Early second chapter because I think Friday's are a good day to post.
Bold Text - Scrambled voices, only other members of Wraith Squadron can understand them. (Think Death Troopers from Star Wars)
Chapter 2 - What the World Has Become
The fire crackles through the starry void as the Blacksmith extends her hand, her voice soft but resonant with meaning.
"Not where, but when you are needed most."
The five of them, Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, and Jaune, stand in front of the shimmering portal, the weapons lining the walls flickering in the light behind them. They glance at one another, uncertainty churning beneath the surface of their resolve. They had walked through fairy tales, through pain, loss, and revelation, and now, finally, they would return to Remnant.
Four walk through, and Ruby is the last to approach the portal. She looks back at the Blacksmith one last time.
"Thank you."
The Blacksmith gives a small wave, and Ruby turns back to the portal. Crescent Rose on her back, she steps forward, cloak billowing as she crosses the threshold.
Her feet strike warm sand.
Heat rushes in like a wave, dry and unforgiving, and the sound of the wind moving across a vast open space meets their ears. The air is thicker here, heavier, tinged with grit and sunbaked stillness. They stumble forward, blinking against the intense sunrise that had replaced the surreal beauty of the Ever After.
Jaune shields his eyes first, adjusting his grip on Crocea Mors. "Desert?" he mutters. "Are we in…?"
"Vacuo," Weiss whispers, her expression frozen in disbelief.
They all look up.
The capital city of Vacuo looms in the distance. Once a place of disorganized resilience and hard-earned independence, the city now resembles a fortress, ringed with massive walls and towers that glitter with defensive emplacements. Above it, airships patrol in tight formations, sleek and powerful, clearly militarized.
But that isn't what made Ruby gasp.
Hovering high above the city like a silent sentinel is a structure they had believed lost to time.
Amity Colosseum.
Fully restored.
Suspended once more in the sky, glinting in the morning sunlight like a monument to another life.
Yang steps forward, golden hair swaying in the wind. "That's impossible," she says. "Amity was destroyed. I saw it go down."
"Rebuilt," Blake murmurs. Her amber eyes reflect both awe and growing unease. "But how?"
They stand in silence for several moments, drinking in the sight, and the implications. Whatever happened in their absence, it hadn't been small.
"How long were we gone?" Ruby asks aloud. Her voice trembles slightly as she looks to the others. "How much time passed?"
"I… don't know," Jaune says, a hollow note to his voice. "The Blacksmith was pretty cryptic about it."
There is a long pause.
Then a sound breaks the silence.
A deep, mechanical rumble in the air. Low at first, then quickly rising in volume. The sound of a powerful engine, slicing through the sky just over the dunes.
The five turn in unison.
From behind a crest in the desert sands, a black Bullhead roars into view, flying low and fast. The rising sun glints off its armored hull, and a sudden wave of dust surges around them as the aircraft pulls up and hovers directly in front of them.
The side hatch swings open.
Twelve figures leap from the craft, hitting the ground in unison with practiced, deadly precision. Their armor is heavy and unfamiliar. Modern, advanced, and painted in various colors that hint at individuality, yet every movement speaks of strict training. Their helmets are sleek, faceless, but differ between individuals. Each soldier holds a small rifle; uniform, matte black, and aimed directly at Team RWBY and Jaune.
They move like one unit. A military squad, not Huntsmen.
At the front of them stands a man in midnight-black armor, a hood drawn over his head, a red visor glowing like a predator's eyes. His posture radiates command, and his voice, slightly modulated from behind his mask, is sharp as a blade.
"Hands up. Don't move!"
The words echo across the sands, final and unyielding.
Ruby's hand instinctively flinches toward Crescent Rose, but pauses. The tension in the air is suffocating. These soldiers aren't bluffing.
Jaune raises his hands slowly. "Easy," he says, trying to keep his tone calm. "We don't want trouble."
Yang's fists clench, but she follows suit, her arms raising slowly.
Weiss, Blake, and Ruby mirror the motion, eyes flicking between the soldiers, searching for something, anything, familiar.
Ruby's hands tremble slightly as she holds them up. Her eyes, silver and searching, dart from one armored figure to the next. None of them speak, but it was then, through the desert wind and the rising light of dawn, that something catches her eye.
Crests.
They are painted onto the shoulder plates of the soldiers. Different ones for each shoulder. The first she doesn't recognize. It is of a hooded skeletal figure with glowing red eyes and a menacing skull. A knife is crossed diagonally below the skull and a ribbon-like swirl curves around the figure and knife, almost like smoke.
However it's the other symbol that she does recognize. Bold white lines against colored armor. A sword framed by outstretched wings, encircled by laurel leaves and flanked by stylized axes. It's refined, but... familiar.
Her eyes widen. "Wait… that symbol."
Weiss turns slightly toward her, still careful not to make any sudden movements. "What is it?"
Ruby's voice is soft but urgent. "That crest. On their armor, I've seen it before." She points at the nearest soldier, drawing their attention. Weapons subtly adjusted, tracking her hand.
"It was used at the Vytal Festival. It was on the banners, the programs... it's the symbol of unity between the kingdoms."
"Why would they be using that?" Blake asks, her voice low.
"I don't know," Ruby whispers, eyes flicking to the soldier in front. "But it has to mean something."
The leader steps forward, cutting through the tension. He flicks his weapon forward, gesturing toward Ruby.
"You," he says sharply. "Name."
Ruby blinks, her mouth dry. "I-I'm Ruby. Ruby Rose. We're not here to cause trouble. We jus-"
But the man cuts her off with another barked command.
"Where did you come from? Who authorized your passage?"
"Authorized?" Weiss repeats. "We came through a portal-"
"What portal?"
"The one from the Ever After."
The soldiers don't appear to react. No change in stance. No lowering of weapons. But the red visor seems to lock more tightly on Ruby.
The soldier continues his interrogation, each question harder, faster, like bullets hitting a wall.
"When did you last make contact with a UKR outpost?"
"A what?" Blake asks.
"Are you affiliated with the Witch Cult?"
Ruby blinks. "What… the what?"
"Do you bear Grimm augmentation?"
Jaune holds his hands up higher. "No! None of us do! We're not part of any cult!"
"Where were you trained?"
"At Beacon Academy," Weiss snaps.
The leader takes a slow step forward, his weapon lowering slightly, just enough to seem like he is considering her words.
"You're lying."
Ruby's breath hitches.
"No, we're not," she says quickly. "Beacon was destroyed, but-"
The leader cuts her off. Then, he speaks the words that make Ruby's blood run cold.
"You're dead."
The words are said so plainly. So matter-of-factly.
"Five years ago," the soldier continues, voice even. "Team RWBY and Jaune Arc disappeared without a trace. Deceased. Confirmed casualties of war."
A heavy silence falls.
Ruby feels like the ground had been ripped out from under her.
Blake's hands tremble slightly, her usually steady composure wavering. Weiss's mouth is slightly open, her mind clearly racing for an explanation. Jaune's hands clench into fists and Yang's eyes burn with confusion and anger. "That's bullshit."
The soldiers don't react.
The leader's head tilts slightly, as if studying them.
"I don't know what you are," he says finally. "But you are not them."
His weapon snaps back up, aimed directly at Ruby's chest.
"One last time."
The air is thick. Suffocating.
The soldiers tense.
"Who are you?"
Ruby can feel her heart pounding, but she forces herself to stand tall, her silver eyes burning with conviction.
"I don't know who you think we are," she says, voice firm, "but we're telling you the truth."
The squad remains motionless, their weapons still locked on target.
"Team RWBY. Jaune Arc." Ruby's voice cuts through the wind. "We are who we say we are."
She steps forward.
"We fought in the Battle of Atlas."
Another step.
"We faced Salem's forces and survived."
Another.
"Please, believe me!"
The soldier shifts slightly.
"You expect us to believe that after five years of complete silence, after five years of your names being engraved on memorial walls, you just 'appeared' in the middle of the desert?"
There's venom in his tone, each word meant to sting.
Yang growls under her breath. "What the hell is going on?"
But then, without warning, one of the soldiers tilts their head and speaks.
The voice is mechanical, garbled, like a radio trying to tune through static. The words are impossible to parse, distorted by digital interference. It sounds like communication, but it's unintelligible.
" ̵̺̽̋ḿ̶̡̝å̷͕t̵͔͓̭́͐͠ć̸͖͗ḣ̴̭̕ ̵̤̍͆͠ś̴̰à̴̧̠̑m̷̹̯͝e̸̯͕̱̅ ̶͕͕̃̎͝v̸̛͎̗͝o̸̲̗̅c̶̼̪̄a̷̭͝d̶̞̚i̶̮̫̙̐̕͠ŝ̶̬̫͒̕ā̶̛͖p̷͖̼̍̊p̸͍͈̅̿ĕ̴̞̱́a̵͍͎̓r̵̪͍̊a̵̰̅̆́n̵̢̟͑̉ͅc̵̲̈́̒̊ē̸̺̠͕ ̵͙̹̘̽̌l̵̢̞͉͛͐ȍ̷̬̣͕̿ģ̴̟̫̽͝s̴͚̱̈ l̴̛͔̮͗͆ ̶̟͈̬̚c̸̄̚͠ͅa̵̪̰̞͑͌̈́d̸͇̩̎e̶̩̠̋̏n̶̻̆̽́c̷̛̘͇̓̄e̴̖̙͌̑͘.̵̩̥̓̂̃ ̷̱̂͊I̴̛̛͍͉͉d̷̠̠͑͝e̴̜͊̀̕n̸̠͙̐̂̌ṱ̴̺̍͆̕i̴͔͒c̷̝͚̯̄͝ä̷͕̥́l̶͖̹͆͛ ̷̫͐̄̕t̶͎̬̫̃o̶̺̗͚͝ ̴̡̭̭̋̎͠p̴̞̒r̶͎͛͋͝ė̸̹̹̚͠-̵͔͈͉͋̀̑.̵͖͖̼̀͆̊p̸͍͈̅̿ĕ̴̞̱́a̵͍͎̓r̵̪͍̊a̵̰̅̆́n̵̢̟͑̉ͅc̵̲̈́̒̊ē̸̺̠͕ ̵͙̹̘̽̌l̵̢̞͉͛͐ȍ̷̬̣͕̿ģ̴̟̫̽͝s̴͚̱̈.̵͖̭̀͆̇ ̵̤̍͆͠ś̴̰à̴̧̠̑m̷̹̯͝e̸̯͕̱̅ ̶͕͕̃̎͝v̸̛͎̗͝o̸̲̗̅c̶̼̪̄a̷̭͝l̴̛͔̮͗͆ ̶̟͈̬̚c̸̄̚͠ͅa̵̪̰̞͑͌̈́d̸͇̩̎e̶̩̠̋̏n̶̻̆̽́c̷̛̘͇̓̄e̴̖̙͌̑͘.̵̩̥̓̂̃ "
One that, by body shape, appears to be a woman in pink armor responds.
̷̨̣͙͛͒̐͒t̵̨̩̟͂͘h̴̛͇͠ȩ̸̥̎̿͑̊m̴̗͔̙̠̋̄̕ ̸̙͔̑̔̎̏T̷͖͉͚̙͒̕ḧ̴͈̜̲̤̦͛̈͒ḛ̶̦̤̣͙́͐̂̈́i̴̫̗̊̕ŗ̴͍̹̫̹͛̎̆́͐ T̷͎͎͒̍h̴̜̞̿̀͒͜à̸̮̻̲̺t̶̠́͂͠'̷̪͊͑ͅs̷̛̞͉̗̘̲̄ ̸̡̮͖̫͛̊̕͠ͅȨ̴̠̔ͅv̵̨̨̜͍̅͋̇ȩ̶͔͝r̴͔̤͝y̴̖̗̜̔̀͊̑͝t̵̨͈̿̊͠h̵͓̗̟́͌̕i̶̙͂̈n̷̹͍͉̲̔̅͑̄ġ̴͍͔̏̏̄.̴̲̫̩̖̿̃̔̕ ̸̧̧̛̲̼̠͑̎̐͠w̷̯̘̿͆ę̸̻͔̩̅̔͠͠ͅå̷̪̊̚p̸͈̝̊̏͒̐̚ǫ̶̖͇͈̇̒̾͜n̴̺̫͇̋͂́͘s̸̍̇̾͐̍ͅ.̴̧̘̥́̍͑̚ ̶̢̽̍͛͘ṿ̶̜͎̄̏͂̆o̴͉̻͈̙͌̿͊̉i̶̛̝͗̒͗c̵̛̥̬͙͂͘ë̴̤̬̟̮͖́̀̌͆̈́š̷͇̝͈̳̓̆͆.̸̝͇̏̏̂̏̓ ̶̧͔͗͋̋͠r̵̫̱͖͖͆̒͠e̴̘̓̾̆̐̆a̵͍̺̻̩̹͒̐l̸̤͛͆ĺ̵̜̖̄͋ẏ̵̦̼̺́͠ͅ ̶̫͖̙͛̕Ţ̵̨̛̖͇̘h̵̞̯͖̖̀̓͘ȇ̵̡̪i̷̘̺͙̊̾̂̔ṛ̶̋
The one in white, closest to the leader tilts his head back slightly.
"̷̘̯͖͗T̸̡̮̭͓̒͊ḫ̸͍̝͖͌e̶̬̰̱͖͌̇ỳ̴͙͈̉'̴͖̪̠̫̅̔̓͘r̵̨̹͖͙̊̎́̔é̷̱̿̌͒ ̷̙̗̣͑J̶̺͈͗̒̓̕͜ù̴̞͛̕s̴̪̩̀t̸̰̼̣̋̎ ̷̠͌̍̌d̸̗̮͇͈̾̋i̶̤̙̳̒s̴̟̭̪͕̿ö̵͈͜͜ṟ̵̺͊͋̚̚i̸̡̠͒̌̐̎ȩ̵͍̭̕ǹ̴͇̉̀̆ţ̸̻͙͈̚e̴̬̓d̴̢͓̤͒̏̾̈́.̶̮̫͌̈́ͅ ̶̪͛̿̿ǫ̵̩̬̯̅̉f̷̙̗̉̀͒̎ ̴̦̈́̋̀t̸̛̛̟ò̸̙̌̂̋ ̴̠̝͝i̷̡̳̋ͅt̸͙̙̄̒̋̚͜'̶̢͉̼͕̏̑͘ş̶̻̦̕͝ O̶̙̕ṟ̷̔͆̂ ̷̖̐͝a̸̫̜̼͈̕c̴̩̘͇̻͂̅̾͘ț̷̤̰͋̋͋ͅ.̵͎͒ ̵̤͖͉̱̏̓͝c̷̯͈͈̟͆̀l̶̨͔̃̇͊ǫ̵͔̪̽͂̎̃s̴̤̾͐̈ḙ̴̓͌̊.̴̳̬̇̇̋ ̴͕̹̱̝͒t̷͎̭̭̜͗̿̚h̵͚̍̄́ë̴̢̺̪̘́ ̶̟̮̿ͅe̴͓͌͂̇̆n̴̛̖̐͌o̶̯͕̎̏̋u̸͈̟̥̓̑g̵̩͓̱̹͊h̴̺̭́̇ ̶̹͍̪͗͋C̵̛̱͋́͌o̸̙͠n̷̥̗̅f̵̫̈́͊̽̉u̶̢̫̠͠s̵̖̠͔̝̀̌e̴͍̳̜̒̀̚͠d̶̗̮̬̟̎́̕.̴̬͈̦̖̀̈́͝ ̶̭̜̰͑̆͊ů̶̧̱̞͖s̷̗̦̓ ̶̤͂̿l̷̝̾ó̸̙̥̲n̸̟̮̋̇͊̕g̷̫̬͍̈́ ̷̗͔͎͚̏͂̆̚g̸̢̱̼͉͋̚ẹ̴̮͙̾̇́t̷̢̪̲̀̒ ̶̰̤̖̞̏̓̔͝p̴̔͜a̸̧͓̓̑r̷̥̩͚̅͌̓t̸̙̍ ̵̨̩̬̃̀͘͠p̵̙̩̔̈̓̏l̷̦̓̓́ả̸̡̯ȳ̴̢̦̿̋i̴̪̮͂̀n̴̛̯̪͙̰͒͊̆g̴̨͠ ̴̧̪̩̼̒̚f̸̧̹̦̍̕o̵͇͕̅r̵̥̈"
Ruby's breath hitches. "W-what did they say?"
Another in lighter green armor calls back.
"̸̧͆̓̄͝A̴͇̐͝ş̴̨͉͔̀̔͘̚s̴̥̄͋ṳ̸̱̊̓͝m̸̼̈̔̎e̵͉̠̔̔ͅ ̵̛͕̒̊̚ͅf̵̦̈́̈́͜ͅȯ̶̝͝r̶͈̙̬͛̆̂͂ ̶̢̟͓́͠F̴̝̯̮͑͌́͜a̵̛͙̘̘͇͗͘͠ḻ̸͕͗̉s̵̛̬̖͇͔͛̒̈ē̸̱͘ ̷̲͈͓͍́̌c̸̨̖̯̋o̶̱̩̜̾͑͝n̸̬̜͖͕͑̆͝f̷̼͖͒͌̐í̴̩̰͘r̶͈̹͉͙̔̀̈́͝m̵̟̍̅͐̓e̶̠̙͍̚͘ď̵̮̻̞ ̶̨̙̿͑P̸̨̲͈̟̈́̒̓̊s̸͉͠y̵̨̞͔͑̉̍c̴̼̦̣̟̿͗̏h̵̙̩̣̀͂͂̊ó̸͎̲͉l̷̤͇̰̅̀ö̸͈̼̤̫́̐͝͠ǧ̸̼̫̻̞͂͐i̶̟̗̊̌c̵̟̆̅́à̷͈̽͝l̵̻̰̼̦͛̏̕ ̸̨̨̩̠̎b̸̞̀̆̃͒e̷͖͙̘͑̑̒̓ĕ̴̱̬̱̇͒n̴̰̓ ̴̜̲̝̿́d̶̖̪̉̊e̴̢̱̤̓̽̂c̸̜̜̖̍̈ȩ̶̱̼͍͑́̆̔p̴̮̈͋͐͘t̷̠̰̫̬̄i̷̮͓͎͙̔́o̵̲̙͓͙͝n̴̝͐̂͌̕ ̷̬̞̩̄͒̈́̽͜o̵̠̎ṫ̶͕̑h̸͕̞̣͓̔͒́͆e̶̠̳͛̌̀r̷̗͈̻͎͒w̷̰̃̅̄i̷̧͍͑ś̶̰͔̦̺̔̑e̶̙̣͈̯͗͒̊̏.̶̮͍͉̃́̈ ̸̨͐m̴͈̪̰̎̔a̵̧͎͙̱̿n̵͓̭̖̽ͅí̴̤̾́͑ͅp̴̹̯̈́̊̌u̵͍̰̎l̷͙̓̽͋a̴̯̗̩͈͑̀̔t̸̼͛̈́̔̅i̸͉͇̱̲͊̇͑͘ö̶̯̣̼̌͂̀͜ṉ̶̛̺̥̅̒͝.̶̰̩͎͚͐̂̿ ̷̝̤̂̏̚f̶͖̤̬͊͆ͅã̶̡͔̼̏͝m̶͚͎̟̌ī̸̤̽͒͝l̸̡̨̟͔͝i̸̫̖̣̳͂ǎ̶̯̱̔r̷̥̹̙͂i̸̝̊̾͠͠t̷͈̹̅y̶̱̹̑͝.̸̽ͅ ̴͔̆t̴̙͆̅̕͝r̵̫̭͕̺̆̉͝a̴̖͕͋͗ï̷̩ņ̵̞̟̪͐͑̄͒e̷̖̙͚͍̒̇̒d̵͚̖͖̺̍ Ẃ̸̳̎̓͛ë̴͖̱́'̶̲̫̣̋v̵̖̖̱̀̎̈́͠e̷̠͒͝ ̴̛͍͑͊̈́t̸̛̗̿̌ẖ̴̯͎͔́͆̂i̴̟͝s̸̛͈̥.̶̨̛̺̳̖̎̓̊ ̸̡̦̻̰̾̅̌̑ū̵͙͙͛̔n̷̫̰͔̚ẗ̵̻͉͚́̄í̷͔ļ̵̳͇͉͗̄̕͝"
Weiss looked at Blake, eyes wide. "Are they even human?"
"They move like soldiers," Blake says softly. "But they're not like the Atlesian ones we knew."
The leader turns back to them, voice intelligible now.
"You will lower your weapons-"
"We don't have any drawn!" Yang snaps.
"-and remain where you are. You are under investigation for unauthorized traversal and potential cult infiltration. Further action will be taken if you fail to comply."
"We don't even know what any of that means!" Ruby shouts, desperation rising in her voice. "Please! We're not your enemies! We're huntsmen! Huntresses! We were fighting for the world before, before everything!"
Ruby looks desperately between the soldiers, and they continue to talk amongst themselves, incomprehensible noises filling the air.
Then the leader holds his hand up to silence them, and his hand then goes to his ear.
̴̩̜̪̖͂̒A̸̤͓͛̚c̵̡̠͔̱̊t̴̯̖̘̍̿͑͝u̵̮̒̑ą̵̬̂͌͘l̶͎̔͂̆.̸͚͐̅ ̴̨̮̠̗̌̈́͆ì̵̬̖̬̫̑̅̽s̴͉͚̀̈́͜ ̷͔͋̒͘͝t̷̡͖̍̀h̸͈̲̊i̷̠̻̓̾͠s̸͎͔̑̌̋ͅ ̴͍̈͘A̵̱͙̣̾ū̶̺͍̄̓̕ř̸͍̰́ͅå̴̺ ̵͔̦̓m̷̗̝̀̇͑u̸̺̰̚̕t̷̢̥̖͐á̵̠̭̈̊̈́ț̷̇͜i̸̼͇̐ō̷̫̂n̵̲̭̈́̉̔̆͜ͅs̴͇̀̅̀.̵̧̽̎͘͝ ̸̨̠̓̕s̸̟̱͖͚̿t̴̜̜͂͑̑a̵̰̣̣̥̋b̶͓̹̔͋̅͝l̷̫̝͍͕̊ȅ̶̳.̵̼̗̣͎́̅ ̶̖̋ś̶̫̤̉͗c̶̜̫̩̟̉̽̆̔a̴̧̲̻̓͠͠n̷͙͈͆̃̍̄ṣ̶̙́̂̉ ̵͍̣̗̕͜a̷͖̮̟̓̕d̷͔̥̹̀͑v̸̨̱̪̬̀̅́į̶͂̀s̴͓͓͓̔e̸̩̺͕̿̎͂͝.̶̣̄̄͋ ̵͇̦̔̀̚͠N̸̟͇͕͈̍o̸̩̮̖̥͘ ̸̺̔̿̕P̷̗̼͉̖̄l̴͉̿e̵̩̠̙͂a̷̤̦̹̽͑̋ş̴̣̼́͐̽ͅe̸̘͋̓ C̴̙̹̝̋͊̾ȏ̴̱͉͐̊͌m̴̻̖̌m̸̼̉͜a̶̘̰̓́̍̂n̸͍̪̤̬̒͂͛̏d̴̖̞̔̍͠,̴̹͕̳̽͊̐ͅ ̴̳̝͔̾͗W̶͚̟͇͖̓r̶̘̫̫͙͑̎̽̕a̴̯̖̒͝i̶̹͕̹̩͊t̸͈͑̄͘h̸̩̝̺͛
Orders are being issued.
"What the hell is going on?"
The one that looks like Yang's voice cuts across the wind, confused, bristling with tension, and utterly unaware of the fire she is standing in.
Behind their visors, Wraith Squadron holds the line. Twelve rifles locked in perfect formation, colored armor gleaming faintly in the rising light.
Across the secure comms, their voices filter through, scrambled by their vocal distortion software. Unintelligible to anyone listening outside their closed system. To the world, they sound like nothing more than warped static, like the sound of a damaged signal trying to claw its way through interference.
But to each other, they are crystal clear.
"Her voiceprints are a match," Cipher reports. "Same vocal cadence. Identical to pre-disappearance logs."
"That's really them," Shockwave says dumbly. "Their voices. Their weapons. Everything."
"Or it's part of the act," Warlock snaps. "They're playing disoriented. Confused. Just long enough for us to get close."
"We've been trained for this," Mirage adds. "False familiarity. Psychological manipulation. Assume deception until confirmed otherwise."
Ghost decides he needs to get the situation under control sooner rather than later, and barks out a command.
"You will lower your weapons-"
"We don't have any drawn!" Yang snaps.
"-and remain where you are. You are under investigation for unauthorized traversal and potential cult infiltration. Further action will be taken if you fail to comply."
"We don't even know what any of that means!" Ruby shouts, desperation rising in her voice. "Please! We're not your enemies! We're huntsmen! Huntresses! We were fighting for the world before, before everything!"
"That word doesn't mean what it used to," Overdrive says darkly.
"They think it still does," Lotus murmurs. "They don't know."
"I think… I think they're telling the truth," Sentinel says, hesitant but steady. "I don't know how, but their aura readings are clean. No corruption. No falsified output. These aren't Grimm hybrids. They're… they're real."
To the outside world, they are statues. But inside their helmets, behind voice scramblers and encrypted channels, a storm is building.
Ghost stands at the center of it all, silent, unmoving, visor locked on the girl in red standing at the front of the strange group.
The girl, Ruby, stands with her hands raised, eyes wide and searching. She looks young. Not in age, but in posture. Like she doesn't belong in this moment, in this world. Like she hasn't spent the last five years clawing through mud and blood the way they had.
Alongside Blake Belladonna, who makes something in Ghost's chest twist even as he refuses to acknowledge it.
They are people that most in Wraith Squadron recognize.
Ghost, for one, doesn't know the girl in red. Not personally. Not by more than a distant reputation. But he knows Blake, and that was enough to keep his finger off the trigger.
But not enough to lower the gun.
He holds up his hand, indicating the rest of the squad be silent, and presses a finger to the side of his helmet, patching directly to command. "Command, this is Wraith Actual. Aura scans stable. No mutations. Please advise."
There is a short pause.
General Schnee's voice comes through. "Stand by."
Then a different voice filters in. Quieter, smoother, but with an odd weight behind it. Like someone who's spent a lifetime in thought.
"This is Pine," the voice says.
Ghost's brow furrows slightly beneath the helmet. Pine?
Then recognition settles. Oscar Pine.
Ghost had heard about this, from Shockwave and Lotus: the boy who had become more.
Ozma.
The ancient king reborn.
Only a handful of people in the world know the truth. Fewer still have heard his voice.
"I need to confirm their identities," Oscar, Ozpin, or rather Ozcar, continues. "Ghost, ask Ruby Rose: what was the first thing Ozpin said to her on the day they met?"
Ghost doesn't question it. He clicks off the command channel and activates external audio.
He takes a slow step forward, weapon still aimed but steady. His voice, as always, comes through the filter a cold, mechanical growl.
"Ruby Rose," he says, naming her now with intent. The girl flinches slightly. Her silver eyes locked on him, startled.
Ghost's weapon doesn't waver.
"What was the first thing Ozpin said to you, on the day you met?"
The question hangs in the air.
Inside Wraith Squadron's comms, confusion crackles.
"Is that supposed to mean something?" Wasp asks, puzzled.
"No idea," Cipher responds. "Running an archive search now. Maybe it's code?"
"Or some kind of recall trigger," Warlock offers. "But none of us are cleared for Oz-level legacy data."
"Still sounds like a setup," Mirage mutters. "What if they were briefed before being sent in?"
Ghost says nothing.
Ruby's lips part. Her gaze flicks to her teammates. Then, slowly, she answers.
"You have silver eyes."
Silence.
Not just from the five standing in the sun, but from the squad.
None of them react. No celebratory acknowledgment, no eased weapons.
Because none of them know if that was the right answer.
They wait.
Seconds pass.
Then Ozcar's voice returns in Ghost's ear, calm and resolute.
"It's them."
Just like that, the balance shifts.
A subtle ripple runs through the comms. You can't see it in the stance of the squad. Their rifles remain raised. Their formation remains tight, but within their sealed helmets, everything changes.
"Confirmed?" Ghost asks, voice low.
"Confirmed," Ozcar replies. "They're real. It's been five years for us… but likely only moments for them."
Five years.
Ghost says nothing for a long moment.
His eyes lock on Blake. She looks back at him now, but there is no spark of recognition. She doesn't see Adam. She just sees a soldier with a gun pointed at her.
Something inside him pulls taut, a scar remembering why it exists.
She doesn't recognize me thanks to the armor.
For a second, a brief, bitter second, he's grateful.
"Understood," he says quietly.
He reopens squad comms.
"Wraith Squadron, confirmed identities. We stand down."
There is a collective release of breath across the line.
No one lowers their weapons completely, but the barrels dip. Tension drains from shoulders. No one relaxes, but they begin to breathe again.
"They're alive," Sentinel says softly.
"How the hell…" Riptide mutters.
"That explains the odd signature," Cipher adds. "Space/time displacement. That's why they're so confused."
"They're five years late," Warlock murmurs.
Ghost's visor dims as the sun rises higher behind him.
He looks at the girl in black.
He didn't want to see her face again, but now he can't stop looking.
Blake.
What am I supposed to do with this?
"Maintain formation," he says, louder now. "But prepare to receive. Command will want debriefings. Full escort. Helmets on. No names."
He pauses, just for a beat. Then he steps forward again and switches his helmet back to where the newcomers can understand him. Though his voice is still the same filtered command as before, something in the way he says it has changed.
"We're taking you in."
The wind kicks up as the side hatch of the Bullhead groans open. The desert heat surges inward for just a moment, caught in the tug-of-war between dawn and the rising sun. Wraith Squadron moves with mechanical efficiency. Ghost gives the signal, and the rest of the team adjusts their formation, stepping aside just enough to allow the five figures to approach, but not a single rifle dips completely. Even now, with their identities confirmed, the squad treats the returnees with the same disciplined wariness they would give any potential threat.
Team RWBY and Jaune move slowly, hands still visible, exchanging glances that said everything their lips couldn't.
When they step inside the Bullhead's troop bay, the temperature drops slightly, metal replacing sand, hum of engines replacing wind, but the tension doesn't break.
And then,
"Well this is cozy," comes a voice from the cockpit.
Fireball, as usual, completely incapable of reading, or caring about the mood.
"Do I need to start handing out name tags or just let the dramatic tension slowly suffocate everyone?" she calls out over the internal intercom, voice echoing through the cabin. "Also, heads up, if any of you start a fight mid-flight, I will bank the ship hard enough to make you puke. And no, I won't clean it up."
There's a flicker of surprise from RWBY and Jaune. A few exchange uncertain looks. Yang even cracks a very faint smile.
"Your pilot's got a mouth," she mutters.
Silence.
"Yeah," Weiss says under her breath, arms still crossed. "That tracks."
Wraith Squadron, by contrast, barely reacts. Most of them don't acknowledge Fireball's banter. That's normal.
Ghost stands near the door as it seals, his black armor still imposing in the tight confines of the troop bay. He hasn't removed his mask, nor has any of the others removed their helmets. Their body language is stiff, unreadable.
It makes everything feel colder.
Eventually, as the Bullhead lifts into the sky, the only sounds are the hum of flight systems and the distant thrum of engine turbines.
Until…
"Um," Ruby begins, her voice quiet, uncertain. "We're… really not gonna talk the whole flight?"
Yang glances toward the soldiers, specifically at the one in black with the glowing red visor. "You guys always this friendly?"
The squad doesn't answer.
No response. No movement.
It was like talking to statues.
Blake leans back slightly, trying to read them. "They're just… watching. Listening."
"Judging," Jaune adds. "Definitely judging."
Then comes a garbled burst of static from one of the helmets. The one in white and pink armor. RWBY flinches instinctively.
It isn't threatening, though. It's communication.
"Ghost," comes Shockwave's distorted voice over the internal comms. Her helmet remains on, but she turns slightly toward their leader.
"Think you can ask the General if we're allowed to say anything to them? They're not Grimm clones, and I'm starting to feel like a prison warden here."
There is a brief pause.
Ghost taps into the command channel.
"Requesting clearance," he says simply. "Limited communication with the recovered personnel."
A few seconds pass.
Then General Schnee's voice filters through his ear once more.
"Permission granted. Keep it basic. No operational intel. But you may speak with them."
Ghost doesn't nod, he rarely shows movement unnecessarily, but he turns toward the rest of the squad.
"Comms open," he says. "You can talk."
The tension in the Bullhead shifts almost immediately. Not relaxed, but eased. Slightly.
"Thank the gods," comes Shockwave's voice, still distorted, but understandable now. "I was starting to forget what a real conversation sounded like."
Ruby blinks, her voice catching. "Wait… we can actually talk now?"
"Yes," Ghost replies curtly. He remains near the front, arms crossed, still unreadable. But his stance has softened, just enough to suggest the squad is no longer treating them as threats.
Jaune glances at the soldiers across from him. "So… what are you guys, exactly? You're not Huntsmen."
"No," says a voice, Crossfire, as she leans forward slightly. "Not anymore."
"We're Wraith Squadron," says another. Sentinel, her tone level. "Spectres, which is short for Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. UKR Defense Corps."
Ruby's brows drew together. "UKR?"
"United Kingdoms of Remnant," Warlock supplies, voice like glass under pressure. "All the kingdoms united. What's left of them, anyway."
Blake's gaze narrows. "That symbol on your armor… it's the same one from the Vytal Festival."
"Yeah," Cipher says, voice wry. "Only now it's a little less 'peace and unity' and a little more 'war and survival.'"
"There's not a lot of peace left," Mirage adds, arms resting casually across her knees. "When the world went to hell, someone had to be what the Huntsmen couldn't be."
"Wait..." Weiss looks at them sharply. "You're saying… this is what came after us?"
"You vanished," Lotus says bluntly. "The Kingdoms fell. So we adapted."
There's a long silence after that.
Yang looks around at the soldiers. "You guys talk like you've been doing this a long time."
"Wraith Squadron was officially formed four years ago, but how long each of us have been here varies," Overdrive answers. "Infiltration, recon, we're deployed where the normal army breaks. Mostly deal with the cult, though."
Ruby's mouth twists. "The… Witch… Cult?"
Wraith Squadron shares a brief moment of unreadable silence.
"That's a whole other conversation," says Cipher. "One you're probably not ready for yet."
"I want to be," Ruby says quietly. "We need to understand what happened. What we missed."
"You missed everything," Warlock replies.
There it is again. That weight. That line drawn between them.
The world has changed, and Team RWBY has returned to one that no longer knew them.
The Bullhead soars through the sky like a black arrow, streaking across the desert toward the shimmering silhouette of Vacuo's capital. As it nears the city, the rising sun glints off the structure suspended above it. Amity Colosseum.
Or rather, what it had once been.
Amity is no longer a beacon of tournaments and celebration. The elegant curves and open arenas are still there, but now reinforced with plating and barricades. Armored towers have been grafted onto its flanks. Observation posts lined the outer ring. Fighter drones clung to launch rails like insects preparing for flight.
This isn't a stadium anymore.
It's a fortress.
Amity Command.
The Bullhead approaches a large port built into the lower levels, which had once served as a landing bay for contestants and guests. Now, it's become a military hangar bustling with activity. Drones zip through the air, maintenance crews wave glow sticks as they guide transports into place, and soldiers patrol the upper catwalks with watchful eyes.
As the Bullhead dips into the bay, its engines slowing to a roar, the five former students stare out the small viewing window, taking in the sight with wide, unsettled eyes.
Ruby leans forward. "It's still Amity…" she whispers. "But it's so different."
With a hiss of pressure, the side opens, and the ramp extends.
Wraith Squadron disembarks first, Ghost at the front, the others flanking the newcomers with tight, practiced movement. The five returnees follow, walking side by side under the oppressive weight of the fortress' cold lighting.
Boots hit the steel floor in unison.
A figure stands at the edge of the landing platform, framed by the command tower behind her, flanked by a pair of armored officers. Winter Schnee.
However, she's not as she was, from their point of view, just days ago.
She stands taller now, more rigid, her military uniform tailored to perfection. She radiates command, not just in posture, but in presence.
Something else immediately catches their eyes. An eyepatch covers her left eye. Matte-black fabric, sleek and almost surgical, contrasts sharply against her pale skin.
Weiss draws a sharp breath, stopping mid-step. Her arms tremble.
Winter stands with arms crossed behind her back, her remaining eye scanning the five of them. Her expression is calm. Unreadable even. But the lines on her face are deeper now. Not from age, but from war.
Ghost comes to a halt, Wraith Squadron falling in behind him with precision, and they all stand at attention, snapping sharp salutes.
"Ma'am," he says through his helmet filter. "Anomaly secured. Visual confirmation and identification validated by Pine. Subjects are confirmed to be the original Team RWBY and Jaune Arc."
Winter nods once. "I've reviewed the helmet feeds. Well done, Wraith." Her tone is neutral, her posture unmoved. "You are dismissed to preliminary debrief. Await further orders."
The squad nods before filing away toward a secondary access corridor. Ghost lingers for half a second longer, his gaze falling briefly. Not on Winter, but on Blake. He lets out a small breath, then leaves without a word.
Now it's just the five of them and Winter.
Ruby opens her mouth to speak, but Weiss steps forward first.
"Winter…"
Winter's eye meets hers. "You're safe. That's all that matters right now."
But Weiss doesn't respond.
She runs.
Winter's composure cracks in an instant, the mask of formality shattering beneath the weight of five years of guilt, grief, and the desperate, aching relief of reunion. Weiss closes the distance in seconds and throws her arms around her sister.
To the surprise of everyone, including the maintenance crews working nearby, Winter returns the hug.
She leans into it gently, one arm coming up around Weiss's back, the other bracing her shoulder. Her chin rests against Weiss's head, and for the first time in a long time, she feels true happiness.
"I missed you," Winter says softly. "Every day."
Weiss nods into her shoulder, the rest of her words muffled by tears.
None of the others move, not wanting to interrupt this reunion.
Eventually, Winter pulls back, not abruptly, but with the calm of a commander reasserting control.
The moment is over. The mission resumes.
"We'll have more time to catch up later," she says, adjusting her posture again. "Right now, we have to handle this properly." She turns her lone eye toward the rest of them. "You've missed five years of history. This isn't the world you left behind."
"Yeah," Jaune mutters, scanning the steel interior of the hangar. "We got that much."
Winter continues, stepping back and gesturing toward a secured doorway. "Wraith Squadron is already en route to their debrief. I'll be joining them to discuss the mission they completed before this… complication." She glances at Ruby. "Your sudden reappearance happened in the middle of a high-priority operation."
Ruby's face flushes with guilt. "We didn't choose when or where we came back. The portal just… opened."
Winter nods tightly. "I believe you. But we still need to document it. The more we understand, the more we can assess the risk of instability or opportunity."
She turns, motioning for them to follow.
"There's a lot to catch up on," she says. "The world's changed. And I need you to understand exactly how."
She leads them to what looks like a conference room.
"Wait here, debriefing Wraith Squadron shouldn't take more than a few minutes. We can start going over what's going on when I get back." She gives a reassuring nod before turning and walking out, the door sliding shut behind her.
The debriefing room inside Amity Command is cold and sterile, its steel walls lined with tactical monitors and projection nodes that glow a dim blue in the low lighting. Wraith Squadron stands around a holographic display table.
When they arrive two people are already there waiting for them. The first is their direct superior, Colonel Milena Rayne a.k.a. Handler-1. She oversees and provides remote support to all Spectre squadrons. She has long silver hair, similar, but a slightly darker shade than what is normally associated with the Schnee family. She also has a single strip of her hair on the left side dyed a blood red, and dark blue eyes.
Standing at her side is Major General Calypso Nikos, one of High Command, and the Head of Special Operations. She has short red hair, and green eyes, with glasses perched on her stern face. Since special operations is made up primarily of former huntsmen and huntresses, as a former huntress herself, she was the natural choice for the position.
General Winter Schnee enters the room and stands at the head of the table, one gloved hand resting on a datapad, her uniform crisp as ever despite the exhaustion behind her solitary eye.
A holographic display hovers above the table, slowly rotating and flickering with glitching thermal scans and static-ridden images. The center of the projection is the beast. The summoned Grimm, pulled from darkness beneath the ruined church like some living curse. A mass of bone, corruption, and rage, born from the Witch Cult's twisted devotion.
Winter taps a control, and the image shifts, highlighting each stage of the creature's emergence, its resilience, its regeneration.
"You did well," she begins, her tone clipped but direct. "You prevented a full-scale summoning event. Had that creature reached maturity-"
"We wouldn't be having this conversation," Ghost says bluntly.
"Whatever they used to fuel that thing," Cipher says, glancing toward the projection, "it wasn't just Grimm essence. It learned far quicker than a normal Grimm. It was maturing as the fight progressed."
"Exactly," Winter confirms. "Which means they're experimenting with new rituals. We don't know yet if this was a one-off or a prototype."
Snapshot leans forward, her expression tight. "Are we sure it's dead? That crater was unstable. Even after Ghost's semblance, the biomass didn't fully decay."
"It's dead," Wasp says confidently. "I put a round through the Priest's skull before the thing reached full synchronization. That broke the link."
Winter gives a slow nod. "Regardless, the data from this mission will be forwarded to the R Division. Doctor Fontaine will want to comb through it. I've already notified her to prioritize analysis."
Quiet settles over the room as the hologram loops again. The creature. The summoning. The moment it fell.
Lotus breaks the stillness.
"What about the others?" he asks. His voice is soft, but direct. "Team RWBY and Jaune Arc. What happens to them now?"
The question hangs in the air like a live wire.
Several glances are exchanged.
Even Ghost looks up, though his expression remains unreadable behind his mask.
Winter looks at Lotus. There is no irritation in her eye, just the kind of hardened calculation that comes from making impossible decisions every day for five years.
"We'll see," she says simply. "They've missed a long time. They need time to process that… before they can decide who they're going to be in this one."
Snapshot raises a brow. "So, we're not allowed to speak to them without our helmets?"
Winter doesn't blink. "Not yet."
Shockwave mutters under her breath, "I don't like keeping this from them."
"You're dismissed," Winter says, folding the scroll shut with finality. "Report back to the barracks. You've earned food and rest. I'll update you if and when that changes."
There is no protest. They'd never protest a little down time.
The squad stands, before filing out in practiced pairs. Their boots echo through the metal halls of Amity Command as they move toward the barracks level.
As they pass the upper corridor leading toward the Command Hall, they see something that makes even Ghost hesitate.
Winter is walking in the opposite direction.
Flanked by two guards at a distance, she moves with purpose, but not alone.
A second figure walks beside her. His stride is steady, measured, a long brown coat brushing against his legs as he moves. A small cane tapped lightly with each step. Not from weakness, but from habit.
He's young, but something about the way he carries himself, the stillness in his expression, made him feel ancient. Like the world bows slightly to him without realizing it.
Ozcar Pine.
Ghost watches them for a moment, then turns away.
So does the rest of the squad.
They don't speak again until the door to the barracks slides shut behind them.
Author's Notes:
Here we get our first look from Team RWBY's PoV. This fic will be going back and forth between the Wraiths and RWBY, especially early on, and eventually their paths will merge.
Thanks for reading!