Chapter 3: The Council Learns the Truth

Pyrrha sat on the dorm's rooftop, her legs dangling over the edge as she gazed at the fog-covered horizon. A cold wind brushed against her face, but the real chill was the weight of shame pressing heavily on her chest. Each breath felt tight and painful, as though the memories of her failures were trying to choke her. No matter how much she wanted to push them away, they replayed endlessly in her mind.

The Coliseum. Cardin's mocking sneer. The moment she'd snapped, holding her blade at his throat.

Her hands trembled at the memory. It didn't matter how much she despised him; she'd lost control. That was the part that haunted her—the part that whispered she wasn't worthy of the title she'd spent her life fighting for. The title Blake had always believed she would one day claim.

Blake.

A tear slid down Pyrrha's cheek as she whispered her friend's name. "Blake…" The sound was almost too soft to be carried by the wind, but for her, it hung heavy in the air—filled with longing, regret, and the ache of loss. She could still see the flash of Blake's amber eyes, fierce and determined, as they fought side by side. They had trusted each other completely, moving as one in the chaos of battle. Until the night Pyrrha failed her.

Not a day passed without her reliving it—the frantic sprint through the construction site, the clash of steel against Adam's blade, and the final, sickening cry that marked the end. Blake's end. Pyrrha had been too slow, too weak, too late. She had let Adam escape, and Blake had paid the price.

"You always believed in me…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "You told me I was strong enough to save everyone. But I wasn't strong enough to save you."

Her shoulders began to shake, and she hugged herself tightly, trying to keep the pieces of her resolve from shattering completely. "I'm sorry… so sorry," she sobbed. Her voice trembled as she imagined Blake hearing her from whatever realm came after this one. "You'll always be my friend, and I hope… I hope you can forgive me."

She believed Blake might answer momentarily—that she'd hear the calm, steady reassurance that always seemed to ease her fears. But only the wind answered, hollow and cold, a reminder of the reality she couldn't escape.

"Pyrrha?"

The voice startled her, and she quickly wiped her tears as she turned to see Qrow standing behind her. His expression was softer than usual, though concern still lingered in his sharp eyes.

She forced a smile, but it barely reached her lips. "Qrow… you're back."

"Yeah," he said, stepping forward and scratching the back of his neck. "Just came from the coliseum. Professor Alagar's got the recruits running battle sims. Thought I'd check in on you."

"Oh," she said faintly. "I was just…" She trailed off, fumbling for an excuse she didn't have.

Qrow sighed and stepped closer, crossing his arms. "You can drop the act, Red. Auron told me what happened."

Her composure crumbled. She should have known. It was only a matter of time before someone told him about her sword at Cardin's throat. She felt so ashamed that she had allowed her emotions to control her like that. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, the words tumbling out. "I know I shouldn't have—"

Before she could finish, Qrow closed the distance and pulled her into a firm embrace. His hand rested gently on her fiery red hair, his voice low and steady. "It's alright, Red. It's alright."

Pyrrha froze for a moment, then buried her face in his shoulder, her sobs muffled against his shirt. She clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely.

Qrow held her silently, his gaze distant. He'd seen this before. He had hoped to shield her from this pain, but the war had a way of finding everyone, even those not yet on the battlefield. Especially those who did not deserve to feel it's wraith.

"It's my fault," she choked out. "I should have done something… I should've saved her."

Qrow gently pulled back, resting his hands on her shoulders. "There was nothing you could have done for her, Pyrrha."

"But I'm supposed to be the Knight of Opara," she said, her voice raw with anguish. "I'm supposed to protect everyone. How can I do that when I couldn't even save—"

"Pyrrha." Qrow's voice was firm but kind, cutting through her spiral of self-loathing. She hesitated, then met his gaze.

"Losing someone you care about isn't something you can prepare for. It's one of the hardest things you'll ever face. But what matters is how you move forward." His tone softened. "Blake wouldn't have wanted this for you. She'd want you to keep going and become the knight you're meant to be."

Pyrrha bit her lip, struggling to accept his words. She'd always believed knights were supposed to save everyone. That was their purpose. But the reality—that there would always be losses—was almost unbearable.

"You're right; a Knights duty is to protect their people—especially a Knight of Opara. But not everyone can be saved, Red," Qrow insisted.

"No matter how much we wish we could. Not even Akara could, and that's the hardest lesson we Knights must learn."

Before she could respond, Qrow's scroll buzzed in his pocket. He frowned as he answered it, his voice sharp. "Rueben? What's going on?"

On the other end of the line, Rueben stood on the deck of a civilian transport, the fog-shrouded city of Lothadare rising like a ghost from the distance. His fingers curled loosely around the worn handle of his cane, the faintly glowing lamp hanging from its end. Its eerie light flickered in the mist, shifting shadows over the deck as if the object was restless.

"We've secured the lamp from the vault," Rueben said. His voice was calm, but a current of tension ran beneath it.

Qrow tensed. "How? I thought the king wasn't budging."

Rueben hesitated, his gaze lingering on the lamp as if it held secrets he wasn't ready to share. "Let's just say we… found a way."

Qrow's tone darkened immediately. "What the hell does that mean, Rueben?"

"It doesn't matter," Rueben snapped, the calm in his voice cracking slightly. "What matters is the council is meeting soon. If they connect the dots, they'll uncover our methods—and your presence in Lothadare. We don't have time to debate this. Please meet us at the port as soon as possible!"

Qrow stared at the screen, his frown deepening. "Fine. We're on our way." He ended the call with a heavy sigh, shoving the scroll back into his pocket.

Pyrrha, who had been observing him, stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

He turned toward her, his jaw set, his expression grim. "The council's about to meet and discuss the kingdom's security measures. If they figure out you're not a citizen of Lothadare…" He trailed off, his hand running through his hair. "They'll label us as traitors. We need to leave before that happens."

The word "traitors" hung like a thundercloud, heavy with unspoken consequences.

Pyrrha's chest tightened. "But… what about the lamp?"

"Rueben's got it," Qrow said firmly. "And I don't like how he did, but that's a problem for later. Grab your things, we need to meet them at the transport station. Looks like we're leaving a lot sooner than we thought."

Pyrrha nodded, but the urgency pounding in her chest wasn't just about escaping the council. As Qrow moved toward the stairs, she hesitated. There was something else. Something was waiting for her at the coliseum.

"I'll meet you there," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning beneath her calm exterior.

Qrow stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Where are you going?"

"There's something I need to get first," Pyrrha replied. Her tone was quiet but resolute, the kind of voice that didn't invite questions.

For a second, Qrow considered pressing her. But he could see the determination in her eyes whatever answer she wasn't giving. Finally, he nodded. "Don't take too long."

She didn't respond, already turning toward the stairwell. As she sprinted down the narrow steps, the cold wind whipped through the rooftop, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and the sharp tang of the sea.

The fog began to lift ever so slightly as she ran, revealing hazy outlines of the city below. Pyrrha's heart pounded, but it wasn't just from urgency or fear. For the first time in weeks, something deeper stirred in her chest—a faint ember of purpose.

In her locker at the coliseum was something that had belonged to Blake—a keepsake, a reminder of the friend who had believed in her when she doubted herself. Blake, who had once said with quiet confidence, "You've got the heart of a knight, Pyrrha. One day, you'll see it, too."

The words echoed in her mind as she raced down the steps.

Blake had always believed in her. Now, it was time to believe in herself.

Rueben pocketed his scroll just as the captain's voice crackled over the intercom, distorted but authoritative.

"Attention, passengers. We will be landing at Lothadare Academy station in twenty minutes."

The announcement brought a flicker of relief to Rueben's weathered face. "It seems the gods have granted us a sliver of fortune today," he said, exhaling slowly. "We'll be there soon."

Leandra, standing at his side, folded her arms and gazed out at the fog-shrouded horizon. Her golden eyes narrowed, her unease unshaken. "You make it sound too easy," she replied, her voice edged with skepticism.

Rueben chuckled softly, stroking his long white beard as if to soothe his doubts. "Indeed," he said. "It may be the only thing that comes easily on this journey. The road to Haven will be long and fraught with dangers—especially now that the Grimm are advancing. The pendant Qrow carries will only take them so far. After that…" He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "After that, it's up to their wits and courage."

"And fate," Leandra added, her tone grim.

Rueben inclined his head. "Yes. Fate." He allowed the word to linger, heavy and uncertain.

Leandra's frown deepened. "That's what worries me. Are you certain the pendant can only take them to the closest point?"

Rueben nodded, his expression grave. "I'm afraid so. Its magic is old—older than the kingdoms themselves. It will lead them to the safest entry point it can find, but beyond that… they'll be on their own. We can only hope the Fates are kind."

For a moment, neither spoke, the distant hum of the ship's engines filling the silence. Rueben leaned against the railing of the transport deck, his gaze fixed on the faint outline of Lothadare emerging through the thinning fog. The closer they came to the academy, the heavier his thoughts grew.

Sending Pyrrha on this quest had not been a decision made lightly. She was young, brimming with potential, but the burden placed on her shoulders was enormous—far more than anyone her age should bear. The dangers she would face… not even the gods could guarantee her safety. And with the Grimm's attack on Arthamore only days ago, the tenuous truce protecting Haven already showed cracks. If it shattered, Pyrrha's journey might end before it even began.

Leandra's voice broke through his reverie, low and hesitant. "Do you think Salem knows she's here?"

Rueben's fingers tightened around the cane in his hand. He hesitated, the question hanging between them like a dark omen. "I hope not," he said finally. His voice was measured, but the weight of his doubt was impossible to miss. "But if the attack on Arthamore was her doing… she may learn soon enough."

A chill ran down Leandra's spine, though the air around them was still. She didn't press further, but the unease in her gaze matched the grim set of Rueben's features.

Unbeknownst to either of them, a cloaked figure lingered in the shadows of the upper deck, concealed by the thick fog that clung to the ship. Her crimson lips curled into a sly grin as she listened, catching every word.

So, the prodigy was here at the academy after all.

The figure stepped back into the shadows, her movements fluid and silent. Her dark cloak billowed slightly as the wind picked up, carrying the scent of the sea. This was precisely what she had hoped to confirm.

She slipped away into the mist as the announcement repeated overhead:

"Attention, passengers. We will be landing at Lothadare Academy station in fifteen minutes."

King Larr entered the council chambers, his heavy boots echoing against the polished stone floor. The chamber fell silent at once, the weight of his presence commanding immediate respect. One by one, the council members rose from their seats in reverence, their gazes fixed on him as he strode to the head of the obsidian table.

The king settled into his seat, his broad shoulders stiff with the burden of leadership. His expression was grave, the shadows under his eyes betraying the toll of the kingdom's recent struggles.

"This meeting will now commence," King Larr declared, his deep voice cutting through the silence like steel. "The attacks on our kingdom have left our people in fear. Though the White Fang has vanished into the shadows, their crimes remain fresh. We cannot—must not—allow them to escape justice. Further action is required."

The council members exchanged uneasy glances before Councilman Eldrin, an older man with a silver streak in his hair, leaned forward to speak. "If I may, Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "our forces are stretched thin across multiple fronts. The Beast Clan continues to test our borders, and the war has drained our reserves. To locate and eliminate the White Fang, we need fresh recruits. Now may be the time to enlist the students of Lothadare Academy."

Several murmurs of agreement rippled around the table, quiet but insistent.

"Enlisting the students may be our only option," added Lady Tareth, her sharp tone cutting through the room. "They've been training for moments like this. If we delay any longer, the White Fang will regroup, and we'll lose our chance to strike."

King Larr frowned deeply, his hands resting heavily on the arms of his chair. He had fought hard to keep the students out of this conflict, preserving them for the war effort. They were young, promising, untested. Throwing them into the chaos of the hunt was a risk he had long resisted.

And yet, the reports weighed against him: troops overextended, borders vulnerable, villages in fear. The kingdom was unraveling, and time was no longer a luxury he could afford.

"I had hoped to spare the students from this conflict," the king said slowly, his voice heavy with reluctance. "But circumstances leave us with little choice." His gaze swept over the council. "All those in favor of enlisting the academy students?"

One by one, hands rose around the table, the faces of the council members grim with resolve.

King Larr's chest tightened as he watched the decision become unanimous. He straightened in his seat, letting out a measured sigh. "Very well," he said, his tone quieter now. "The chosen students will be transferred to the main base within the coming days. They will assist in locating and neutralizing the White Fang."

For a moment, silence reigned in the chamber, broken only by the soft hum of the room's holographic controls. Then another voice rose.

"What about the recruits for the royal guard, Your Majesty?"

The king turned toward Lord Fenrick, who sat with his fingers steepled in front of him.

"Leandra has already provided her recommendations," King Larr replied. His fingers hovered over the glowing controls on the table, activating a shimmering blue projection in the air above them. Four identification photos flickered to life, their faces sharp and clear.

"Auron. Hanako. Keith. Blake," the king said, listing each name aloud. His tone faltered, however, as he glanced at the bottom-right corner of the projection. A fifth profile hovered there, blank and unresponsive. The outline of a face flickered faintly before disappearing entirely.

King Larr frowned, his brow furrowing as he tapped the projection. "Odd... why isn't this one displaying?"

Henderson, the kingdom's lead systems designer, sprang from his chair. "I'll check it, Your Majesty." He moved swiftly to the table, his portable diagnostic pad lighting up as he waved it in front of the malfunctioning profile. His fingers flew across the controls, his brow furrowing deeper every moment.

"There shouldn't be any malfunctions," Henderson muttered.

"Then why can't we see the fifth profile?" King Larr's voice grew sharper, his frustration breaking through his usual composure.

Henderson's hands froze, and his face paled as realization dawned. He turned slowly toward the king, his voice faltering. "Your Majesty… there is no malfunction. There is no record. No citizenship, no birth records—nothing. This person doesn't exist in the system."

The chamber erupted into murmurs, the council members exchanging alarmed glances.

King Larr's jaw tightened as he stared at the blank profile, the flickering outline a stark reminder of the mysteries Rueben had left behind. Memories surfaced unbidden, vivid, and sharp—Rueben standing before the council, a fiery-haired girl at his side. She couldn't have been more than seven, her eyes burning with defiance and something else: destiny. Rueben had spoken of Akara's will that day, of the girl's purpose and potential.

And then, years later, he had seen her again at the coliseum finals. That same fiery hair. That same unyielding determination.

"Pyrrha," the king murmured under his breath, the name barely audible.

"Your Majesty?" Henderson asked hesitantly, glancing up from his pad.

King Larr stood abruptly, his cape sweeping behind him as he turned to the council. His voice was sharp, steely with resolve. "Send a squad to Lothadare Academy immediately. Bring her to me. I want answers."

The murmurs died instantly, replaced by tense silence. The council members stared at the king, unease etched into their features.

Storm clouds gathered beyond the chamber's high windows, casting dark shadows over the city below.