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“Do you want sight?” Ozpin had asked them.
Raven and Qrow stood before him now, nearly shoulder to shoulder, with a certainty they had not had before. The gears above clicked in an almost comforting way, a familiarity born into their frequent visits. They did not exchange a glance as he came around the desk to face them. Tai and Summer were not here. And as of yet, they did not know that only the Branwens had been summoned.
Ozpin set his coffee down on the desk. “I know I have asked a great deal of you. But…I need to know what she’s planning. I can give you the gift of sight in a way no one else has.”
Raven felt Qrow’s hand curl into a fist at his side. She did not blame the tension. Whatever Ozpin was asking of them felt removed from their academy days. Graduation was a year behind them and they’d been steadily running covert missions for the man, but this felt like a mission beyond the scope of old ways. Raven wasn’t sure where the gravity had come from. If it had suddenly plunged into the room and held them to the spot as the sun dwindled behind the Headmaster of Beacon, painting hesitation across his face. He waited a moment to continue. In the silence, Raven listened to the gears overhead.
“Sight?” Qrow asked quietly. Ozpin perked up at his voice as if drawn from a reverie. He nodded slowly.
“In a way, but it will be much more. Although it will…change the very nature of who you both are, of what you both can do, and will make you more than what you are right now.”
More? Raven thought. They were already some of the most experienced huntresses and huntsmen in the game, and had gone toe-to-toe with some of Salem’s forces in the past with…repercussions that were at least not deadly. She swore herself to this war. It was not time to back down now. Her hand brushed against the feathers at her hip, new adornments added so that she could remember the burden of the tribe’s lessons, the weight of her sword, the loyalty she had given to this man behind the curtain.
“I know I ask much of you—”
“We’ll do it.” Qrow stepped forward first, his expression set. Raven glanced at her brother. The seconds that separated them at birth had made her feel strangely older always, as if her first touch of the world had given her ownership of that role of older sibling. But they were both more aged, a bit more quiet and controlled than their academy days, and she could see the unshaven scruff of her brother as a new addition that lent him an older air. It unsettled her only in that it spoke too much of changed days.
Ozpin eyed him curiously. Raven spoke next and her voice was deep and soft. “How can we have sight?”
Their old Headmaster, now an ally and friend, stepped forward. He drew out his cane and held it before him. “Are you certain?” It was a question posed almost child-like and it caught Raven off guard. Sure? She couldn’t imagine what Ozpin was asking of them but when he drew his hand palm up to face them she saw the faintest shimmer of light emerge from his skin. It danced like a silver wake of snow until what materialized in it was a single black feather. She heard Qrow give a silent gasp as she stepped back.
“Take my hand.” Ozpin said softly.
Neither of the twins moved for a moment. Raven stared at the feather limned with silver. It had appeared from thin air, like magic. Her eyes were wide as she studied it and she flicked them to Ozpin’s.
“How did you do that?”
Ozpin only kept his extended hand up, feather dancing within. He did not answer her but his expression—conflicted, grave—was also sad. “I’m asking you to trust me, Ms. Branwen.”
Trust. Trust was not something Raven easily gave. She had given it to Ozpin, long ago, and that should be enough to cover his asking now. She swallowed her hesitation. He had taken them from nothing, gave them something, and she could not coat that in anything but trust. She bit back her doubt.
Qrow stepped forward first.
He reached out and took Ozpin’s hand. The silver light shot out and she watched in silent awe as it wrapped around her brother like ephemeral ribbon. He watched it too, red eyes wide, as the feather Ozpin held seemed to flow into the stream of it, settling on her brother like a strange second skin that faded as soon as Ozpin let him go. The Headmaster stepped back, smiling.
“How do you feel?” He asked with some of that familiar levity. Qrow glanced around at his arms as if seeing them for the first time.
“I…I don’t know…” He drew an arm out and clenched it tightly into a fist.
Ozpin’s light eyes seemed to glow with a new luster. “Why did they name you Qrow, Mr. Branwen?”
Focus narrowed Qrow’s eyes. “My semblance.” He said quietly. It was a fact he did not instill with emotion. Everyone in this room had already beaten that demon with him.
“Well now you have a better reason.”
Qrow looked up at him as Ozpin held his hand out. Her brother was suddenly not there. He was gone. She stifled a gasp, stepping forward, her hand on Omen, when she saw the small black bird on the ground, a crown of feathers on its head. It cawed lightly and with what she could only assume was surprise.
Fasciation replaced her fear. She bent towards it. “Qrow?”
The bird turned at the sound. Ozpin smiled and, with a small laugh, said. “You can change at will, Qrow, and without any lasting effects. This if your gift and your burden both.”
A second later her brother sat on the ground, chest moving with rapid breaths, hands splayed out behind him. He moved to brush one through his hair. “What in the…how is…?” He looked up at Ozpin as Raven bent to his side. “You’re telling me I can fly?”
“However far you want.” Ozpin smiled. Qrow shot up from the ground, startling Raven, and she nearly fell back before rising to brush herself off, a glare aimed at her brother’s back. She rescinded her last thought. Age hadn’t done that much to him. Even at twenty-two he still acted like he was in school. Raven stepped forward next but it was with a question.
“How did you do that?” She asked.
Ozpin held his hand out again, the thread of silver and the black feather recreating themselves in the exact image from before.
“Salem has her powers, I have mine.” Ozpin managed. “It’s the last bit I retained from my last lives. Things linger, Raven, in ways we do not expect them too. I am giving you both this but it will never be able to be gifted to anyone else.” She studied his hand and the smile behind it, the slickness of the feather and the glimmer of the silver. Not just sight. This went far beyond mere seeing. She thought on his words. He was trusting her with something. A strange, uncertain hope filtered through her. Her red eyes met his and she took his hand with a new strength. The light that flowed around her was gentle, warm, and strange.
“Why did they name you Raven, Ms. Branwen?”
She felt a shift in her she could not pinpoint, something primal storming her veins. “They didn’t.” She said, firm. “I gave my name to myself.”