanished instantly.
"A Grimm, you say?" Her voice was calm, but her expression turned sharp.
Blake nodded, her ears twitching. "A Nightmare Grimm."
Maria inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening slightly against her sleeve.
"A Nightmare Grimm..." she echoed, her tone heavier. "That's not good."
She turned away from the group, striding towards the small table where her old rotary telephone sat.
"This isn't something any regular Huntsman can fix, it requires a specialist." Maria smiled as she picked up the receiver and dialed a number with practiced ease. "And luckily for you, I have just that within my apartment building."
The line rang for a few seconds before a soft click signaled the call had been answered.
From the other end, a woman's voice spoke, calm yet laced with irritation.
"Maria," the voice sighed, "if this is about some nonsense, I swear—"
"Hey, Shion," Maria interrupted, her tone light but urgent. "You still in service at this hour?"
There was a long pause.
Maria smirked. "It's really urgent."
On the other end, Shion Zaiden let out a slow, exasperated sigh. The faint sound of rustling fabric and crackling embers could be heard—whatever she had been doing before this call, Maria had interrupted it.
"I am still in service," Shion replied, though her voice carried the weight of someone who was seconds away from telling Maria to go to hell. "But this better be worth my time. You just interrupted my ritual."
Maria leaned against the table, smirking. "Oh, then you'll be thrilled to know it's something related to a Nightmare Grimm."
Silence.
Then, the sound of something dropping on the other end of the line. Maria's smirk widened. Shion's voice, now alert and unwavering, cut through the static.
"I'm listening."
[End]