The briefing room at Shade Academy was nothing like the polished war chambers of Atlas. It was sun-scarred, dust-scuffed, a blend of ancient sandstone and jury-rigged terminals bolted into old walls. Cracks lined the corners of the ceiling like spiderwebs. Screens hummed quietly in the heat, while the desert sun filtered through the open slats of high-set windows. This wasn't a fortress. It was a shield, cracked but raised.

Team PRPN stood at one side of the room, silent, listening.

Headmaster Theodore paced across the center of the room with restless energy, wiry arms folded behind his back. He didn't pace like a general. He paced like a predator. There was no wasted movement. His red gloves flexed, the Dust embedded in the fabric glowing faintly with every step. His eyes, dark and lined from years under the Vacuo sun, passed over each Huntsman and Huntress in the room with a flicker of something sharp beneath the surface.

"I'm not walking into a trap," Theodore said.

His voice wasn't angry. It was measured. Steady. A man used to being obeyed.

"If we throw everything into dealing with the Crown," he continued, "we'll be left exposed. And if the worst comes, the big one, we'll have nothing left to give."

"Respectfully, Sir," Pyrrha said, stepping forward, "that's exactly the mindset they're counting on."

The room quieted.

Pyrrha didn't raise her voice. She never had to. When she spoke, people listened. Even now, with sand still clinging to her boots because of skirmish on the train. Her posture was steely and unyielding.

"They've already begun carving supply lines in half," Pyrrha continued. "You know that. We saw it ourselves. Trains, airships, cut down before they reached the walls. Atlas fought Salem for months with everything it had. The fleet. The Paladins. The Academy. And even then…"

She trailed off.

She didn't need to say it. Everyone in the room remembered Atlas. Everyone knew what had been lost.

"Even with what we've salvaged of the fleet," Pyrrha said, "even with the grit of Vacuo's people, I've seen what Salem and their allies are doing. We can't hold with our backs turned."

"Emotional," said another voice, sharp and low.

Pyrrha turned, jaw tightening.

Miss Rumpole, short, square, and no-nonsense, stood on a stack of metal crates near one of the walls, arms crossed. Her long braid, bound in gold cord, trailed across the floor like a tail. Her dark green tunic was rumpled, her brown coat frayed at the edges, but her eyes were clear. Sharp. Calculating.

"Headmaster's right," Rumpole said. "Don't get me wrong, you're not wrong, Nikos. You're just not right enough."

Pyrrha frowned. "Excuse me?"

"We don't have the numbers. Not really. Crown's got chaos on their side. Same with the White Fang," Rumpole said, hopping off the crate. "If we push everything to shut them down now, we overextend. We expose Shade and Vacuo. We gamble with everyone in this city."

"So we do nothing?" Pyrrha asked. Her voice was still calm, but there was heat under the surface. "We wait and hope they don't cut off our next supply drop? That they don't sabotage the next refugee route?"

"We do what we can without collapsing the whole tent," Rumpole replied. "You've fought your fight. Hard. But this isn't Atlas. We don't throw bombs at every shadow. We survive."

"I'm not talking about surviving," Pyrrha said. "I'm talking about winning."

"Enough," Theodore said, his voice cutting like a blade through the tension.

Both women turned toward him. His red gloves shimmered faintly as he clasped his hands behind his back again.

"You've made your points. And they're good points. Strong points. I admire that."

He turned to the table, tapped a few commands into the terminal, and pulled up several maps and surveillance feeds, routes crisscrossing between Vale and Vacuo, red points blinking where recent attacks had occurred.

"Team CFVY will continue their pursuit of the remaining Crown elements," he said. "Now that the Asturias are locked up, it's time we focus on defense, not offense. We shore up. We hold the line."

Pyrrha took a breath. "Headmaster—"

Winter Schnee stepped forward from her position near the door, her white coat catching the light. Her posture was stiff, controlled.

"Miss Nikos," she said firmly. "That's enough."

Pyrrha hesitated.

Winter held her gaze. Not angry. But stern.

"You've done your part," Winter said. "Now I still need you and your team on patrol. We still have stretches of the western perimeter unguarded."

Pyrrha looked away, jaw clenched.

There was a long pause. She weighed her words, then slowly exhaled and bowed her head.

"Yes, ma'am," she said. "My apologies."

Theodore chuckled, stepping away from the table. He walked toward her, bootheels clinking faintly on the stone.

"I like her," he said. "Feisty. Eager." He gave her a playful wink. "But you just walked out of a war. Let your boots cool, Nikos."

"I'll rest when I know Vacuo won't be next, Headmaster" Pyrrha replied, too tired to force a smile.

And then she turned and walked out.

The hallway outside was quieter. Narrower. Dust blew in through open archways, catching the light in gold slivers.

Her boots echoed across the stone. Her team followed behind her, silent. Pyrrha didn't speak until they reached the prep chamber.

Nora was the first to break the silence. "So… that went well."

Ren gave her a look.

"I mean," Nora said, raising her hands, "could've been worse. Could've punched someone."

Pyrrha sat on the edge of a bench and removed her gloves slowly, staring at the sand across her palms.

"They're afraid," she said quietly. "They don't want to admit it. But they are."

"Wouldn't you be?" Ren asked. "After what happened to Atlas?"

"That's exactly why we should act," Pyrrha said. "Because we know what's coming."

She didn't say Jaune's name. She didn't say how she'd watched him stand when no one else could. How she'd seen what losing ground slowly did to a man's soul. They themselves had fought with everything he had and lost it all.

Now she was trying not to make the same mistake.

"Miss Winter's right," Penny said softly. "This mission matters. Patrolling the perimeter, keeping people safe. it matters."

Pyrrha nodded, but it was mechanical. The frustration was still boiling under her skin.

Theodore meant well. She could see it. He wasn't a coward. He wasn't selfish. But he was cautious. Too cautious.

Caution wouldn't stop Salem.

The Crown wouldn't stop for caution. Neither the remnants of the White Fang.

She looked down at her hands. Her gauntlets were sandy. Her gloves too . Her fingers trembled when she flexed them.

Still, she couldn't stop.

Not yet.

Then—

"Let's go relax, Friend Pyrrha," Penny's hand tugged on Pyrrha's wrist as she dragged her somewhere while waving goodbye at Nora and Ren.

"There they go," Ren said.

"Let's leave it to Penny."

"Yeah, probably for the best."

Nora then gave Ren a fishy smile. Biting her lower lip.

Before Ren could bolt away, Nora grabbed her and practically dragged him away.

"Come on, come on, I want to show you my fishies!"

Pyrrha couldn't help but finally smile as she let herself be pulled. "Do you want to look at them together?"

"They help me unwind," Penny said, matter-of-factly, as though it were the most logical thing in the world.

The home was modest by Vacuo standards—one-story, with wide glass windows covered in dustproof mesh and cooling fans humming quietly in the corners. Inside, it was a blend of sterile white walls, warm lights, and soft tones. The juxtaposition of advanced tech and lived-in comfort was… endearing.

"Ah, Miss Nikos," came the gentle voice of Pietro Polendina as they entered. He sat on a reclining chair, his wheelchair creaked as he turned to face her. "It's always good to see you. You're looking well, considering the circumstances."

Pyrrha offered a bow of her head. "Doctor Polendina. It's good to see you too."

"Maria's in the other room. Tea's still warm, if you'd like some," he added with a wink.

Maria Calavera, the former Grimm Reaper herself, raised a teacup without looking up from her seat. "Don't mind me, Nikos. Penny's been trying to rope you into this for days. Enjoy it while you can."

The two women exchanged a knowing glance, warm, but tired. Then Penny led Pyrrha to her room.

The walls were lined with strange tech Pyrrha didn't recognize, one side clearly doubling as a personal charging station, but it was the far side of the room that drew her attention. A small rectangular tank buzzed faintly, filled with pale blue water and a scattering of green aquatic plants. Inside, two betta fish glided through the currents. One was a shimmering white tinged with gold at the edges. The other, a deep crimson, with elegant fan-like fins.

"I got them from the eastern ports," Penny explained, placing her hands proudly on her hips. "They came from Mistral, just past the Menagerien coasts. I named them Snow and Ember!"

Pyrrha smiled faintly as she moved to sit on the cushioned floor mat near the tank. The hum of the filters, the slow movement of the fish… it really was relaxing.

"They're beautiful," she murmured. "And calming. I liked them."

Penny shrugged, then gently settled beside her. "Friend Ruby said it was something humans do when they're stressed. She showed me videos. So I got my own."

Pyrrha chuckled softly, then leaned back against the couch. The ceiling fan overhead spun in lazy circles.

Penny watched her for a moment, her emerald eyes unusually observant. Then, without any of her usual tact, she said, "You're very worried about Friend Jaune, aren't you?"

Pyrrha's breath hitched.

She didn't answer at first. But after a few seconds, her voice came, soft and tired.

"…Is it that obvious?"

Penny nodded. "Very."

Pyrrha exhaled, staring into the tank.

"I have hope," she whispered. "That's all. I don't want to assume… not again."

Penny turned slightly, voice quieter. "Just like me?"

The words hung in the air.

Pyrrha closed her eyes. "Yes. Just like you."

There had been no body. She had assumed the worst once. And it had hollowed her out from the inside. But Penny had returned. And if she had… why not Jaune?

"I don't want to feel miserable again," Pyrrha said. "If there's still something left… anything… then until I see him—dead or alive—I'll hold onto that hope."

There was a long silence between them. Then Penny tilted her head.

"So you REALLY like him."

Pyrrha blinked. "W–what?"

"You have a crush," Penny said with such innocent matter-of-factness it was almost disarming.

A deep flush rose to Pyrrha's cheeks. She turned away instantly, flustered. "Penny—!"

"Your face turned red. That usually means confirmation!"

"I—" Pyrrha put her hands to her cheeks, unable to stop the smile that forced its way through. "It's… complicated."

"But you do!" Penny chimed happily. "I shall make a note in my data bank! Pyrrha Nikos—status: Flustered by affection."

Pyrrha groaned softly then somehow distracted Penny to talk about her fishies more. Still red-faced, hiding her expression behind the curve of her shield-arm, when Penny leaned closer, looking at the tank with a proud little grin.

"Did you know," Penny began with a dramatic lilt, as if preparing to give a lecture, "that Betta fish—at least the variant bred in the river basins south of Mistral—are highly territorial?"

Pyrrha peeked from behind her hand, amused despite herself. "Territorial?"

"Mmhmm." Penny nodded sagely. "They don't share space with others of their kind unless it's for mating or fighting. In fact, the local fishermen near Menagerie told me that if you put two male bettas in the same tank, they'll fight to the death unless one yields."

"That's… dramatic," Pyrrha said, chuckling faintly.

"They are dramatic," Penny agreed, beaming. "The ones in the Mistrali wetzones have even adapted to extremely poor water quality. They can survive in rice paddies, puddles, even abandoned Dust-mining channels as long as there's enough warmth and vegetation."

"So… hardy," Pyrrha noted, staring at the fish as they drifted near the glass.

"Very," Penny replied proudly. "They have something called a 'labyrinth organ.' It lets them breathe air directly, like amphibians. They surface to sip air when the water's not enough. It's why they can survive things that would kill other fish instantly."

Pyrrha smiled, her voice quieter. "That's… oddly inspiring."

"They're small," Penny said, gently tapping the tank, "but stubborn. Just like someone else I know."

"Penny," Pyrrha groaned again.

"You're not denying it," Penny sang, teasing laced through her voice.

"I was talking about you."

"Oh. Then thank you!" Penny said brightly, missing or perhaps pretending to miss the red creeping back into Pyrrha's cheeks.

Pyrrha reached forward, finger brushing along the curve of the glass, watching the red-finned betta, Ember, she presumed, flare its gills and trail its elegant fins like a noble.

"They're beautiful," she said again, softly.

Penny folded her arms behind her back and swayed side to side. "I like to think Snow is like me. Bright, sometimes too curious, but very clean and orderly. And Ember is like you."

Pyrrha looked up. "Me?"

"Fiery," Penny said, "and a little misunderstood. But very strong. And very graceful."

The compliment lingered in the air.

Pyrrha wasn't sure what to say.

Instead, she smiled, small, tired, but warm and turned back to the fish.

"Thank you, Penny," she said after a pause. "For this. I didn't realize how much I needed it."

Penny sat down beside her again, cross-legged and perfectly balanced, the picture of a curious little machine-girl at peace.

"It's what friends are for," Penny said. "And you looked like you were carrying too much. I'm glad my fishies made you relax!1"

Pyrrha nodded. Her eyes still rested on the little fish swimming in slow circles. Graceful. Delicate. Unshaken by the storms of the world outside.

Brothers, I really am exhausted.

Pyrrha then found herself gravitating toward a small corner of the room—near the edge of Penny's desk, tucked beside a low bookshelf and just beneath a long window that let in soft streaks of warm Vacuan sunlight. A simple floor cushion sat there, pressed against the wall. It looked inviting. Safe. Like a place meant for rest.

She lowered herself onto it slowly, leaning her head back against the wall. The tension in her shoulders, the kind she didn't realize she'd been holding, finally began to slip away. Her eyelids fluttered.

Penny tilted her head, one hand still folded neatly behind her back. "Are you sleepy, Friend Pyrrha?"

Pyrrha gave a small nod, barely lifting her head. "Just a little."

"You've earned a nap," Penny said softly. She knelt again beside the fish tank, clasping her hands in front of her, eyes fixed on the drifting shapes of her beloved bettas. "I'll stay here. I'm going to watch my fishies."

Pyrrha smiled faintly, already half-lost to sleep. "You're recording them, aren't you?"

A short beat passed.

Then Penny replied, her voice laced with guilty amusement, "...Maybe."

That made Pyrrha's lips twitch into something closer to a smile. She let out a slow exhale and shifted, her body curling slightly against the soft corner. Her armor had been set aside earlier; all that remained was the familiar red of her underlayer, a simple cloth blanket Penny had laid across her legs.

The quiet hum of the fish tank filled the room.

The light trickled in.

Penny remained where she was, watching her fish, recording their movements, but occasionally glancing toward Pyrrha. Just to be sure she was okay.

And Pyrrha let herself sleep.