AIRSHIP
Blake Belladonna stirred as the warmth of the morning sun broke through the airship's window, forcing her golden eyes open. Seven years had passed since she last set foot in Vale, yet the mere sight of the approaching cityscape sent a familiar tension creeping through her body.
Her once-long hair, now cut to shoulder length, framed her face in loose waves, no longer hidden beneath a bow. The weight of secrecy had long been abandoned—she had no reason to hide anymore. Her Faunus heritage was as much a part of her as the sharpened instincts that had kept her alive all these years.
She was dressed for the battles ahead, clad in a fitted black leather jacket, worn at the edges from years of use but still sturdy, its high collar shielding her neck. Beneath it, a deep purple sleeveless top clung to her form, the fabric breathable yet durable, designed for movement. A single silver emblem, the mark of the Belladonna family, rested just below her collarbone—a quiet reminder of where she came from.
Her pants were dark and reinforced with lightweight armored plates at the knees, blending function with her preference for agility. Twin belts wrapped around her waist, one securing her weapons, the other holding pouches filled with tools she might need. Her boots, sturdy yet silent, rose just below her knees, scuffed from years of travel but still reliable. Fingerless gloves covered her hands, the leather molded to her grip—ready to fight, ready to endure.
Blake had shed the illusions of her past. She no longer hid behind a mask of uncertainty. The world had taken much from her, but what remained was sharper, stronger. This time, she had returned not to run—but to hunt.
Blake's amber eyes flicked toward the window, watching as Vale drew closer. The city loomed beneath her, its skyline both familiar and foreign, a ghost of the life she once knew. The sight sent a chill down her spine. Seven years had passed since she left—since that night. The night that shattered everything. Her team, her purpose, her trust in herself. And in the wake of it all, she had done the only thing she knew how.
She ran.
Not out of fear, but out of guilt. Out of the unbearable weight of failure that gnawed at her every waking moment. She left, believing that time and distance would give her the strength to return. To face the ones she abandoned. To seek the vengeance that had kept her alive.
Now, the time had come.
The airship trembled slightly as it descended, metal groaning as it docked at the Vale port. A soft hiss followed as the doors unsealed, letting in the crisp morning air.
Blake rose from her seat, adjusting the strap of her worn leather bag over her shoulder. The weight of it was familiar, filled with the essentials—her weapons, her supplies, everything she needed for the mission ahead. Her boots moved soundlessly against the airship floor as she stepped forward, each step measured, controlled.
Then, she crossed the threshold.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she paused, scanning the city before her. Vale had changed. The streets, once lively and bright, now bore subtle scars of time and conflict. Buildings were repaired but worn, the echoes of past battles still lingering in their foundations. The people moved with the same energy as before, but there was something different in the air—a shift in atmosphere, a quiet tension woven into the rhythm of everyday life.
Blake exhaled slowly.
This was no longer the Vale she remembered.
And she was no longer the Blake Belladonna who left it.
VALE
Blake Belladonna moved through the streets of downtown Vale, her steps light yet purposeful as she passed through the shifting crowds of the early morning. The city was awake, filled with the usual hum of life—citizens going about their day, the distant chatter of vendors setting up shop, the occasional rumble of an airship overhead. On the surface, it all looked the same. But beneath it, something was off.
She stopped at a street corner, amber eyes scanning her surroundings. The buildings still stood tall, their familiar silhouettes lining the sky, but the feeling of Vale had changed. It was in the way people walked, the subtle caution in their movements, the wary glances exchanged between strangers. There was a weight in the air that hadn't been there before. A quiet tension woven into the heart of the city.
Ever since that night.
Blake exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus. She had come here with a purpose. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change anything. Right now, she needed something simple—food.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, drawing her gaze to a small diner just across the street. A modest place, tucked between two larger buildings, its neon sign flickering faintly in the daylight. It looked worn but well-kept, the kind of place that had weathered years of change without losing its purpose.
Blake adjusted the strap of her bag and made her way toward it, stepping off the curb and weaving through the passing cars. As she reached the entrance, she paused briefly, taking one last glance at the city around her. Then, without another thought, she pushed open the door, hoping for a quiet meal before the real work began.
DINER
Less than an hour after finding a seat, Blake set her empty plate aside, savoring the last remnants of a meal she hadn't tasted in years. The dish was something uniquely Valean, a familiar blend of spices and flavors that stirred memories of a simpler time—before everything fell apart. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until now.
Lifting her cup, she took a slow sip of tea, letting its warmth settle her restless mind. The quiet hum of the diner, the soft clatter of plates, and the distant murmur of conversation created a fleeting sense of normalcy. But then—
A vehicle pulled up outside.
Blake's ears twitched at the distinct sound of tires slowing against pavement. Without turning her head fully, she shifted her gaze, catching the reflection in the diner's window. An Atlesian military car. Parked by the road.
The door opened, and a figure stepped out.
White hair, neatly gathered into a tight bun. A sharp, structured military uniform. The fabric stiff, pristine, yet worn with years of service. And then—scars. Faint but unmistakable, cutting across her face and neck. Signs of battles fought.
Weiss Schnee.
Blake's grip on her cup tightened ever so slightly.
Weiss stood by the car, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her posture was evident. As her icy blue eyes landed on Blake, something flickered behind them—unease, hesitation, maybe even something deeper.
The door shut with a quiet finality.
For the first time in seven years, the two former teammates faced each other.
Minutes passed, and now Blake and Weiss sat across from each other at the small diner table, the space between them heavy with unspoken words. The world outside continued as normal—cars passing, people walking, conversations blending into the background. But here, in this small moment, time felt still.
A cup of coffee rested beside Weiss, untouched. She sat with her back straight, posture rigid, the same discipline she had honed for years. Yet, despite the composed exterior, Blake's keen eyes caught the subtle movement of Weiss' fingers—fidgeting, restless. Most likely from that night.
Blake didn't mention it. Instead, she offered a quiet, sincere thank you for making the time to meet her. She truly appreciated it.
Weiss let out a slow breath, her expression neutral. "I would say the same," she admitted, "but… it's not entirely great to see you again."
Blake felt the weight behind those words but didn't flinch. She had expected as much. Seven years was a long time, but some wounds never fully healed.
Instead, she shifted the conversation, her voice steady. "Are you doing well?" A pause. "The military treating you better these days?"
Weiss didn't smile, but there was a slight change in her expression, something distant in her eyes. "They do now," she said simply.
Blake nodded before asking, "What rank?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"Specialist."
Blake's lips curled slightly. "Congrats."
Weiss gave a small, almost indifferent shrug. "It's a rank Winter once had."
That made Blake smirk. "General Winter Schnee, now in charge of her little sister, who now holds her older sister's former rank. Pretty soon, the Schnees will go from business to military."
For the first time since sitting down, Weiss let out a chuckle, shaking her head slightly. "Maybe it's time for a change, then."
Weiss turned to Blake, her piercing blue eyes narrowing, scrutinizing every detail of the woman sitting across from her. "Why are you here?"
The question was sharp, laced with something unspoken—anger, confusion, maybe even the remnants of something long buried.
Blake met her gaze, but for a moment, she said nothing. The silence between them stretched, thick with years of absence, with everything left unsaid. Seven years. No messages. No calls. Not even a single word. And yet, here she was, returning to the ruins of the past as if she had the right.
Amber eyes darkened, filled with something old, something heavy. Then—
"I'm here to make things right," Blake finally said, her voice steady, resolute. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers curled loosely around her cup, its warmth doing nothing to ease the cold inside her. "But I want to do it my way. The way it should've been that night."
Weiss's fingers, which had been fidgeting absentmindedly, suddenly stilled.
A flicker of unease crossed her face.
Outside, Vale carried on as it always did—cars moving, people chatting, life continuing. But inside the diner, the air felt colder, thick with the weight of the past neither of them could escape.
Weiss exhaled, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "That night destroyed everything. Our lives, our team—" she hesitated, just for a second. Then, her shoulders squared. "I moved on." Her eyes, colder than before, settled on Blake. "But you haven't."
Blake held her gaze, unflinching.
"Our friend was killed." There was no tremble in her voice, no hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered truth. "A line was crossed." Her jaw clenched slightly as her fingers tightened around the cup. "And I…" She exhaled slowly, staring at the table for a moment before meeting Weiss's eyes again. "I felt responsible."
Something in Weiss shifted. Her fist clenched against the table, her knuckles turning white.
"The one really responsible…" Weiss said, her voice low, edged with restrained fury, "is Adam Taurus."
Blake's grip on her cup tightened at the name.
Once, she had followed him without question. Trusted his vision. Stood by his side as he led their cause. Now, he was nothing more than a shadow she had spent years chasing, a monster lurking at the edges of her nightmares. Her target.
She exhaled, pushing away the old ghosts clawing at her mind. There was no room for hesitation now.
"There's a reason I called you here." Blake's voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation, no wavering. Only cold, unwavering determination.
Weiss didn't move, but her gaze sharpened, a silent acknowledgment that she already knew where this was going.
"I need you to use your resources to find Adam's location." Blake's voice was deliberate, measured. "I already know he's still in Vale. Hiding."
She leaned forward, amber eyes burning with something darker than anger.
"I want him dead."
Weiss's expression hardened. Her fingers uncurled from the fist she had made, but the tension in her shoulders didn't ease. "That's not going to happen."
Her voice was calm but absolute, carrying the weight of authority that came with years of discipline. The Weiss Schnee sitting across from Blake was no longer the privileged heiress who once struggled to prove herself. She was a Specialist now. A soldier.
"I have the resources," Weiss admitted, her blue eyes locked onto Blake's. "But I will not let you go on a killing spree just to find one man." She leaned back slightly, her posture stiff, unwavering. "And as a military specialist, I've already been given orders."
Blake narrowed her eyes.
"I've been tasked with finding Adam Taurus," Weiss continued. "And bringing him in alive." Her voice carried no room for debate. "That is how this ends. He faces the consequences of his actions in a courtroom, not at the end of your blade."
Blake scoffed, setting her cup down with a soft clink.
She crossed her arms, a cynical smirk forming at Weiss's confidence. "Adam led an attack on Vale by himself. With nothing but his own handpicked White Fang loyalists." She leaned forward slightly, her voice sharp. "Pretty sure he'll elude you and your squad just like he's done for years."
Weiss didn't flinch.
"Don't be so sure about that," she said smoothly, her voice cold as steel. "I'm trained for this, Blake. I've spent years hunting people like him. And I am ready."
The certainty in Weiss's tone sent a chill through the air between them.
Blake studied her for a long moment. This wasn't the Weiss Schnee she once knew. The girl who used to snap at every challenge, who let her emotions slip through her perfect composure. No—this was someone else entirely. A soldier who had lived through war. A hunter who believed she could bring Adam down.
But Blake knew better.
Adam wasn't just another target. He was something else entirely. And Weiss had no idea what she was walking into.
Blake's expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the fire behind her amber eyes. She leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose before speaking, her voice even but laced with quiet defiance.
"Then I'll find Adam first."
Weiss remained still, her grip tightening around her coffee cup.
Blake's fingers brushed against the edge of the table as she continued, "I was raised to be merciful once. That's something I'm willing to be… if you don't stand in my way."
The unspoken threat lingered between them, heavy and unyielding.
Weiss's stomach twisted with unease, but she forced herself to remain composed. She had faced war, fought against trained killers, stared down monsters in the battlefield—but this? This was different. This was Blake.
And yet, her voice was steady, her resolve unwavering.
"Then I have no choice," Weiss said, her blue eyes cold, firm. "I will stand in your way." She straightened, her expression unreadable. "I told you—I'm going after Taurus. And I will bring down anyone who gets in my way."
She let the words sink in before delivering the final blow.
"If you're there… I will capture you. And I will lock you up."
Blake held her gaze, searching for any hesitation in her words. There was none.
Silence settled between them, stretching long and tense. Then, without another word, Blake rose from her seat. She picked up her cup, sipping the last of her tea, savoring the warmth as if it would be the last moment of peace she'd allow herself.
She set the cup down, then leaned in closer to Weiss—so close that Weiss could see the sharp glint in her amber eyes, could feel the quiet fury radiating off of her.
"If you won't help me," Blake said, her voice dangerously low, "then that's fine."
A pause.
"But if you stand in my way—" Blake's tone sharpened, her next words barely above a whisper, "—then prepare for death."
She pulled away, grabbing her bag with smooth precision before turning toward the exit.
Weiss didn't move. She simply watched, her fingers gripping the edge of her cup as Blake strode out of the diner, her silhouette vanishing into the crowded streets of Vale.
Her breathing was steady—too steady. She forced herself to keep it that way, to maintain her composure, to not show weakness. But deep down, something in her wavered.
She lifted her coffee to her lips, taking a slow sip as she sensed eyes on her.
Turning her head slightly, she met the gaze of a man sitting a few seats away. He wasn't just another diner patron. His build was too solid, his posture too controlled. His eyes held a quiet understanding, a silent acknowledgment of what had just transpired.
The Atlesian military tattoo on his neck confirmed it.
Weiss lowered her cup and exhaled through her nose. "Follow her," she ordered, her voice cool and professional. "Discreetly."
The man nodded once.
"And be careful." Weiss's gaze darkened slightly. "She's a Faunus."
Another nod. Without a word, the man reached for his coat, slipping it over his shoulders before standing. He adjusted the collar, blending into the diner's patrons as he made his way to the door.
The bell above the entrance chimed softly as he stepped out, vanishing into the streets after Blake.
Weiss exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from her shoulders.
She had made her choice.
Now, all she could do was wait for the inevitable storm to come.
APARTMENT
The door clicked shut behind Weiss as she stepped inside, sealing her off from the outside world. She exhaled deeply, resting her head against the doorframe, her eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.
Then, it came—unbidden, unwanted.
A flash of memory.
Warm blood on her hands. The metallic scent thick in the air. A lifeless hand sprawled against the cold ground, fingers slightly curled. The body itself remained blurred, indistinct, yet the feeling was sharp, cutting through her like ice.
Her eyes snapped open.
Pushing off the door, Weiss made her way toward the kitchen with measured steps, each movement precise, controlled. She opened the refrigerator, the cool air brushing against her skin as she reached inside for a bottle of wine. The glass was smooth in her grip, familiar. Routine.
She poured herself a small amount, the deep red liquid swirling in the cup before settling. Taking it in hand, she moved toward the large window that overlooked Vale, its city lights flickering against the night sky.
The apartment itself was simple—efficient. A studio layout, designed for function rather than comfort. No separate bedroom, just a space where everything she needed was within reach. A desk stacked with mission reports. A sleek but worn couch. A training mat in the corner. And against the wall, mounted like a relic of another life, was Myrtenaster.
She took a sip of her wine, her gaze fixed on the cityscape before her.
Vale. The place she was stationed. The place she was tasked with protecting.
But none of it mattered more than her mission.
Finishing her drink, Weiss turned away from the window and set the glass aside. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, pulling the curtains closed before she stepped toward the center of the room. The furniture shifted easily as she cleared the space, creating a familiar, open area.
Lowering herself to the floor, she sat cross-legged, reaching for her sharpening tools. The rhythmic sound of steel against stone soon filled the quiet apartment, steady and deliberate. The cold blade glinted under the dim light, her movements slow, methodical.
She knew what was coming.
Blake would get in her way.
And Weiss could only hope—pray—that it wouldn't end in blood.
WAREHOUSE
Blake moved through the warehouse like a shadow, silent and precise. The building was old but solid, its steel framework untouched by time. Dust coated the floor in thin layers, disturbed only by her footprints. Rusted crates, forgotten furniture, and remnants of a past long abandoned cluttered the corners, but the structure itself was intact. The air smelled of aged wood, metal, and the faint, lingering scent of oil.
It was perfect.
She dropped her bag onto a clean mattress she had acquired from somewhere—not that it mattered. This place was hers now, a temporary sanctuary. She wasted no time unpacking, pulling out her essentials and laying them out methodically. Clothes, tools, ammunition, and rations were arranged in neat, efficient rows.
After securing her gear, she focused on the space itself. Testing the overhead lights, she found some still flickered weakly. That wouldn't do. Moving swiftly, she connected a fresh power supply, injecting a steady stream of Dust into the circuits. The warehouse buzzed to life, bathing in a dim, artificial glow.
The windows were next. Blake gathered whatever dark fabric she could find—old tarps, heavy cloth, even discarded coats—layering them over the glass until not a single crack of light could escape. No one could know she was here.
With the space secured, she turned her attention to the large metal table near the center of the room. One by one, she placed her weapons and devices down, transforming the surface into a miniature armory.
Gambol Shroud lay at the heart of it.
The weapon had changed. The blade was sharper, reinforced with a stronger alloy. The modifications made it deadlier—quicker in her hands, more precise in its strikes. Beside it, a collection of newly constructed gadgets took shape, scavenged from spare parts and fine-tuned with her meticulous hands. Smoke pellets, compact explosives, motion sensors—tools she had refined over the years for a singular purpose.
The outside needed to be secured as well. Moving through the warehouse's perimeter, she placed traps at entry points—tripwires hidden under loose debris, motion-sensitive explosives tucked into corners, steel wires rigged at knee height to ensnare intruders. By the time she was done, the warehouse wasn't just a hideout. It was a fortress.
By the time she glanced at the clock she had set up, it read 8:00 PM.
Blake exhaled slowly, sitting at the edge of her mattress. The work was done. The space was secured. She should have felt settled. But the moment she allowed herself to be still, the memories came creeping in.
Blood. Dark and thick, staining her hands, pooling on the cold ground.
The still body of her friend.
Adam's smirk—calm, taunting—as he disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind but death and a promise of more.
Blake's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening into fists. The pressure in her chest built, rising like fire in her veins.
No. Not tonight.
She shoved the thoughts away, standing with purpose as she moved toward the open space of the warehouse. Her muscles burned with the need for action, her body demanding motion.
Gambol Shroud was in her hands in an instant. The weight of it was familiar, comforting.
Then, she moved.
Her strikes were swift, calculated—each swing of her blade a controlled burst of force. She pushed herself harder, faster, incorporating her gadgets into her combat flow. Smoke pellets burst in quick succession, momentarily shrouding her before she emerged from the haze, striking at an invisible enemy. Her semblance flickered to life, shadowy afterimages forming as she dodged and countered, perfecting every movement.
This wasn't just training. It was preparation.
She wasn't going to be caught off guard again.
She wasn't going to fail.
This time, when she found Adam—he wouldn't walk away.
Blake's strikes slowed. Her breath was steady but deep, her body warm from the exertion. She was about to reset, to run through her drills again when something caught her attention.
A faint boom in the distance.
She froze, instincts sharpening. The sound wasn't close, but it was rhythmic, consistent. Another boom followed, then another. It wasn't gunfire. Not an explosion.
Something else.
Her amber eyes narrowed as she strode toward a covered window, peeling back the dark cloth just enough to peer outside.
The city was alive.
Bright streaks of color arced across the night sky, bursting into shimmering golds, reds, and blues. The fireworks illuminated the skyline, reflecting off the towering buildings, casting shifting shadows over the streets below. The rhythmic crackle of each explosion followed, filling the night with celebration.
Blake blinked. The Annual Vale Festival.
She had lost track of time, of what day it even was. But there it was, in full swing—the same festival she and Team RWBY had attended once, years ago. They had laughed, played games, eaten too much festival food.
But never again after that night.
The night her friend was killed.
The night that changed everything.
Blake let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the cloth.
She had spent the past seven years in the shadows, running, hunting, preparing for this moment—for him. She told herself she didn't care about anything else, that she couldn't afford to be distracted.
But now, watching the lights bloom over Vale, she felt something unexpected.
Regret.
She had missed this. Missed the simple joy of being part of the world instead of lurking in its corners. She had already let too many moments slip through her fingers.
She wouldn't let another one pass.
Decision made, Blake turned from the window, already reaching for her coat.
ROOFTOP
Weiss stood near the edge of the rooftop of her apartment building, hands resting lightly on the railing as she watched the festival below. The streets were alive with movement—families, couples, and children laughing as they walked beneath the glow of lanterns and fireworks. The air carried the scent of fresh food, the sound of music mixing with bursts of celebration.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
Footsteps approached from behind, light but familiar. Weiss didn't turn immediately, but she knew who it was before the figure stopped beside her.
Ruby Rose, her red hood drawn over her head, stood with a soft smile, her silver eyes reflecting the festival lights. "I missed going to this," she said, her voice quiet but warm.
Weiss exhaled softly, her smile lingering. "Yeah… I do too."
Ruby glanced at her, hopeful. "Then let's go."
Weiss' smile faltered. She lowered her gaze slightly, fingers tightening against the railing. "I can't," she admitted. "It brings back too many bad memories."
Ruby's expression shifted, her shoulders lowering. She didn't press. "Me too," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
A moment of silence passed between them, filled only by the distant sounds of celebration. Weiss turned to her friend and placed a reassuring hand on Ruby's back, her touch gentle. "I'm here for you," she said quietly.
Ruby looked up at her, offering a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Weiss." She straightened, pulling her hood up a little more. "I have to go. Duty calls."
Weiss nodded, professionalism slipping back into place. "Make sure to report to the base first thing tomorrow. We have a lot of work ahead of us."
Ruby smirked, giving a small salute. "Got it." And with that, she vanished in a blur of rose petals, carried away by her Semblance.
As the petals faded into the night, Weiss' smile faded with them. She turned back toward the festival, watching the glowing cityscape with unreadable eyes.
FESTIVAL
Blake moved through the crowded streets of the festival, slipping past groups of laughing children, excited couples, and families enjoying the night. The warm glow of lanterns overhead mixed with neon signs, casting shifting colors across the pavement. Fireworks burst in the sky, their echoes rolling through the city like distant thunder. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling meat skewers, fried sweets, and roasted nuts.
But none of it mattered to her.
Her mind was trapped in memories—dark, bleeding flashes of the past.
That night.
The festival had been in full swing, just like this. Laughter, music, fireworks. And then—chaos. Screams drowning out the joy. The smell of smoke and blood. A friend lying motionless. Adam's smirk as he disappeared into the darkness.
Blake's fingers twitched at her side, tightening briefly before she forced them to relax.
A sudden commotion broke her trance.
She turned, her amber eyes narrowing as two drunken men shoved each other near a food stall. Their slurred insults grew louder as one of them stumbled into a stack of empty crates, sending them clattering to the ground. A few bystanders glanced over but quickly lost interest. No one was in real danger.
Neither was worth her time.
She exhaled, about to keep moving—until she felt it.
A presence. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Blake's shoulders stiffened. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, scanning the rooftops with careful precision.
And then she saw her.
Standing at the edge of a nearby rooftop, Weiss Schnee stared down at her, half-lit by the festival lights. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her stance was unmistakable. The distant glow of fireworks flickered against the scars on her face, while her pale blue eyes held something sharp, something unspoken.
Blake came to a full stop.
A red glow washed over her face from a nearby lantern. Almost at the same moment, a white light from an overhead sign illuminated Weiss, casting her in a cold, stark contrast.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Two former friends. Two opposing paths.
They both knew what this meant. The risks. The stakes.
They were here for the same reason.
Adam Taurus.
One to bring him to justice. The other to end his life.
The only question was:
Who would get to him first?