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Chapter Text

– Mistral -

The world was cold. Well, chill was a more apt word for it as the sleeping form in a crib rustled to get deeper under his covers. That was, until the infant shot upward with a start, breathing heavily with a cold sheen of sweat clinging to his chubby body.

What? The child blinked against the dark as he held his hands in front of his face, slowly opening and closing them. The baby had blue eyes, the color of ice-covered slate with pale skin and a tuft of soft blonde hair on his head. The baby reached over and grabbed a piece of skin on his arm and pinched it before wincing at the action. Okay. Not a dream. How did this–

The child paused and sucked in a sharp breath as memory poured back. Fire. Burning. Legs crushed. Head on a steering wheel. Phone shattered in the charging port. Pain. So much pain. Blood on his hands and face. Sirens. Darkness. 

The child put a hand against his face, feeling the damp and cold sweat once more. I died. Car crash from what I remember. He frowned and looked at his hands. Reincarnation? Damn. That’s annoying. The child looked around the room. It was fairly standard for a baby’s room. A window let the bright moonlight cascade on the dark floor. There was a starry nightlight projecting on the ceiling with several constellations. The baby looked at it for any constellation he could recall, but none were familiar. I remember Dad was really into astronomy and board games, too. He frowned again. No Big Dipper, Scorpio, Pisces, or anything. Must be a crappy kid’s toy then.

Further examination of the room netted only a few details. Color was absent minus the twinkling blue lights on the ceiling. Don’t they know that blue light messes up the circadian rhythm? That’s elementary-level science. They should’ve gone for yellow or red for the lights, but I guess that doesn’t match the aesthetic. 

There was a poster on the wall, but again, it was too dark to really tell what any of it said. The child could see alphabet blocks on the floor, scattered about wherever, and a shelf with a variety of books. At least there’s some reading material. The baby squinted to see if he could see any of the titles, perhaps even recognize them. I was a literature major, though I doubt there’ll be any Lord Byron, Homer, Yeats, or Shakespeare here. With any luck, I’ll at least be able to read Hans Christian Anderson and complain to myself about his blatant message that children should obey their parents. He chuckled but it sounded more like a gurgle. I guess my instincts as a wannabe film critique haven’t diminished since I died. 

The baby blinked. Huh. I’m taking this better than I’d expect. He shook his head. Maybe I’m still in shock. Regardless, I doubt I can even discuss with people anything about my past life. That’s hard to prove, and, being a baby, I’ll just get blown off as having an overactive imagination. 

The child returned to squinting at the bookshelf, trying to recognize any of the stories. What even are these books? “The Warrior in the Woods?” “The Gift of the Moon?” What even are these stories? I mean, sure, I don’t know every single one, but I feel I’d at least know some of these–

His eyes stopped on a set of books closest to him. “The Grimm Child,” “The Story of the Four Seasons,” “The Girl in the Tower,” and The Girl Who Fell Through the World . 

Oh no. The child suddenly and shakily got to his feet, leaning close against the cradle's bars and twisting his head to look out the window. Outside, he could see a looming shape in the sky as well as a bustling city built into the walls of the rocky mountains and what looked to be either a lake or sea down below. But the unfamiliar terrain was not what the child lingered his attention on. Instead, he watched in horror as the distant satellite of the planet traversed the sky: a moon many times closer than Earth’s Luna and one that was shattered across the night sky creating a stained-glass window of only white and silver. 

I’m on Remnant .

The next morning, the child stayed in bed, pondering everything that he could think of. Remnant. That was the planet that Internet show RWBY was based in. He frowned. He had watched all of the show despite it not being really in his alley of stories. Most of the time, he enjoyed reading or watching about grand plots of politics or heroes using cunning and words to outmaneuver their opponents. However, during the pandemic period, the eighteen-year-old high school student subsequently ran out of books in his retinue, and the library was closed until further notice. His friend put him and his brother on the show, and the two watched it out of sheer desperation for any content to break the monotony of a quarantine lockdown world. 

And I remember how many plotholes it had.  

The door to the room opened and the child sat on his bed, patiently waiting. An ancient woman entered the room with gray hair turning white at the roots and tan skin riddled with deep creases of age. She wore a maroon and white dress that gave the child several indications of it being a uniform. Is she a grandparent? Maid? Caretaker? The last ideas left a bitter taste in his mouth. He found himself recalling how much more the social elite in the four kingdoms postured themselves no matter where they are from. And, judging from the architecture outside, I suspect I’m in Mistral. Wonderful. Perhaps my family has connections to the mafia.

“Oh! Hello, little one,” the old woman smiled. “You’re not up so early normally.” She shuffled over to crib, starting to make cooing sounds and a baby voice. “Did you sleep well? Do you want out?”

The baby frowned but nodded his head. His eyes widened when he realized the look of shock on the old woman’s face. Shit, shit, shit! Babies aren’t supposed to respond as easily like that, you dunce! God, you can’t even be two years old! The child could hear his heart pounding hard in his chest.

The old woman gasped then made an almost crying sound as she laughed gleefully. “Oh! You’re such a smart baby boy, Scotty!” She suddenly scooped up the child, now realizing his name was probably Scott, and held him tight to her chest. “There, there, you must’ve not slept well last night if you’re up this early. Nana Tasha has you.”

Scott opened his mouth and tried to speak, “T-thank y-you.”

Nana Tasha squealed with delight. “YOUR FIRST WORDS! Oh my, we must bring you to your parents! They’ll be so excited!”

Tasha dashed through the house, something which Scott noted had many more corridors than he was expecting. Being someone who lived in an apartment for his entire four years in college, he was beginning to realize that, yes, the family he was born to here was of the wealthy establishment. Let’s hope that wealth includes morality as well. 

The caretaker came to a halt before a pair of large, red, and gold doors as she straightened herself out. She took a deep breath and opened them with a smile. Scott’s eyes widened at the sheer size of the room, though he knew his perspective was skewed being less than two feet tall. From what he could determine, the high ceilings were about three to five meters tall, each wall decorated with dozens of paintings and an incredibly ornate glass and gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. They really like their gold. 

The room itself reminded Scott of those British TV shows his old parents watched, the table in the center of the room clearly capable of sitting at least a dozen people, perhaps more, but it currently only served two. The first was a man sitting at the head of the table with dark brown hair elegantly speckled with strands of gray. He had a short beard with a twirled mustache with a matching color to his hair, something Scott internally thought was comical were it not for the piercing stare of the man’s hazel eyes. They lacked any amusement. He wore a red and gold turncoat with a gold watch on his left hand. 

Ah, damn, did I get saddled with the Mistrali equivalent of Jacques? 

A woman sat to his right and had long, curled, blonde hair with sharp blue eyes wearing a slim red and gold dress that looked to be a strange cross of Terran eastern and western styles. She had a perfect face, not a single spec of a freckle or blemish, so Scott assumed there was some makeup involved, but being a single college student, former single college student, that was a facet of society he had no knowledge of.

“Tasha,” the man said, his expression stony. “I was not expecting you to be interrupting our breakfast. What could possibly be so important?”

“My apologies, Mister Ishvaltar,” the old woman said with a curtsey. “I was busy taking care of little Scott here when I found him awake and aware and he even said his first words!”

The man stood, his expression still frozen, as he approached the two. “What were they?”

“Thank you.” The old woman smiled. “He thanked me for taking him out of his crib. He even nodded when I asked him if he wanted to be taken out of his crib!”

The man stared at Scott. Normally, he wouldn’t be as intimidated by someone watching him like this. Three years of customer service in a restaurant tended to make you nigh impervious to the death glares and contorted screaming faces of angry customers when their salad wasn’t chopped or their fries weren’t crispy enough. However, being trapped in the body of a baby with a man, presumably his father, staring at you like a zoo exhibit had a certain effect of anxiety. Scott’s underdeveloped brain sent warnings and made him feel tempted to cry, but his years of experience tempered him to instead raise his hand and wave at the man.

“Interesting,” he whispered. “I suppose this one isn’t as dull as we’d were expecting.”

“Issac?” The woman rose from the table and came to approach. 

“Can you understand me?” Issac Ishvaltar asked.

Scott didn’t know how to answer that question. Yes, he can understand what the adults were saying. However, being that, from the subtext he was gathering, Scott was supposed to have…lacking mental faculties, any sudden change in his personality could promote strange reactions in the people around him.

Then again, trying to pretend to be a baby and not having any way to express himself would likely drive the boy insane.

So, Scott firmly nodded.

“Very interesting.” Issac (Father? Definitely not Dad) stroked his beard. “You did well to bring this to our attention, Tasha. I was beginning to think our son, our heir , was going to be a retarded invalid. I am pleased to know that is not the case.”

Scott cringed internally. Fucking hell. The dude doesn’t pull his punches. Not really a good first impression .

“Issac, darling, there’s no need for such language in front of our son,” the woman, Mother presumably, said as she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “This is a blessing to us. Let’s treat it as such.”

“Hmph. Indeed, Sylah, indeed.” Issac turned and returned to his seat at the table as Tasha placed Scott in a booster seat and tried to feed him. “I suppose our luck is beginning to turn this year. Already, we’ve secured a contract to build new training equipment for Haven and we are winning the bid for selling our new line of bullheads to the Mistral government just in time for the 32nd Vytal Festival.”

Scott’s head turned to his father. 32nd Vytal Festival. That’s held, what, every two years, right? I’m around one year old and… Scott’s face turned slightly pale but he hid it. Sixteen years from now, it’ll be held at Beacon in Vale. Shit, shit, shit. That’s when Beacon falls!

“And having an heir that’s the same age as the Schnee’s newest daughter as well?” Issac chuckled. It was a rich sound, but also sterile, practiced. “Yes, I do believe things are looking up for us.”

Weiss. Scott stopped really paying attention to the conversation and took the spoon Tasha was going to feed him with and began eating for himself. He didn’t even care about the squeals of delight from his caretaker, nor the now excited talks from his new parents. No. Scott had only one thought on his mind.

By the time I’m nineteen, Salem will have taken Remnant to its knees.

Chapter Text

– Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion –

It had been several days after Scott awoke in Remnant, and several things were abundantly clear. The first was that being trapped in a toddler's body with its shaky motor control, lack of proper teeth, and having no control whatsoever with your bowels was, in the simplest terms, a nightmare. He felt tired all the time from doing the simplest of movements, and he knew that was mainly because his energy was focused entirely on the part of the body working overtime—his brain—and for good reason. The moment Scott figured out what was happening, he went back to an old saying from Rome: Carpe Diem, seize the day. 

Yes, eighteen years was a long time for someone technically only a year old, but it was nothing compared to the two ancient forces eternally locked in a war set upon Remnant by the most petty gods he'd ever learned about, and Scott studied mythology for God's sake! Well, gods' sake. Regardless, Ozma and Salem were masters at working in the shadows with centuries if not millennia under their belts. And Scott? He was just some college kid trapped in a baby’s body. He had information, yes, maybe even more information than Lionheart, Ironwood, and Goodwitch had, but that meant nothing if it couldn't be applied. 

This led to Scott trying to get his hands on a computer of some sort. At first, he thought himself fortunate as, being the son of a technology company mogul who didn't seem to really care about raising his son, Scott had access to a state-of-the-art Scroll tablet, an I.T. design. The problem? The thing was laced with so many parental controls and other systems Scott deemed malware that it was practically useless. Try to look up who the current headmaster of Haven was? Blocked, but he figured it was probably Lionheart. Learn anything about Atlas? Blocked except for a clean slate web page about Atlas being the kingdom of the future and an info page about the SDC. Nothing on the Great War, nothing on the Faunus Rights Revolution. Blocked, blocked, blocked, all the while, Scott's toddler hands and body ached from exhaustion just for typing out the damn questions!

So he abandoned technology, unless he could find out what Tasha's scroll password was, and opted for the old-fashioned way: books. Again, he thought himself lucky because his new parents had an extensive collection of books in an at-home library. Scott found himself rather nostalgic from that, the smell of the yellowing pages filling his nose gave him time to pause and partially relax after, yet again, having to fight his own body on every level, mostly in the form of being forced to take yet another nap to rest. But, he hit another snag: height and mass. The library, indeed, was organized well and had books that could certainly help him to research his next plan of attack, but none of the books on history, huntsman, aura, semblances, or anything he had plans to work with were within reach, and the books that were in his reach were massive tomes that his tiny arms could not lift. 

He was able to get Tasha to help on one thing as, when she found him in the library, Scott was able to point to a book about Remnant’s history, surprisingly authored by one Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck, and she grabbed it for him and took it to his room, likely just to humor the child. But even accomplishing that task was arduous as Scott’s mouth could not speak well. The muscles weren’t developed enough and he could barely annunciate, so, while he was thankfully able to read, talking was out of the game for the foreseeable future.

The second important aspect he learned was, this world, for all its culture, color, and goofiness that the early volumes implied everything was, Remnant was as close to a dystopian planet as one could get without crossing the threshold into post-apocalyptic. Now, he knew this already, at least in part for knowing how concentrated the planet’s population was in their super cities, but getting his hands on actual history and not vague mentions on a TV show?

“Shit,” Scott whispered as he read the book in the moonlight, long after everyone was asleep. He could climb out of the crib now, having done it for several nights, and sat in a corner of the room where the baby monitor was not facing him so he wouldn’t wake Tasha. 

Scott also took this time to practice reading out loud and get past that lack of vocal control, even if it seemed out of place. His eyes drifted over the pages, certainly not meant for someone his age, but his true age made it easy to decipher. “Remnant has experienced several times where humanity and faunus-kind,” Scott grunted, “just call them sapients, Bart.” He shook his head. “were nearly wiped off the face of the planet, either from sudden spikes in Grimm activity, or what we now refer to as Grimmtides , or through outbreaks of domestic born conflicts. The Great War was one such and was only ended by the King of Vale leading a united front of Vale and Vacuo against Mantle and Mistral and took advantage of a sudden sandstorm to wipe out the opposing armies.”

Scott snorted. “Yeah, not like he used the maidens and magic. Fucking hell. Ozma, you really wormed your way into these things.”

Frankly, Scott was surprised people even existed at this point. Every time there was a sudden conflict or Grimmtide, he was pretty sure Salem had something to involve in it. “It’s like a weird rule of engagement.” The toddler frowned. “But that’s stupid. It puts the pace of the war entirely in her court. Damnit, Ozma, that’s not how you win, especially if she’s immortal, especially if you gut everyone’s militaries. Atlas was one of the aggressors, so why did they not get rid of their army? I mean, Japan still has the JSDF instead of a standing army! Why doesn’t Vale or Vacuo have one?”

Internally, he knew it partially had to deal with logistics, but that was a moot point when these kingdoms had them before and only got rid of them as terms for the end of the Great War, putting the pressure on defending the people from Grimm solely on Huntsmen and Huntresses. 

“I have a lot more reading to do.”

Problems kept creeping up on the boy, much to his increasing annoyance, and definitely things that, whoever created the rules for reincarnation, didn’t explain to him. This time, it was homesickness. After eight days of frantically trying to come up with a plan, he found himself quickly running out of steam, and in those moments where he finally let himself rest, the dull ache, usually masked with the adrenaline of his situation, made deep roots in his psyche and drank full the grief and loss.

I'm never going home , he thought, laying on his back and staring at the gilded and gaudy ceiling in the dead of night. Never working in that loud restaurant. Never tasting whatever new concoction my brother discovered in culinary school. Never cringing and trying to shy away when Mom breaks out into song. Never staring out at the night through Dad's telescope.

Each realization drove a spike into his chest, and, for the first time, he let himself cry. It was a quiet one, not the kind that babies and toddlers do when they need help or attention. No, this was the silent weeping of mourning, and Scott wasn't in the slightest bit embarrassed about it. Issac and Sylah weren't his parents. They were strangers, bitter, parasitic strangers. There wasn't any warmth there, and, while she was kind, Scott had the feeling that Tasha wasn't all quite there. The old maid had been Issac's maid when he was a child, too, and she'd been assigned to take care of Scott before he'd remembered everything. 

She's forgetful. Too forgetful. It's like her mental faculties are degrading. Dementia? Maybe? Scott took a deep breath and wiped away his tears. I won't forget my old family. I refuse to. I will dedicate a part of myself to each of them. He didn't really know how he was going to do that, but he figured he would come up with something down the line.

Why is this so much more difficult than it needs to be?  

Scott was lying on the floor with an open notebook that Tasha had gotten him and the boy was in the process of trying to copy down the lyrics of songs or poems from his old world into the book with a black crayon. Sure, he had to grip it with his full hand which made it difficult to do fine motor control, but that wasn’t what felt off. The crayon was in his right hand, but everything just felt awkward, wrong.

I’m right-handed, so this shouldn’t be an issue at all. Hell, I wrote all my notes in college with my right hand in pen! 

The boy looked up at his caretaker currently dozing in a rocker chair in the corner of the room. Today was, yet again, another day where he rarely saw anything of Sylah or Issac. While he still didn’t like them and he was significantly more independent than anyone of his age demographic, the fact is, he shouldn’t be a twenty-two-year-old shoved in a toddler’s body to take care of himself. That was literally the job of a parent! The times that he was with the “surrogates” were always so damn artificial, to the point he felt like an extra in an episode of some Downton Abbey ripoff. The two only talked about business and would glance at each other to the point that Scott was starting to think that their marriage could’ve been an arranged one. Obviously, there was no love there. 

The toddler drummed his fingers on the book for a short while until he stared at his hand. He was drumming with his left hand. Huh. I usually do that with my right hand. What if I… He swapped the crayon to his left hand and started to write the lyrics again, specifically “Twilight” by ELO. It felt…easier. It was not quite natural, but it was still smoother than with his right hand, like an itching in his brain that it was wrong, but his body rolled with it easily. 

Scott groaned. So, what, my brain is right-side dominant but my body is left-dominant? God…s. Gods, that’s such a stupid caveat. He paused, tilting his head in thought. Well, maybe I can get to be ambidextrous. If I go the huntsman route for this whole shindig, that may be useful . 

That was something he was also having to think about. Most people in his situation would try to become huntsmen or huntresses purely because…well, that was where the plot happened in the show. Scott had to admit that the Aura, Semblances, and flashy combat were appealing, who wouldn’t want custom superpowers, but he was also quite sure that his greatest asset at the moment was his mind. A mind currently trapped in a bumbling child, but also an heir for a potentially influential corporation down the road that can help bolster Remant with techs like CCT or Atlas Knight firewalls, Scroll security, and who knows what else. Not every problem has to be solved with a giant sniper scythe, grenade launcher hammer, or boomerang rifle. I could end up supporting Remnant instead of being on the front lines. I mean, I’m not a hero, I’m just some college kid. 

Scott pulled out his second notebook, something he also got from Tasha when her dementia got the better of her and she forgot she’d already given him a notebook. He felt bad about that, taking advantage of an elderly woman who clearly needed a caretaker herself, but he needed these tools now . Memory wasn’t a guaranteed way of holding information. It degrades over time, even if a person doesn’t have some mental condition like poor Tasha. People can accidentally twist their memories if they intentionally tell a wrong version of a story over and over, fooling their brains into thinking the false telling was real . The whole “lie enough to yourself until you believe it” was a real phenomenon and an incredibly dangerous one for Scott.

But, writing down notes on a physical object can vastly increase your chances of remembering the correct information at a later date. So, he was taking the painstakingly long task of writing everything he possibly could about the TV Show and referring to them later.

Every bit of information can be a potential opportunity for something different to happen. He frowned, trying to think. I can’t remember really anything about the Ishvaltar family, so I have to assume that they were just a bunch of background characters that never got screen time. Hell, barely any of Mistral’s capital showed up. How annoying.

He looked down at the page. At the top, it was labeled “Mistral” and only a handful of topics were on it, each with a significant amount of empty space for him to add more information. Haven was the first with a line drawn to “Leonardo Lionheart?” and another to “Spring Maiden→Jinn.” Below that was the “Branwen Tribe” with lines connecting to Raven, Qrow, STRQ, and Yang. Connecting to Raven was “Spring Maiden?” 

There’s no guarantee that Raven will be the Spring Maiden right now. I mean, I doubt there’s anything I can do to stop her from eventually becoming the Maiden anyway. Not like an unarmed toddler can challenge her for the position of Branwen Chief. He shivered. Also not like I want to be leading a bunch of murderhobos.

Tasha shifted in her chair and Scott slammed the book shut, his eyes wide and watching the elderly woman for a long time as she smacked her lips and returned to snoring. I can’t let anyone see this information. Yes, it looks like a bunch of inane rambling of a child, but that doesn’t mean it won’t get the attention of Salem or Ozma. Hell, if someone posted it online and it gets flagged by Watts? Game fucking over.  

Scott sighed quietly as he made slight vocalizations to practice his voice. Time. “T-thime.” Time . “Thime.” Time. “Time.” T sounds are still difficult. “Doe. Doe, ray, mi. Doe, ray, mi, fa, so. Doe, ray, me, fa, so, la, thi–” Shit. “ Ti , doe. Doe, ti , la, so, fa, me, ray do.” At least I can do a major scale. Sorta.  

The boy started humming to himself. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. “Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future. Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future. I want to fly like an eagle to the sea. Fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me.” He stopped as he drew his lips into a thin line. The lyrics were botched a bit, but I’ll get better with time. He looked down at the page full of songs and poems and cringed at the messy handwriting. And that will get better, too. Gods, I hope I do. I don’t have that much time.

“Those damn Argresian oligarchs!” Issac yelled as he slammed his fist on the dining table. Something Scott was beginning to realize was how Issac Iapetus Ishvaltar III never really held back his anger by the time dinner was being served. And, judging from the lazy and bored expression Sylah Ishvaltar wore, she was just as tired of it. “I swear, when I get a majority on the Mistral council backing me, I will tear them apart.”

“Dear, no need to shout,” Sylah said, stabbing a piece of broccoli on her plate and eating it all while not looking at her husband. “You’re going to startle the boy.”

“Oh, he’s fine ,” Issac dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Look at him. All he’s doing is watching us. It’s not like he’ll add anything to the conversation.”

I would if my age wasn’t able to be easily measured in months. Scott frowned as he put down his spoon, keeping his eyes fixed between the patriarch and matriarch of the Ishvaltar family.

“Scott Opheicus Ishvaltar, you are not done with your food,” Sylah chided, still not deigning to give her son the attention of her eyes. “Pick up your spoon and finish.”

Scott wanted to sigh, oh he really did. It was pea and sweet potato mush, chock-full of useful proteins, carbohydrates, and minerals for a toddler, but just so dreadfully dull to eat! Gods, I can’t wait for my teeth to fully come in. He traced his mouth with his tongue, feeling the majority of his teeth. Technically, he could eat solid food, but for some odd reason, Sylah refused to let him until all his baby teeth were in. 

Without really anything else he could do, Scott picked up his spoon and continued eating.

“It’s those damn Nikoses! Fucking Alexander!” Issac seethed. “They were supposed to deliver the parts we need to get our airships running from Atlas, and they dropped the ball when they lost their cargo at sea!”

Nikoses? Wait, that’s what the Nikos family did before Pyrrha was a champion? Did they own a shipping company? Scott kept his face neutral as he continued to eat. I can’t draw too much attention. I’m not even supposed to understand what’s happening right now.

“Dear, patience and temperance. It was a Grimm attack, after all. There is not much to have done.” She finally raised her eyes to look at her husband. “How much will it set us back?”

Issac took a deep breath and slid his hand through his hair. His jaw was still tight, but he seemed to have recomposed himself a tad. “Eight months.” 

The room fell silent, so silent that Scott could hear Issac’s knuckles creak as he clenched his fists. Sylah had stopped eating and placed her fork and knife on her plate, lightly patting her mouth with a napkin. “Do you wish me to explore alternative routes?”

Issac’s eyes flared with anger. “Yes. Contact your sister. If we cannot get those parts, we lose that contract and an easy nine hundred million lien.”

Scott flicked his eyes between the two adults. Subtext there. This is Mistral, after all. What was it Qrow said it was in the show? Provides high-class art and the most expansive black market in the world. And apparently, we’re related. He sighed internally. Wonderful.

“Getting the parts from Sister will be expensive, however,” Sylah said as she took a sip from her glass of wine. “We will be reimbursed for our lost cargo, correct?”

“Every last lien of it,” Issac nodded and smiled cruelly. “The insurance companies and the Nikoses don’t want to be on our bad side, after all.”

Sylah nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. Shall we retire to our drawing room and discuss more? I’m sure little Scott here is feeling tired and wants to rest. He’ll be meeting family soon, and I’m sure my nieces will be quite the handful.”

And I’m getting stuck with the Mistrali underworld. Gods this is terrible. Scott let himself be picked up by Tasha as she carried him back to his room. I think I’ll have to focus on getting some amount of huntsman training. Scott tilted his head in thought. Huh. Roman was, well, will be in the criminal underworld. Maybe this can work for me in a way. Get him to work with me and bolster Vale’s underground to prevent Cinder from getting a foothold there. A pleasant smile formed on the boy’s face. 

Perhaps this is an opportunity worth exploring.

Chapter Text

– Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion –

Scott wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting when meeting his extended family. Images of Yakuza or a group like in Gangs of New York or The Godfather flashed through his head, but he had to quickly bite down on those thoughts if only not to start hyperventilating. 

I didn't even do anything illegal back on Earth! I waited until I was of legal age to drink and was too nervous to even shoplift, and now I'm part of a crime family in another world? I hate the Brothers. Somehow, this is some strange, sick irony they've put on me.

“Oh! You look so adorable!” Tasha said as she clapped her hands together. “The girls are simply going to love you!”

Scott scowled as his arms were stuck out near perpendicular in the stiff maroon suit with gold trim. The longer he was in this house, the more he was learning to despise the color gold.

“What's the matter, baby?” Tasha cooed as she picked Scott up. “You should be excited! Your cousins are simply wonderful!”

Wonderful to you when you probably forget their bad behavior by the end of the week. He sighed internally. No. I can't be upset at her. Tasha has done nothing but be kind and she's doing her . best despite everything. He tried to move his arms but felt the suit tug them back into place. 

“I fweel like a scwarecwow.” Scott's scowl deepened as he licked his lips. Three weeks of constant practice and he still was barely understandable. However, he'd rather focus on the irritation of both that and his uncomfortable attire than on the fact he was still related to a crime family.

And I'm thinking about it again. Good effin’ job, Scotto. 

“You'll be fine. Are you nervous about meeting the girls?” Tasha sounded concerned, her lined face drawn into a frown and her brows furrowed.

“A bit,” Scott said quietly. No need to really lie on that part. She's just worried about me . Over the past three weeks, Scott learned that Tasha really was his only ally here. She, despite her limitations, genuinely loved him like a grandson. Yes, she fell asleep often and forgot things and treated him like a baby (he was, but it still got annoying), but that was certainly a step up from his so-called parents that he'd only see during meal times. And events I suppose. I guess I'm just a show pony for them .

“Oh, baby, don't worry,” she cooed, “if they ever get too much for you, just tell me and I'll bring you back to your room.”

Scott nodded as the doorbell rang. The boy sucked in a wary breath and let himself be picked up by the old woman. As he was carried through the halls of the mansion, he could hear voices over where the door was. Stanley the butler was holding the door for three people as Sylah and Issac greeted them. The first was clearly Sylah's sister with neck-length blonde hair with lavender eyes and a purple and white dress. She was certainly older than Sylah. Scott's mother was probably between twenty-five and twenty-nine. The newcomer looked closer to her mid-thirties with a rounder face. At the woman’s side stood two girls, probably around eight or nine. They had black hair and green eyes, looking almost exactly the same except for their attire: one dressed in red the other in white.

Oh shit. I’m related to the effing Malachites!?

“Sylah, darling, so good to see you!” Lil’ Miss Malachite said as she hugged her sister. Without the context that Scott had, it could have seemed like a perfectly nice family reunion. The crimelord of the Spiders acted like an over-exuberant aunt instead of the ruthless matriarch of what would become the strongest crime family in Mistral. 

“I am pleased to see you are well, sister,” Sylah hugged back. “I heard about what happened to Zach. I’m so sorry for you and your daughters.”

Miltia and Melanie shifted uncomfortably as they looked to their mother for approval of what to do, at least that was what Scott thought it looked like. Lil’ Miss nodded at them as both the girls turned their eyes to the floor sadly. 

“They’re still in shock about the whole thing,” Lil’ Miss shook her head. “First we found out he was cheating on me, and as soon as I filed for a divorce, he committed suicide.” The woman tutted her tongue. “Truly a shame. You better not do the same to my sister, Issac.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Issac said stiffly. The patriarch turned to see Tasha carrying Scott. “Ah. Tasha. I see you got my son ready. Good. If you would please lead Miltia and Melanie to the playroom.”

The two girls rolled their eyes but complied as they followed Tasha back down the hall to a large room similar to a nursery but with a chest full of generic toys all bought by Tasha for Scott with a blank check from the parents. Scott felt he should be more disappointed in the two for yet another degree of separation of family, but he also had zero expectations left for them. 

Tasha placed him on an alphabet mat and smiled. “I’m going to go bake cookies for you all. You place nice with each other.”

“‘Kay,” the twins said together, barely even looking at the woman as she left, closing the door behind her. 

As soon as Tasha was out of earshot, Melanie huffed loudly. “I can’t believe mom wants us to babysit this brat.” She glared at Scott. “You better not fucking drool on me, you little shit.”

Wow. Not even ten years old and talks like a sailor. He chuckled internally. Not that I’m any better, but at least I have an excuse for why that’s the case.

“Melanie,” Miltia said quietly. “Mom said we had to be nice.”

“I won’t,” Scott said as he struggled to get to his feet. Gotta work on the core muscle groups. I want to be more mobile. He waddled to the bookshelf, glancing at the two girls as they lay on the couch flipping through videos on their scrolls. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank the gods for shitty parenting.  

Scott pushed aside books of fairy tales until he found the one he’d stashed in the playroom. The Complete Guide to Aura and Semblances by Pietro Polendia. Again, he snuck it into Tasha’s cart the last time they were at a bookstore getting fairytale books. In his last life, he would’ve devoured them, analyzing everything to see what exactly the theme of the story was and subsequently mocking the ones that were overly aggressive messages. He snorted, remembering how much the older versions of “Little Red Riding Hood” just victim blamed the girl and that she deserved what happened to her because of her choice of clothing. Ruby would kick your asses. 

He suddenly felt self-conscious and quickly looked at the twins to see if they were watching him, but breathed a sigh of relief when they weren’t. Right. Time to do some homework. Aura is going to be necessary regardless of which route I take to stop Salem, even if it’s ultimately useless against Tyrian. He frowned. Guess I’ll have to research body armor, too. The moment Salem realizes there’s another player on the board, he’ll be sent after me. 

Scott opened the book to one of the chapters, skimming through it for useful information. Okay. All things with a soul have aura but not all actually learn to use it. The only things that don’t have a soul are Grimm. Makes sense. That’s why we can cleave through them so easily with the right training. He flipped a page. Animals have an aura. Didn’t Zwei have his unlocked? I think so. He blinked as he read a paragraph. Huh. There’s the Iron Grove Tree in Vacuo that has its aura unlocked. Been alive for hundreds of years at Shade Academy. Neat.

His eyes traced across the page more until he found the spot he was looking for. 

Aura is able to be unlocked in any person under select circumstances. The person can have it unlocked for them by another Aura User after pouring a proportional amount of Aura into the locked Aura. There is no complete measurable way to determine how much a person’s aura total will be nor how much aura is needed to fuel the activation of a locked aura. However, the general rule is the sixty-hundred rule, meaning that, in order to activate someone’s aura, the aura user has to match roughly sixty percent of the locked aura’s total, draining from the user and into the locked soul.

Scott tilted his head in thought. Jaune’s aura is vast compared to most people. How much did Pyrrha give him to unlock his aura mid-initiation? No wonder she struggled against the Deathstalker. She was running on fumes! Scott kept reading.

This is not the only way Aura can be unlocked in a person. There are well-documented cases where people with strong wills can forcibly cause their aura to activate, either through periods of long meditation and discipline or in sudden stressful events. Many times during Grimm attacks, people being mauled to death suddenly unlock their auras from the stress and will to live, but ultimately are doomed to die as their aura only extends their suffering and attracts more Grimm. Unskilled Aura users are some of the most dangerous people a frontier town can have as Aura, pointedly, does not stop the user from feeling pain or heat, merely preventing the damage from happening to the body while burning off Aura energy in the meantime.

In addition to this, Aura is not a limitless supply of energy. It can recharge, yes, but that recharge process happens when the body burns excess chemical energy to be converted into Aura. This means that, while an average man requires to consumes 2,000-3,000kcal a day and a woman requires 1,600-2,400kcal, an active Huntsman or Huntress with regular use of their Aura or semblance will need to consume two to three times the amount a normal person needs. This is not including outliers such as those with larger than average Auras or those with semblances that can recharge themselves through some alternative means.

So it’s a biological process as well as a spiritual one? Scott clicked his tongue as he re-read the paragraph. I guess the laws of Thermodynamics still apply here. Energy and Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred from one state to another—

“Whatcha reading?”

Scott jumped as he slammed the book shut, nearly falling over. His stormy eyes flicked around the room until he focused on the source of the voice. Miltia Malachite sat next to him watching him with her vibrant green eyes. There was a surprising innocence to them, Scott noticed, with an edge of sadness. 

This isn’t the girl at Junior’s yet. She hasn’t been trained to be an assassin. He breathed a soft sigh, as he turned the book over to reveal the cover. “Aura.”

Miltia glanced at the book and gently took it out of his hands. Scott cringed as he realized, not for the first time, that the book in question was not really something a child his age could or should read. It was a college-level research book. 

The girl in red flipped through the pages as her brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. “You,” she began, pausing for a while as she read and re-read a page. “You can read this? Understand it?”

Uh. Not good. Scott froze staring at the would-be gangster. Do I play dumb? I could, but that could draw more suspicion to me because she would know that I was lying. Why would I be lying about being able to read unless I had something greater to hide?

Scott blinked, coming to a consensus. “Y-yea. I read it.”

Milita just stared at him for a while, her face flipping through expressions of shock, confusion, sadness, and…pride? “Melanie! Come over here!”

“What? Why?” The girl in white complained as she slid off the couch. “Did the snotty brat shit his britches?”

Very classy . 

“No, look at this,” Milita said, holding the tome of a book. “He was reading it. Some of the big words went over my head, but he understands it!”

“So? He can read?”

“He’s barely over a year old!” Milita stressed. “And this is for, like, adults!”

This is turning into a bigger deal than I was expecting.

“And?” Melanie crossed her arms. “He’s probably had tutors, Miltia. You know how Aunt Sylah is. She needs to be the best at whatever she’s doing. That’s why she left Spider!”

“Keep your voice down!” Miltia hissed.

“What? No one cares here. I know. You know. Snotty here will know. We’re all criminals, and Mistral is our bitch.” Melanie put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side with a defiant look. 

Ooookay. Melanie is arrogant. Noted.

Miltia’s head fell as she put the book down, drawing her knees into her chest. “It’s not. It’s Mom’s . She can do whatever she wants, even get rid of Dad.” She started sniffling. “W-what if we mess us and-and she gets rid of us?”

Instantly, Melanie’s haughty demeanor evaporated as she dropped to her knees and hugged Miltia. “No, no, no. She won’t do that. She loves us. You know that.”

“She loved Dad, too…”

Scott winced as he felt like this was a conversation he shouldn’t really be present for. Part of his brain kept sending sirens not to get close to these two girls. They’re gangsters! Yang fights them later in a mafia club! They become trained assassins to kill Roman! Then Scott gritted his teeth. Not yet. Right now, they are a couple of girls with an unstable and unsafe home life. How many times have they been under threat of kidnapping because of their effing mother? They’re only nine!

The boy gulped as he resolved himself and hugged Miltia. The girl in red stopped crying and stared at him with a bewildered gaze. She dwarfed Scott by no small margin, making the action feel more awkward than Scott intended, at least for him. 

But for Miltia, she wasn’t used to feeling affection from anyone besides her mother and sister. The Spiders wouldn’t be caught dead within ten meters of her, lest they wanted to draw Lil’ Miss Malachite’s scorching ire. Her friends at school weren’t truly friends. They were bottomfeeders trying to ride the coattails of Miltia and Melanie’s popularity. The fact this scared child, whom she admittedly thought was going to be a huge annoyance, was unabashedly trying to comfort her was alien. She really only approached him before while he was reading just to play a prank on him, the same as she would’ve done to the class nerd, but nothing about her little cousin felt like she should bother him. And so, with his grubby hands clumsily hugging her arm and staring at her with wide, tenuous eyes, all Miltia really could do in return was freeze and stare.

“Au-auntie won’t do that,” Scott said, his face twisting in frustration before continuing. “She l-loves you both.”

Miltia kept staring at him, then she turned to meet her twin’s eyes, equally as confused as she was. They were quiet for a while before Melanie fought to keep a laugh down, her cheeks puffed up as she snorted. Before long, both Malachite twins burst into heavy laughter and the young Ishvaltar frowned in annoyance. Miltia pulled Scott into a tight hug as she wiped her eyes.

“Look at you! Not even two and already a smooth talker for girls!” Melanie cackled.

“Keep acting this way with us, and you’ll knock us off our feet, little cousin!” Miltia laughed.

Scott twisted in her arms to try and break free, but his feeble body stopped him from escaping. Air! Air! He tried to breath and was met with a thick floral perfume and started coughing. Gods! Why!? Help me! Someone! Tasha!

“Awww, he’s trying to escape,” Melanie cooed. “Not so fast, buddy. If you’re so intent on cheering us up, you’ve got to help us with something.”

Scott turned to look at the older twin as she raced over to her handbag and she pulled out a small white and pink box. When she opened it, there was a mirror and what looked to be different colored powders. 

“It’s model time! We’re gonna give you a makeover, Scotty!” Melanie grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Miltia! Hold him still!”

The red twin turned Scott around and wrapped her arms across his body. He squirmed for a final, desperate time and then slumped in defeat. Kill me.

“Children!” Tasha called, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven. She waited and waited, and waited. “CHILDREN! COOKIES!” Still no response. “In all my years, no one has ignored my cookies, I swear.” 

The old woman threw off her oven mitt and shuffled down the hallways back to the playroom where she heard giggling behind the door. Tasha creaked the door open to see the two girls sitting on the floor, one with a makeup rack facing the door and the other with her back at the door. They must be playing with the makeup, how adorable!

Tasha pushed the door open all the way. “Kids, the cookies are ready–”

As Miltia and Melanie turned to face the door, Tasha caught sight of the toddler in the red twin’s arms. His face was covered in white foundation with black eyeliner and cyan makeup around his eyes and red lipstick. Scott had a face of utter disdain, and the old woman swore she heard him make a resigned sigh.

She struggled not to laugh. “What are you girls doing?”

Melanie stood. “We are fucking artistes! Behold our creation!”

“Language!” Tasha chided but chuckled all the same. “So, you were having fun?”

Miltia nodded. “We were feeling bad about Dad, but Scott here helped cheer us up.”

“Awww, and Scotty, how do you feel?”

The baby slowly blinked, keeping his eyes half-lidded with disdain, which gave the woman a distinct feeling he was saying, “What do you think?” Then, the toddler suddenly sneezed, flinging white powder foundation everywhere.

“No!” Melanie yelled. “My fucking canvas!”

“My dress!” Milita shrieked as she plopped the toddler on the ground and scrambled to her feet to stop any foundation from clinging to the fabric.

Scott waddled to the makeup kit and grabbed a makeup remover cloth as the two girls fussed about with each other. He turned to watch the old woman and slowly shrugged. Tasha’s rich laughter echoed through the house.

Chapter Text

– Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion –

Creating a routine was one of the few things that Scott could do in order to have any semblance of control in his life. Yes, he was still at the mercy of the adults and people around him. Toddlers are, by the rules of nature, entirely dependent on their caretakers, and even though he was getting better at some things, motor control was still a work in progress. So, craving any form of autonomy, he created a daily procedure, and after two months, he was satisfied with the result.

In the morning, he would escape the confinements of his crib and make his way to his secret stash of books in his room—notebooks and textbooks he hid in the toy chest. One of the only benefits he was seeing about being reduced to this age was that his capacity for learning had skyrocketed compared to his older body. He vaguely recalled reading something back in university that young children are more easily able to create neuron connections, and the more neuron connections he had, the faster he could process information. It also meant that he was able to research concepts that he struggled to understand back on Earth. 

And a good thing, too , he thought as he rummaged for the book about a beginner’s guide to coding. I absolutely sucked at computer science, and now I have to find a way to combat a damn prodigy? I can’t keep writing everything down on paper all the time, otherwise, I’ll be stuck dragging a backpack full of notebooks, and if it gets stolen, game over. 

He grabbed a notebook and copied some of the strings of code for a few minutes. Before long, he slumped on his back and groaned. Nope, still suck at this. Give me a book to tear apart word by word and I’m good. Give me a page full of code and I’ll tear my effing eyes out. Scott wasn’t really expecting to become an equal to Arthur Watts at manipulating the CCTS and Atlas tech, but what he was hoping at the very least he could do was create contingencies that prevent him from gaining access to his scroll. And, unfortunately, I don’t have a scroll or books on how the CCTS even works. Well, no one said this was going to be easy.

There was a knock on the door and Scott closed and hid the books as he looked at the clock. 7:30. Like clockwork.  

The door opened as Tasha came into the room. “Oh, you rambunctious child, up already? Did you sleep well?”

Scott nodded. “I did. I just woke up early.” My practice is finally paying off!

“That’s nice, dear. I’ve brought your food.” She placed a tray on the table. It had a stack of pancakes piled high with a bottle of Forever Fall Syrup next to it. “Do you know what day it is?”

Scott staggered to his feet and carefully waddled to the small table as he helped serve himself. “Saturday.”

“Mhm, which means your cousins are coming down over!” Tasha clapped her hands together. “Mister and Misses Ishvaltar are going on a business trip with your Auntie, so they will stay with us for the weekend!”

The boy nodded as he tore a piece of pancake with the dull plastic knife. Another part of his routine was that his parents and aunt would always leave on the “trips” which he was completely confident in thinking that they were something involving the Mistrali underworld. It was an almost weekly occurrence at this point. That also means less time for me to research everything, but no matter. He yawned and stretched his arms. I can use a break from this, at least for a little while. 

“They are sleeping here, too?” Scott asked as he wiped with mouth with a napkin.

“Yes, they are, young man!” Tasha smiled warmly. “I’ve heard they’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. Miltia especially.”

That’s because I help them with their homework, Scott thought, humming noncommittal. Melanie hates arithmetic and would rather be on her phone–er, scroll–the entire time. Miltia is similar but always does her homework when asked.

“I’ll behave while they’re here,” Scott said after a while. At the moment, only Tasha and the twins knew about his verbose nature, though that was mainly because his parents were always too busy to spend time with him. Surprisingly, the twins didn’t talk about it or really react to it anymore, not that he was complaining.

“Hey there lil’ cuz!” Melanie said, sweeping Scott into a hug as soon as she entered the mansion. “Did you miss us?”

“You were here last week.”

“Come on, Scotty, did you miss us?” Miltia asked with a pouty expression. 

Scott forced down a sigh. “Yes,” he whispered and found himself not entirely lying about it. For all their bluster, squealing, pranks, and eventual makeover sessions with him, there was a growing fondness he had for the “terrible twins,” a nickname they told him they had from their teachers. It was simply that he had more affection aimed towards him rather than the cold stares and angry shouting he got from his parents. “It’s quiet without you.”

“Isn’t that just sweet?” Lil’ Miss Malachite said before shooing them off. “Go play with your cousin, girls. I’m havin’ to discuss somethin’ with your Aunt and Uncle.”

“‘Kay!” the twins said before rushing off with the toddler hanging limply from Melanie’s arms. They dashed into the open courtyard of the mansion where several trees and trimmed shrubs lined the mansion’s walls and a fountain with a golden bust of Issac Iapetus Ishvaltar the First stood in the center. 

Melanie plopped the boy on the soft grass. “Okay, Scotty, we’ve got something to show you.” She flashed a vicious smile as Miltia did a cartwheel across the grass to stand beside her sister. “Come on, sis! Hit me with it!”

Miltia smirked before thrusting her open hand at Melanie to strike the girl’s throat. Melanie leaned back and spun on one heel as she caught  Miltia in the head with a roundhouse kick, cracking the red twin’s face to the side. Miltia’s head briefly flashed crimson as she grabbed Melanie’s overextended leg and elbowed the white twin in the chest which refracted white light. The twins kept that pose for a moment, both breathing hard before they smiled and started laughing.

“So!” Melanie yelled as she planted her left leg on the ground again. “What ya think?”

Scott tilted his head in thought. “Your Auras are unlocked.”

“Hells yea they are! And they match!” Melanie whooped. She held up her hand for her sister. “Up top!”

Miltia high-fived her sister as she rubbed her jaw. “Took us a while to figure out how to use it, but yea, we’re pretty awesome.” She winced. “Still working on it, really.”

“But we’re gonna be kickass fighters in no time!” Melanie yelled. “No one’s gonna stop us! We’ll make sure!”

Scott frowned as he listened to his cousins' excited chatter. “As Huntresses?” he asked, trying to sound as naive and innocent as possible. He knew the answer already, but the path of an assassin wasn’t something he wanted for his, admittedly abrasive and flamboyant, family.

Melanie and Miltia looked between themselves before laughing. “Don’t be so naive, Scotty,” Melanie chided. “Huntresses die young all the time! And we’re too good-looking to kick the bucket early.”

“Then what will you do?”

Miltia shrugged. “Join the family business. Learn to spy and fight to be assassins for Mom.” She sat on the floor next to Scott. “Mom wants us to be safe, all of us.”

And being an assassin is safer how? Scott thought. He shook his head. “You want to kill people? Why?”

Miltia blinked and looked at her sister for an answer. It was something the red twin always did when she didn’t know what to say. Melanie appeared to be the more forward of the two, acting more like the elder sister rather than an equal. Miltia took a wary breath. “It’s not that we want to kill people, it’s just—”

“People want to kill us,” Melanie said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms. “We know Mom isn’t the most…legal person around, and that attracts trouble. A lot of it.” She raised an eyebrow at Scott, seemingly waiting for a response.

Guess I need to play the part of the annoying kid asking questions. “Why?”

Melanie squinted her eyes in annoyance. “Why what?”

“Why do any of this? Your Mom?” Scott put on a pout. “She hurts people.”

Melanie’s eyes widened as she winced. “I mean, she does, but it’s for a good reason.”

“And that is?” Scott locked his eyes with the white twin who averted her eyes. Guess it’s hard to justify running a mafia ring to a child. It’s all about money, I know that, but perhaps if I can get them to think critically about it and not justify the ends versus the means, I can drag them out of all this. 

“I-I, w-well,” Melanie curled a strand of hair around her finger. After a few moments, she huffed and glared at Scott, though there wasn’t any true anger in her green eyes. “You know, most babies don’t ask hard as fuck questions! They just cry and shit and make a mess!”

Scott shrugged. 

Melanie scoffed, then sat next to the boy. “Mistral is a rough town. I think Vacuo is the one that’s so much worse, plus they’ve got that desert.” She glanced at him. “Mom does what she does to give us a future. It ain’t fucking pretty, I know, but no one’s saying Remnant’s a nice place.” She ruffled his short blonde hair. “Uncle Issac’s doing the same, y’know?”

Scott frowned as he let the twin mess with his hair. It was something that he found she did when she was uncomfortable, just idly twisting her fingers through his, Miltia, or her own hair. “People get hurt.”

“They do. Kinda how the world works, Scotty,” Melanie said.

“But, hurt people suffer. Suffering brings sorr-sadness and anger…then Grimm.” Scott shook his head as he focused on the blinding gold fountain in the courtyard, the bust of his great-grandfather staring coldly into the distance—unyielding and unforgiving. “It’s not right.”

Melanie’s hand froze, and Scott turned to look at the twin who wore a complicated expression, somewhere between shock, sorrow, and fury. He turned to Miltia who turned away not to meet his eyes. Neither of the twins wanted to address the grim reality of why their mother was one of the most feared people in all of Mistral. Greed, either for craving wealth, like, he grimaced, Father, but also power. Control. 

“Tasha read me a story,” Scott said, breaking the silence. Not really, but, hey, literature major. I’ve got stories. “There was a king who found a drunk man on the road. He was worried and decided to bring the man home and treat him as a guest. After the man awoke, he thanked the king for his generosity and said he would grant the king any wish he wanted.” He glanced at the sisters to gauge their reactions, but both just sat watching him. Miltia looked curious while Melanie wore a bored expression, though she looked more annoyed that he stopped. 

“The king was delighted and wanted nothing more than to grow his wealth. ‘I wish that whatever I touch turns to gold!’ he declared, and the man nodded, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. The king rushed to see if it was true and grabbed an apple from his table. The apple turned to solid gold. Next, he touched a chair, and it too became gold.”

“Sounds like one hell of a semblance,” Melanie snorted. “People would kill for something like the.”

Scott frowned and Melanie shrank under his gaze. “He was so excited that he called for a great feast to be held, and all the servants came, presenting all kinds of wonderful food for the king and his family. He waited for everyone to eat first, even grabbing forks and knives to show off his new gift, much to the laughter of his daughters and wife.” Scott’s voice fell grave. “Then he stabbed a slice of pork with his knife and brought it to his lips. He bit down, and his teeth slammed on something solid. The food had turned to gold!”

“He became frantic,” the boy continued. “Anything he tried to eat became gold. Anything he drank turned to gold. Eventually, he broke down crying, begging anyone for help. His wife came over to comfort him and when she hugged him, she too turned to gold.” Scott sucked in a breath. “The king suffered for his final days, isolating himself in a castle of wealth, fearing that he would bring ruin upon anyone else he loved. His greed became his downfall.”

The twins stared at the boy for a long while before Melanie scoffed. “What the fuck kinda story was that?”

Scott shrugged. “A story with a moral.” And a botched version of King Midas at that. “I think it means to be more aware of what you have and that wanting more and more can be its own problem.” He frowned. “Wealth for wealth’s sake only brings problems.” He grinned. “Like dragons and robbers.” 

Melanie burst out laughing. “You really had me going there, Scotty. Stop being such a smarty, ‘kay? You’re gonna freak others out!”

“Yea, well, enough of the heavy stuff,” Miltia said, climbing to her feet. “You have that book about Aura, right? In the playroom?”

Scott nodded.

“Right, well, maybe that can help us out a bit. Mom would be super pissed if any of us got hurt,” she glanced at Scott, “that includes you, too. She may be ruthless, but she’ll do anything for her family. Maybe we should unlock your aura?”

Scott shook his head. “The book said it’d be dangerous for me. It said I need to be eight before doing it.”

“Whaaaat? That’s stupid,” Miltia pouted. “But, fine. Don’t want to get in trouble with Aunt Sylah. She’s the scary one.” She furrowed her brow. “So, why do you read any of that? Not just tryin’ to show off that you’re smarter than us, riiiiight?”

Scott shrugged. “Superpowers are cool.” 

“Yea they are!” Melanie cheered. “And we’re gonna get the best ones! Right, Miltia?”

“You betcha, Mel!”

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. It’s a good thing I just seem like a nerd. Understanding the fundamentals of Aura and Semblances might be able to help me counteract Tyrian’s Semblance. Hopefully. He tilted his head. Actually, if I get into Beacon, I might be able to jumpstart everyone’s Semblances to make them evolve faster. Ruby will definitely benefit from the boost and getting Jaune to unlock his faster would be a huge boon for us. He sighed again. But that’s years from now.  

He lifted his head as he saw the twins start sparring again, Miltia focusing on quick jabs with her hands and Melanie spinning on her heels to kick her sister away. It was almost like a dance in a rave—not that Scott ever went to one in his old life—to watch the two duel, flashes of red and white light flickered as each strike connected between blows. Melanie kept shifting her weight to pivot and twist out of the way of Miltia’s strikes like a monochrome hurricane while the red twin wove in and out of Melanie’s guard, poising her hands to strike her sister’s joints and neck like a serpent. It was one thing to see them fight Yang in the show, completely on the back foot and destined to lose via the plot. But here? When the two girls were fighting for fun and not for any ulterior motive? It was beautiful.

Melanie spun to kick her sister as Miltia blocked the strike with her forearm, leaving the twins breathing heavily with excited smiles. Scott took the quiet moment to clap for the girls’ performance and they turned to him with a dramatic bow.

“Whew! That was a good fight, Mil, but I definitely won that,” Melanie said, flashing a feral grin at her sister.

“What? No! I had more hits on you than you did!” Miltia yelled, placing a hand on her hip with a defiant pout. 

“But were any of them kill shots?” Melanie sang. “And they didn’t hit all that hard. Death by a thousand cuts is sooooo boring.”

“Yea right! That’s how girls like us win against big guys!” 

“Better to just get the quick kill in. Axe kick to the jugular would kill any motherfucker!”

“My jabs’ll leave them paralyzed!”

“Only paralyzed?”

“Fuck you! I won!”

“No, fuck you!” Melanie snarled as she slammed her face into Miltia’s, aura crackling and sparking. “I won!”

Ah, shit. This isn’t going well. Scott slowly tried to back away from the twins as they argued, not wanting to be caught in a category five catfight. 

“Who won, Scotty?” the two girls turned to the boy who looked like a deer in the headlights.

“I bet it was me!” Melanie cheered as she flashed a smile. “I bet he’ll be a leg guy.”

“He’s a toddler you bitch!” Miltia yelled. “And he knows I won! Right?”

“Ehehe…” Scott raised his hands in surrender. The hell do I even do here!? His eyes widened. “Do you have your Aura linked to your scrolls?”

The twins blinked and stared at each other. “Oh yeah.” They quickly scrambled for their purses and yanked their scrolls out. Sixteen years before the events of the show do exhibit in the technology as Scott watched the twins grab fully physical cellphones rather than the holographic tablets of the future.

“Thirty-four percent!” Melanie cried.

“Forty-seven! Fuck yeah! I win!” Miltia danced around Melanie. “Death by a thousand cuts, dear sister!”

“You both did well!” Scott jumped between the two as panic seeped into his heart. Gods, a toddler brokering a peace between pre-teens! What's next, cats and dogs living together? “Please, we don't need to fight like this, okay? We can do something else! I bet you're hungry! We can ask Tasha and the head chef to prepare dinner!” Scott cursed himself as he felt tears come to his eyes, toddler hormones beginning to overpower his reason. “Please?”

The twins stopped yelling as they looked in horror at the toddler, his icy-gray eyes sparkling with pitiful tears. 

“U-uh, shit, don't cry, Scotty,” Melanie said.

Miltia crouched down and hugged the toddler. “We didn't mean it, okay? Mel and I just get competitive. We don't actually hate each other.”

“We're family. We stick together. Always,” Melanie said with a confident smile, but there was something dark in her eyes as she flicked them to Miltia. “But yea, I'm feeling hungry. Let's find some food.” She dusted off her white skirt and started walking away.

“I'll make things up to you, okay, Scotty?” Miltia promised as she hugged Scott tighter. “Your birthday's coming up in a few months. Is there something you want?”

Scott sniffled, both thanking and cursing his tiny body for helping stop the outburst. “I guess. Mom and Dad don't know I can read. A-and I'm afraid they'll show off with me if they know.” He looked at Miltia who nodded as she narrowed her eyes. “But I want to learn! It's just…it's hard to hide all those books…”

“What about a scroll? You have one, right?”

“Kinda.” Scott frowned. “I can't look up anything on it. It's only games and noises.”

Miltia frowned and then gritted her teeth. “Promise you won't tell your parents this?”

Scott nodded. “I promise.”

“Pinky promise.” She held up her finger.

Scott giggled. “Pinky promise. Scott’s promise, too. I keep my promises.” Then, he took her finger with his and shook it.

Miltia took a deep breath. “Your parents kinda scare me.” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Your mom just acts…like a robot sometimes. It's hard to believe Mom and Aunt Sylah are even related, even more so that you are.” 

Scott tilted his head. “Why?” He giggled. “Is it because I’m smart?”

“You are, buddy, you are,” she said fondly as she ruffled his hair. “No, it’s that you’re so… nice . I’m gonna be honest, Scotty, when Mel and I were going to meet you, Mom told us not to cause trouble since you may be…spoiled…different.” She frowned. “I know Mel and I aren’t the most…cuddly of people, we are the top bitches at school for a reason.” She chuckled but looked sad as she did. “Well, Mel is. I’m more her…lackey.” She was quiet for a bit before shaking her head. “But you don’t act anything like your parents. Fuck, you don’t act anything like Mel and I do.”

“And that’s bad?” Scott asked, feeling his stomach drop and his skin grow cold.

“No, no, no, it’s not, trust me, it’s not,” Miltia said, frantically waving her hands. She sighed. “Mel and I are just worried about you, and we’re usually the type that say ‘the only person you can trust is yourself.’ It comes with the territory of growing up in the Mistrali mafia. ‘Cept you. You care about people, and we… I don’t want you to get hurt because of it.”

“You think my parents will hurt me because I’m empathetic?” Scott frowned. I kinda knew Issac and Sylah were rough people in Mistral, especially with Issac’s anger issues.

“Maybe, I don’t really know,” Miltia sighed. “Mom won’t tell us what Aunt Sylah does in Spider, even if she’s not officially part of us anymore, but from what the boys whisper?” She shuddered. “She ties people in the basement of safehouses, either goons that fucked up on the job or rivals from Parrot or something, and experiments on them with poisons, training her assistant, just some kid from what I’ve heard. You can hear the poor bastards scream throughout the night.”

“I-I…” Scott felt his joints lock up. 

Miltia started to panic. “Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry!” She hugged Scott again. “I forget how young you are. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She sighed. “I’ll see about getting you a working scroll, ‘kay?” 

“T-thank you,” Scott whispered. “L-let’s go get some food before Mel eats it all.”

Miltia laughed. “Yea, let’s go.”

Late into the night, the Malachite twins were deep asleep on the living room couch. Melanie demanded the other two earlier in the day that they were going to have a sleepover in the living room, something about the area being better defensible than one of the bedrooms, though Scott wasn’t so sure that was the real reason. The guest bedrooms all had emergency escapes quietly tucked away in case there was a raid or fire. Even his own room had one such secret exit, something he discovered when he tried to pull The Complete Atlas of the World from his bookshelf and a hidden door opened. 

However, there was one thing in the living room that Scott would be money on, which was the true reason for Melanie’s demands—the at-home theatre. As such, they had finished watching four or five movies ranging from sappy love stories that Miltia chose to a Spruce Willis movie that was almost exactly like the James Bond movie Casino Royale with all the action, violence, and torture. Scott tuned out most of them, especially when Melanie put on a horror movie, not that he hated horror, quite the opposite. It was mainly that it was so dull compared to movies he’d seen on Earth, to the point that he felt it was more opportune to read the Aura textbook again. Slasher flicks never really appealed to him, anyway.

He was still reading, leaning against a window to press his face against the cool glass with the moon illuminating the text.

Aura, like all forms of energy, undergoes the same principles of entropy as observed within heat, light, and electricity. This means that Aura, over time, will transform from an orderly state to a chaotic state in a similar way that electromagnetic waves shift from the Gamma spectrum to eventually the Radio spectrum. 

How this operates in Aura, however, is a rather unique process. Unlike other energy forms, when Aura is connected to the body, it remains in a malleable form changed through the thought or instinct of the being operating with it. It does not usually undergo entropy until removed from the host body either through infusing Aura into another target or utilizing an Active Semblance. This means that Aura is in a state of equilibrium with the surrounding environment as it remains in the body unless acted upon by another force. However, some Aura will inevitably be lost as heat or light when damaged, when the body is not in equilibrium with its environment such as extreme heat or cold, or if the body remains in motion, repairing the damaged tissues from daily use and stress.

Scott began copying notes into his notebook as he read in the dull silver light of the moon. Right, so that means that Aura is a constant in some way. As are the Laws of Thermodynamics and Newton’s Laws of Motion. He copied down the two sets of laws in black ink into his notebook, circling Aura next to it and copying the final line of the paragraph he read. “If this is the case, that also means that Aura can potentially be altered into different shapes or states via other forms of energy.” He frowned in thought. “Does gravity affect Aura? I wonder…there is Gravity Dust in this world if I remember right. Maybe I can use Gravity Dust to compress Aura into spent dust crystals?” His eyes widened. “Maybe a process like that was used for Penny? She had… will have an artificial soul, so something has to keep the energy in place…”

He kept reading.

Aura can transform into other forms of energy, especially with the process of Semblances. Take for instance a huntsman as been injured in his leg. In order for the injury to heal at a greater rate, the huntsman consciously moves Aura to balloon around in the afflicted area, converting Aura into ATP and encouraging metabolic repair, even going down to the genetic structure of a person. 

The operation of this Aura-Gene Therapy is partially the cause for huntsmen and huntresses to never die from cancer and seem rather unaffected by the processes of aging until significantly later in life. Eventually, the body cannot continue to process excess ATP into Aura units, causing the eventual degradation of the body as genetic information becomes corrupted over time. 

“Huh, basically a life extension. As long as you can keep feeding yourself the amount needed for Aura to remain at safe levels and you don’t get critically injured in combat, Aura acts like an elixir of life.” He grinned and playfully rolled his eyes. “Aqua de vida. The fountain of youth. What people back on Earth would give for this! Health insurance would be so much easier to deal with at the low low cost of massive grocery bills. Haha…”

He felt a drop of water land on his hand, and he shut the book to wipe his eyes. Earth. Everything he did here in Remnant kept reminding him of his old home. There was both good and bad, of course, but he feared that nostalgia was going to coat everything in a rosy shade. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I’m here now. I have an obligation to these people to help these people survive what’s to come.” His eyes drifted back towards Miltia and Melanie sleeping soundly, wrapped in cocoons of fabric in a den of pillows, and the boy smiled fondly. “And maybe, maybe I can make life better for others, too.”

For all of Melanie’s demands, Miltia’s quiet snipes at her sister, and the future knowledge of what the two would become, the two “terrible twins” had grown on him. Though, he preferred Miltia more if he could choose. She was a lot kinder than he expected. 

In the quiet of the night, the boy’s resolve only grew stronger.

Chapter Text

– Mistral – Ishvaltar Mansion -

Scott was already awake when the knock on his door finally came, much like any other day. However, today was not quite as normal as it was officially Scott’s second birthday. It was both a day of excitement and dread for the boy. After a year of hard dedication, he was finally starting to get more in control of his body. His penmanship was legible and fast—even to the point where he was proficient with writing in both his left and right hands, his walking stable, his speech impeccable, and the fine motor control of his hands and arms was coming along nicely. Now, he was confident that he could begin learning Vytalian Sign Language once he got his hands on a book or fully functional scroll. Agency was finally at his fingertips!

But, he also had seventeen years left before everything fell apart. The internal clock kept ticking louder and louder, the lyrics “Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future” wormed into his dreams and left him feeling restless and petrified all at once when he awoke. 

The door knocked again.

“Come in!” Scott yelled as he slid a book on huntsmen weapon design between a few obnoxiously colorful coloring books. 

Tasha creaked the door open. “Oh, what are you doing, young man?”

“Tidying up,” he explained. “Keep things neat.”

“That’s wonderful!” She beamed as she scooped him in her arms. “Are you excited for today?” He nodded. “You do know what day it is, right?”

“I turn two today,” Scott said with a polite smile. 

“And you’ll have a celebration for it! Ah, but first, the Lady beckons you to join her and your father for breakfast.” She smiled again. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

It’s unusual is what this all is. Scott frowned internally. So far, Scott was only ever present for breakfast with his parents when there was some special occasion, otherwise he rarely caught sight of the two for the rest of the day. Sometimes, he was present for dinner, but those were always so stressful as Issac let his anger from the day boil over, usually about the most asinine things. Oh no! The stocks for one of the three hundred companies I’ve invested in have dropped by two percent! Let me take it out on my emotionless wife and my toddler son! That’s certainly a reasonable effing response!

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” Scott offered civilly. And not incur Issac’s wrath.

Soon, Scott found himself seated at the long table, empty but for the three places for the patriarch, matriarch, and heir. Tasha had been dismissed for the duration of the meal. There was a quiche on Scott’s plate, something he was pleasantly surprised with, but he also noticed there was nothing on either of the other plates. He glanced at Issac and Sylah, both adults were watching him intently. 

“Are you not going to eat?” Scott asked the two adults.

“We are not hungry, dear,” Sylah said, bowing her head once. “Go on. It’s a special dish.”

Scott’s eyes drifted to Issac, but the man huffed angrily. “Eat the damn thing, you ungrateful brat! We don’t have all day.” 

Okay. Issac’s in one of his moods again. Scott picked up his fork and knife and cut into the fluffy yellow and green egg pastry.

“And make sure you eat all of it, dear,” Sylah commanded. “I know you may not like it all, but you must eat all of it. We do not waste food in this house.”

Okay? Why are you being so weird about it? Internally, Scott’s mind rang with alarm bells that something was wrong, but he pushed them aside. My paranoia must be getting the better of me. I’m their son, not some rival mafia head. That kinda crap only happens in movies. Scott nodded and took a bite out of the food. It tasted fine, nothing too spectacular. Sure, it had broccoli which he wasn’t the biggest fan of, but nothing stood out to “wow” him with it. It’s kinda like they just grabbed the thing out of the freezer. And it’s a bit greasy for my liking.

The boy carefully ate every morsel of the meal, trying not to squirm under the unyielding gaze and glare of his parents. He finished by placing his fork and knife on the plate with a dull clink and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Finished?” he asked nervously.

Issac narrowed his eyes before nodding. “Tasha!” The old maid stepped into the room. “Take Scott to the living room so he may wait for his cousins and birthday celebration. Make sure he waits patiently and does not cause a fuss. Understand?”

“Of course, Mister Ishvaltar.” Tasha bowed her head.

Issac glared at Scott. “You are entering a new era of your life, boy. You will be grateful for all you have. You will be respectful to your elders. You will not dishonor the family or our reputation.” He leaned in. “And you will not be soft . Even in pain, you will adhere to these rules as though they were religious doctrine. Do I make myself clear?”

Scott slowly nodded, feeling dread creep down his spine and his stomach gurgle.

Issac scoffed. “I did not raise a mute, boy . Use your words. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

“Y-yes, Father.”

“Say it with confidence.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Louder! You will not be weak, boy!”

“Yes, Father!” Scott glanced at Sylah, and she didn’t even seem to be paying attention to what was happening, idly sipping at a tea cup and inspecting her nails. Scott met Issac’s hazel eyes. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“You will not, or there will be consequences.” Issac stood and turned to leave the room. “Take him away, Tasha. He’s in your care.”

 Four hours later, Scott was lying on the couch of the living room drenched in sweat and breathing raggedly. His heart thundered in his ears like war drums as he fought to stay conscious. Tasha was in the corner of the room, humming to herself as she crocheted some colorful items. Scott couldn’t really tell what it was, his mind swimming and delirious and his eyes fading in and out of focus.

The boy did what he could to stay lucid, but his fading strength compounded with the metal bowl next to him filled with everything he’d eaten meant he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. What he could do was catalog his symptoms—irregular heart palpitations, dizziness, stomach cramps, general feeling of illness, drowsiness, increased sweating, and difficulty breathing. 

They poisoned me. Those psychotic fuckers poisoned a two-year-old!

“Help me, please,” he begged, reaching out for Tasha, his voice barely above a whisper.

The caretaker looked up from her project and smiled. “You’re doing great, dear! Mister Ishvaltar will be so pleased!” 

Scott stared at her through half-lidded eyes, barely able to make out the old woman. She stared at him for a while, but it seemed like her eyes were glassy. There was no way he was going to get help from her, but the desperation of the situation clouded his judgment.

“Please, Tasha, I need a doctor,” Scott gagged. “I-I need to go to a hospital.”

The clicking of the crochet hooks went quiet. “You shouldn’t have said that,” Tasha said, tutting her tongue. “Mister Ishvaltar will be disappointed that you gave up.”

Gave up? Gave up! The bastard poisoned me! The hell you mean ‘gave up’!?

Tasha stood from her chair, her ancient bones creaking with every movement as she went to the door and left the room, turning the lights off in the process. The curtains were drawn, dropping Scott into complete darkness. I can’t die. I can’t die yet! 

The door opened again after an incomprehensible period of time, and Scott barely had the strength to lift his head to see Issac Ishvaltar step inside the room.

“‘I. Will. Not. Disappoint,” Issac said, punctuating each word with a step. There was something in his hands, but it was too dark to tell what it was. “That is what you told me last we spoke, Scott Ophiuchus Ishvaltar, is it not?”

Scott nodded as he shivered.

“You are not a mute invalid.” His eyes flashed with rage. “Speak!”

“I-I did.”

“With confidence!”

“Yes!” Scott screamed.

Issac glared at him. “Then why did you lie?”

Scott sucked in a shaky breath to steady himself. “What do you mean—”

Crack!

Pain lashed through Scott’s back as he suddenly arched and screamed. 

“DO NOT TALK BACK TO ME!” Issac bellowed, raising a short, flayed whip. “Why.” Crack! “Did.” Crack! “You.” Crack! “Lie?” Crack!

“I don’t know!” Scott cried. “I don’t know.”

Issac rested the whip in his hand. “Then find a reason.” He turned to leave the room.

“Why are you doing this?” Scott whispered, doubled over as he touched his hand to the shredded fabric coated in blood. “I’m your son.”

The tyrant halted. “You are an Ishvaltar. You will not know weakness. You will not bend or break. You know no fear.” He turned and glared at the boy. “You will be strong. I will ensure you become strong enough to inherit the Ishvaltar name. No one will help you. You will only rely on yourself, or you will die. Your two-year grace period is over.” He sneered. “Clean yourself up.”

“So you poison me? Does Mother know?”

Issac barked a laugh. “Always such a smart boy, but pathetically ignorant. Sylah was the one who made the poison. It was her idea to break you first from inside then for me to break you from the outside.” He turned toward the door. “You have no allies here, and if I hear any complaint from your cousins, you may not survive the night.”

The door shut and drowned Scott in darkness as consciousness slipped through his fingers.

Today was going to be fucking amazing , Miltia thought as she walked up the long path to the Ishvaltar mansion. Rich-as-fuck people really had it great in Mistral living high in the mountains away from the cesspool down closer to the walls. People could really be fucking gross when they wanted to be. If she had a lien for every old pervert who stared at her and Mel with hungry eyes, she’d be as rich as a Schnee. Not that any of them would do anything to the twins, she knew that. Mom’s newest enforcer was pretty good at keeping people away with his cane, even if he was a self-obsessed weirdo.

But he’s not here, thank the fucking gods, she thought as a smile formed on her face. She decided she wasn’t going to focus on the shit parts of her life when she woke up this morning. Yes, Mel was becoming more controlling at school, treating her closer to a lackey and calling her stupid, but here , Miltia was the top dog of the twins, and for a good reason. 

“Why are you smiling like that, fuckin’ weirdo,” Melanie sneered as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mel, maybe because I actually still like visiting our cousin?” Miltia scoffed. She hoisted the bag full of presents on her shoulder.

“You only like him because he keeps saying you win our spars, bitch .”

“I win them because I’m actually better, bitch! ” Miltia glared at her sister. “You keep trying to be flashy with your kicks, leaving you open for me to counter!” 

“Girls!” Mom yelled. “Haven’t I taught ya better than to squabble like pigs?” The matriarch of Spider glared at both. “We each have our parts to play, Melanie, and your sister is definitely that of a fighter. That doesn’t make ya worse than her, understand?”

Melanie gritted her teeth and looked away. “Yes, Mom.” 

“Good girl.”

The rest of the walk was in relative silence, and it let Miltia’s mind wander. She hadn’t been able to see Scott for the last couple of weeks, a combination of her having to stay put in a safe house with Melanie and the New Guy—Candleflame was his name I think—while Parrot ramped up their gang violence against Spider and the Ishvaltars saying they were going to do a private celebration with their son first. Scott’s birthday was ten days ago, and Miltia felt guilty that she was only there to celebrate it now. 

The kid was smart, way smarter than any of the other idiots back at school. People were too gullible there, just believing her ditsy girl act, though that was partially because Melanie kept reinforcing the idea that Miltia couldn’t fucking read. Really, any time someone believed it at once, Miltia wanted to choke-slam someone, but that would attract too much attention. Acting like a stupid rich girl was how she held power at school. People flocked to know her because she was pretty and giggled at everyone’s jokes and was the muscle to Melanie’s brains, even if she wanted to puke. 

But Scott wasn’t like that. Her cousin was reading a textbook when she first met him! And when she did some digging online, she found that the book was meant for Academy students. Scotty’s a fucking genius. She knew that already. Part of the reason why she had an edge in fighting over her sister was because of Scott. He would read those books on Aura and Semblances and break them down into an easier way for her to understand while Melanie was fucking around with her scroll. He even started to record their spars on her scroll and try to break down ideas on how to improve her fighting, though he wasn’t as good at that. If Mel saw the two of us as people and not potential resources, she’d be just as good as me! Maybe better!

She smiled again. In her bag of gifts was something she planned on giving him in private, away from the eyes of his parents. Gods knew they’d give him trouble if they learned what she’d gotten her hands on, and fuckin’ hell did it take some time to find it. 

Turns out, New Guy knew how to get his hands on some quality shit on the down low. For someone who was as eccentric as he was—who wears bowler hats and green velvet jackets these days?—New Guy was resourceful if still a huge fucking narcissist about it, and, through haggling and the promise of vouching for New Guy to Mom on his capabilities, Miltia had her hands on a top of the line, Atlas military grade scroll complete with a bulletproof casing, location scrambling, a “bug scrambler” and, most importantly, insane firewall protections just in case Scott’s parents tried to break into the hefty black scroll. 

It would be her and Scott’s little secret. He would be able to read more without his parents knowing, and they would be able to talk secretly. He could pass more advice to her about Aura and her fighting, and she could have someone she could talk to. Someone who knew the actual Miltia, not the stupid fucking character she played at school. Admittedly, it was a little pathetic that the person she trusted the most was only two years old, but at this point, she didn’t care.

They finally got to the door, and Miltia readjusted the bag on her shoulder. Mom rang the bell, and, after a couple of seconds, the stiff, balding Ishvaltar butler with narrow eyes, Lee, opened the door.

“Welcome,” he bowed. “Please come inside.” 

“Thanks, darlin’,” Mom said as she offered him her coat. “Always nice to come back here and see true gentlemen instead of the punks I gotta deal with.”

“Of course, Miss Malachite,” Lee bowed as he took Mom’s coat before he turned to Miltia. “I can take that bag for you if you wish.”

The red twin shook her head. “No, I think I’ll hold onto this for a bit.” Less risk of anyone finding the secret gift at the bottom. She smiled and giggled internally. I feel like a smuggler!

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Here, if you want to hold something, take mine.” She held out her modest gift bag, what it had, Miltia didn’t know. 

“Of course, Miss Melanie,” the butler nodded. “Follow me. The Master and Lady of the house are in the withdrawing room with their son.”

Melanie rolled her eyes and followed.

Mom stayed with Miltia’s pace, behind the others. “You know, Miltia, I’m surprised.”

“Mom?” The red twin turned to her mother with a wary expression.

“Oh, don’t be so worried, sweetheart,” she chuckled. “It’s that you’re striking out on your own, now. Became pretty attached to the lil’ tike, huh?”

Miltia’s cheeks grew flush. “Well, I, uh…he’s—”

“Now, now, I’m not sayin’ anythin’ bad about it,” Mom patted Miltia’s head. “Just that, before, you stuck by your sister, did everythin’ she told. Now?” She glanced at the bag on Miltia’s arm. “You’ve gone out of your way for the brat.”

The red twin pouted. “He’s not a brat, he’s really smart. He helps me with things, sometimes.” She glowered. “I know Mel is smarter than me, but she treats it like I’ll never stand beside her, only behind in her shadow.”

Mom laughed. “What have you been doin’, readin’ a dictionary? I’ve never heard ya use such fluffy language.”

Miltia winced. “It’s how Scott speaks…”

“Nothin’ wrong with it, sweetheart. Nothin’ wrong at all.” 

The two entered the drawing room. It was tall, three to four meters, the walls lined with entirely decorative bookshelves—she checked one time, and all the pages were stuck together with thin gold. Scott explained at one point that the books hadn’t been “cut,” leaving the “gold leaf” on to make them appear prettier but completely fucking useless for reading. No wonder he’s been trying so hard to smuggle books into the house. Poor kid must be bored out of his fucking mind.

Aunt Sylah and Uncle Issac were sat in their massive reading chairs—for real, why the fuck did they even have them?—waiting for the Malachites to approach. Scott was sat beside them on a maroon leather loveseat, and he looked terrible . The poor kid was so pale that even a Schnee would think something was wrong! And his eyes were so dull, almost vacant.

“Sylah!” Mom yelled as Aunt Sylah rose from her chair. 

The two women hugged each other as Miltia approached the boy, placing her bag on the coffee table. “Hey, Scotty, how’re you doin?”

Scott raised his head and stared at Miltia for a long while before he slowly hugged her. The way he clung to Miltia’s dress felt desperate. Normally, she’d be livid if anyone messed up her look, but right now, the only thing on her mind was what happened to her cousin, and she voiced such.

“He came down with a virus not too long ago,” Uncle Issac said coolly. “He’s getting better now,” he narrowed his eyes, “even if he remains weak for the moment.”

Miltia pulled back from Scott and watched his face for a time. The boy’s back was facing his father, and his icy-grey eyes met hers, a quiet spark of rebellion in them. He flicked his eyes side to side in a quick motion. It was a silent form of communication he did when he disagreed with Melanie on something but was smart enough not to say it out loud. No .

“Are you feeling better now?” she asked.

“I will later,” he said.

Okay, can’t talk about it in front of the fam. Got it.

“Well, at least we can celebrate your birthday now,” she said, grinning. “Especially with your favorite cousin.”

Melanie scoffed behind them. “Of course, you’d say that. Wow, I’m Miltia, I’m friends with a two-year-old!”

Miltia rolled her eyes as Scott chuckled quietly. He still has some strength in him. That’s good. Great, even! He’s more stubborn than Mel and I combined sometimes.

“You’re just jealous that he rules in my favor when we spar,” Miltia said, sticking her tongue at her sister. 

“Favoritism! I could kick your ass in a real fight, bitch!” 

“Alright, now, enough of that,” Mom said, stepping in front of the white twin. “We’re here to have fun, not rip each other apart, eh?” 

Melanie huffed and crossed her arms, and Miltia choked down a laugh. And we thought Scott was going to be the spoiled one when it turned out to be dear ol’ Mel.

“Let’s just get to the presents,” Mel growled. “I want my cake. There is cake, right?”

“Yes, Melanie, there is cake,” Aunt Sylah said smoothly, delicately taking a glass of wine, and watching Mom. “Floral Desert Spice or Atlesian Red?”

“Knowing you? Neither,” Mom laughed. “I brought my own.” She took a bottle out of the bag she brought. “Vytal Summer White.” She looked smug.

It was always a weird time whenever Mom and Aunt Sylah interacted, like some powerplay that Miltia wasn’t old enough to understand, but the tension was thick. Miltia sat on the loveseat next to Scott while Melanie sat next to Mom, and Scott leaned into Miltia. She didn’t quite know what to do. Obviously, something was troubling him, but he wasn’t comfortable talking about it right now. Or he doesn’t feel safe to do so . 

Miltia’s mood soured at the thought. Scott’s too fucking nice to be part of this family. No one is looking out for him but me. Her eyes drifted toward the Ishvaltar patriarch and matriarch. Those two are doing something. I know it. Melanie may have a sharper mind for the criminal stuff, but I’m not stupid. She sighed and wrapped her arm around Scott. I’m like his big sister. I’ll do what I can to keep him safe.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Food came and went, Mom and the Ishvaltars chatted about business and shit, dancing around the actual subjects of the matter. Melanie didn’t really care anymore, having put on her headphones and unplugged from the world by flicking through endless garbage on her scroll. 

By that point, Scott had fallen asleep, nestled against Miltia with a relaxed expression. Now or never, I guess . 

“Hey, Mom,” Miltia asked. “Can I take Scott back to his room so he can properly sleep? I think he’d be more comfortable there.” 

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Mom said, flicking some of the ashes of her cigarette into an ashtray. “Since yer goin’, why don’tcha take his presents there, too.” She looked at the other twin. “Melanie?”

The sister didn’t look up from her scroll.

“Melanie!”

“Huh, wha?” Melanie frantically took off her headphones. “What’s wrong? Did someone fuck something up?”

“No. Did you want to help your sister take Scott and his presents to his room?”

Melanie scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“It's okay, Mom,” Miltia said, “Wouldn’t want to exhaust her too much. Besides, Scotty needs sleep, and she’ll just wake him up.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Mom frowned and glared at Melanie. “I see yer point. Alright, run along now.” 

Miltia nodded and grabbed the two bags from the table and scooped the toddler in one arm. She nodded once to her mother and left the room as the three adults returned to discussing whatever boring adults talked about. She padded through the halls until she got to Scott’s room, thankfully without running into any of the staff who worked there. She quietly shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. That’s that,” she whispered as she placed Scott on his twin bed. She then sorted through the bag she brought with her and found the book The Complete Collection of Remnant Myths and Folk Tales and opened it, revealing the thick, black scroll hidden in a cutout in the center. Miltia turned it on and found the “bug scrambler” app and activated it.

“Deactivated two devices,” the scroll chimed. “Audio and Visual safe.”

Miltia breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, we’re good to talk now.”

Scott stirred on the bed and rose. “How’d you know?”

Miltia chuckled. “Tryin’ to be an assassin, y’know? You’re breathing didn’t sound relaxed enough, but good acting.”

The boy nodded. “Thank you, Miltia. Truly, thank you.”

“Alright,” she turned and sat on the floor, facing Scott. “What happened? I don’t believe for a fucking moment that you were ‘just sick.’ You look like complete shit.”

“Ha, you don’t pull your punches, Mil.”

“And you’re too smart for a fucking toddler, Scotty. Tell me something I don’t know.” Miltia playfully rolled her eyes.

“Heh. Touché.”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, it,” Scott furrowed his brow, which was quite funny to see from a child, but Miltia kept her humor aside. “It means ‘fair enough,’ basically.”

“‘Course you know that,” Miltia shook her head. “Now, you gonna keep me waiting? We don’t exactly have all fucking day.”

Scott nodded again. “Mother and Father have been poisoning me on and off for the last ten days.”

Miltia’s eyes widened in shock then rage. “What!?”

He clapped his hand over Miltia’s mouth. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “I’m going to be candid about everything, but if you make a big deal about it, things will only get worse.”

Miltia glared and then nodded. Scott took his hand away. “Why are they doing this?”

Scott chuckled darkly, something that sounded way too twisted coming from someone so young. “To make me strong. Father has some…I don’t know, ideology that he’s using, and he thinks I’m too weak to be the heir to the Ishvaltars.”

“The fuck?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it, under threat of extreme punishment,” he stressed. “My guess is that they’ll isolate me if someone else learns about it, followed by near-lethal force to get me to submit.” His eyes focused on Miltia, the same spark of rebellion flashed in his icy eyes. “I’m really sticking my neck out by telling you, so you have to promise me that you won’t tell your mom.”

“But-”

“Miltia. Promise me.” He raised his hand, pinky extended. “Please.”

The red twin was caught between rage and sorrow but resolved to stay calm. She had to for him. Miltia wrapped her pinky around his. “I promise. But there’s something we can do, right?”

“I…don’t know. Honestly, I’m just winging it right now.” He sounded so tired. “I’ve barely been cognizant for the past two weeks to come up with a game plan. They don’t poison me enough to get me killed, just enough to strengthen my immunization.” He shrugged. “I’m caught playing at their pace, their rules, and if I ask for help, well…”

“They’ll hurt you…” Miltia shook with mounting rage until Scott placed a hand on her knee.

“Miltia, I need you calm and alert. You’re my only ally in this.”

“Well, what about Tasha.”

The boy shook his head. “She’s…not coerced into it but isn’t doing anything against it. She knows what’s happening but…” he tilted his head in thought. “I think she’s under some kind of semblance. Like a sort of command, perception, or memory-altering ability.” He narrowed his eyes. “That…every time we finish our sessions, she goes back to normal, and her memory fails her more and more. It also could be some sort of poison since Mother makes those, but I’m not sure.”

“Meaning I’m your only help.” Miltia pulled Scott into a hug. “If I could sneak you out of here, I would.”

“And they would send people after me, either to recapture or execute me for disobeying Father’s wishes. I won’t put you at risk for that.” 

“Then what do we do?” Miltia felt helpless, even more so since she was not the one coming up with a plan instead the abused toddler of all people was planning and keeping her calm. I need to do something. Anything is better than this.

“I…I was going to gather evidence,” he said slowly. “Catalog each instance of abuse and try my hand at bringing it up in court.” Miltia snorted. “Yea, I know, trusting Mistral’s laws to help me is stupid, but I don’t have many options other than riding this out until I can get out.” 

Miltia saw him look dejected, defeated. Fuck . “We can try that but don’t get your hopes up. Do you have evidence of the abuse?”

The boy nodded and proceeded to take his shirt off. His skin clung to his ribs like a wet towel, the ridges poking through. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, but if he was eating tainted food and constantly fighting off poisons, he wasn’t going to gain any weight. And his back was covered in crisscrosses of red lines, the skin an agitated pink coloring. The more Miltia looked, the more she wanted to get Uncle Issac in a chokehold and snap his neck.

“Milita…” Scott warned, snapping the girl out of her red haze. He sighed. “We need to take pictures, but I doubt this’ll be enough. Blood toxicology will be helpful, but I have no way to get my hands on that nor keep it cold without potentially getting it discovered.” He shrugged. “If we could gather such evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, well,” a sly grin crossed his face, and defiance burned brilliantly in his eyes, “Father wants me to get close to Weiss Schnee as a potential suitor. That means going to Atlas.”

“Where you can bring forward the abuse in an Atlesian court!” Miltia realized. “It’ll still be difficult, even if the crime families don’t have a lot of influence there. Uncle Issac still is quite rich.”

“But he isn’t Schnee rich,” Scott stressed. “If I can befriend Weiss, maybe even Winter, they can push their father to back me with the promise of me removing Mother and Father as the chairholders of Ishvaltar Technologies and having me become a ward of the Schnee family, granting Jacques the opportunity to increase his business empire. He’d probably even try to get me to hook up with Weiss or Winter so he can permanently keep I.T. as an SDC property.”

Miltia chuckled as she rubbed the boy’s head. “And I thought you didn’t have a plan.”

“I didn’t, I just came up with it.” He took a deep breath. “There’s…one more thing.” His eyes met Miltia’s. “In the event that I do die–”

“You won’t,” Miltia growled. “I’m not letting some bastard take my favorite cousin.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m your only cousin, Mil.”

“Mhm. Makes me even more right.”

Scott smiled briefly. “In the event I do die, not saying I will,” he quickly corrected, “but if , I need you to promise me something. Something so monumentally important it could save the world, understand?”

“Scott?”

“Promise me, Mil,” he said, grabbing her hands. “Please.”

Miltia gulped and nodded. “O-okay.”

Scott watched her for a bit then shakily climbed to his feet and opened the toy chest in the corner, digging around in it for a while before returning with four composition books. “These are notes on something that will come in the future. I…I can’t really explain how I know these things, but they are real.” He put them away in the chest. “You don’t need to read them right now. I just want you to be aware that they exist.”

“Okay?”

“If I die, for whatever reason, I need you to get your hands on these books,” he said, tapping the lid of the chest. “Do anything you can to get them and the scroll you got me. I’ll be trying to organize things more in that from now on.”

“O-okay.” The whole situation seemed ridiculous, but she didn’t feel any joking from her cousin. He was so serious it was suffocating. “I promise I’ll do what I can.”

His expression softened. “Thank you. I think I’ll sleep now, gods know I need it.”

“We can talk whenever you can through the scroll,” Miltia said. “I’ll help from my end on this. I think I may have some ideas.”

Scott nodded, then pulled Miltia into a hug. “T-thank you, Mil. I…I wanted to let you know that I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Miltia squeezed him. “Yeah, I know. Love you, Scotty.”

“Love you, too.”

Chapter Text

—Mistral—Unknown Location: Spider Hideout—

Miltia checked her scroll and saw that she had received another set of pictures from Scott, all showing the bruising and slashes across his body that would remain unseen under his clothes. It had been two weeks since she’d given her cousin the scroll, and she’d already amassed over fifty pictures of the boy’s injuries. She’d been in a terrible mood ever since the party, she knew that, and someone else knew that as well.

“Well, you get another bad text from your boyfriend, brat?” Roman Torchwick laughed. The man was dressed in a green overcoat with black gloves, his orange hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail—probably greasy—under a bowler hat. He was as sleazy as they come, a criminal purebred with no morality. Roman was annoying, crass, cocky, and a general pain in the ass, but he was also Miltia and Melanie's assigned bodyguard. “Probably should get a better boy toy if he makes you look like that!”

“Fuck you, he's not my boyfriend,” Miltia growled, “unless you think I date toddlers or cousins. Fucking creep.”

Roman laughed louder. “Gods, you are a riot!” Then he paused. “So that's who that scroll was for. The hell does a kid need that kind of hardware for?” The thief leaned over to get a look at Miltia's scroll.

Miltia flicked her scroll off and glared back at the annoying bastard. “None of your business.”

“Technically it is my business if it means I get something out of it,” Roman said. “And this smells like something I can use to my benefit.” He shrugged. “Your move, Brat Two.”

Miltia gritted her teeth as she contemplated what she could do. Then an idea formed. “You can get your hands on weird shit, right?”

“Define ‘weird shit,’ brat,” Roman chuckled. “No, no matter how much you ask, I'm not getting you porn or smut or whatever the fuck you kids are into these days. I’m not paid enough to get into that much hot water with the boss.”

“What? Ew! That’s fucking gross, dickhead!” Miltia yelled and punched Roman in the arm as hard as she could, his Aura flaring orange.

The thief just smirked. “Six outta ten. If you want to make it hurt, you’ve gotta put all of your weight into it.”

“Just you wait ‘till I get my weapon,” Miltia hissed. “Next time you want to get in bed with someone, you’ll have to explain where your dick went.” Miltia had been wanting a pair of bladed claws for her weapons for a while now, but Mom said it was too dangerous to train with until she turned ten, which was in two months.

Roman winced as he glared. “That’s just low, brat. No one should threaten the crown jewels.”

“Mhm,” Miltia rolled her eyes before crossing her arms. “I’ve got a business proposal for ya, and if you keep poking fun at me, asshole, I’ll find someone else to get it done for me.”

Roman raised his hands in mock surrender then kicked his feet up onto the desk he was sitting at. “So, not porn. The hell do you want, kid?”

“I need a…fuck…what was it called…” Miltia pulled out her scroll again and frantically typed into the CCT search engine. “Ah. Two things, a medical storage container for blood samples and a…blood toxicology tester thing.” She furrowed her brow as she looked at the name. “Fuckin’ hell, why are the words so complicated.”

“Let me see that.” Roman snatched the scroll out of her hands before she could respond then whistled appreciatively. “Well fuckin’ hell, you kids like expensive toys, huh?”

“Can you get them?” she asked.

“Not a question of can I, brat,” Roman rolled his eyes and tossed the scroll back. “It’s more can you afford it. I don’t do this shit for free, y’know. And that last thing you wanted wasn’t cheap either.” 

“How much?”

“Fifty thousand.”

Miltia cringed. The scroll was easily twelve thousand lien for Roman to procure, but this was insane! 

“Thirty thousand,” she countered.

“This ain’t up for haggling,” Roman scoffed. “Honestly, what do ya take me for? I’m not some common street rat selling crack, I’m the cream of the crop getting top-of-the-line Atlas medical tech! Oh, and good fucking luck trying to get someone else to do this job. You’re not gonna find them. Don’t try and act like some spoiled brat to me, either.”

Miltia sagged with each word. “I’m not spoiled.” She glared at him. “You want to know why I need this, right?”

Roman shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a curious son of a bitch, eh?”

“Mark it down to thirty thousand and I’ll throw in why I need it and stand up for you the next time you fuck up something.” Miltia crossed her arms. 

“Hmm, three.”

“ Fine . Next three times.” Miltia glared harder. “And I can get the money for it by next week.” Just means I’ll have to sell most of my nice clothes. Fuck!

“Seems like we’ve got a deal, brat,” Roman grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “So, why don’tcha spill the fucking tea.”

She looked back and forth. “This doesn’t leave the room.”

Roman flicked a switch on the desk. “Feel free to talk.”

Miltia took a deep breath. “My aunt and uncle are poisoning my baby cousin over and over, and this is the only way we can maybe get them to stop.”

The thief raised an eyebrow before bursting into laughter. “Yea, no, not fucking buying that shit, brat! If you’re gonna lie, at least put some fucking effort into it.”

“It isn’t a lie!” Miltia slammed her hand on the table as she pulled her scroll out, opening to the pictures Scott had sent of his torn-up back. “You wanted to see what put me in a pissed as all fuck mood? This is why!” 

Roman glanced over the desk at the scroll and was about to roll his eyes until he saw the picture. “Fuckin’ hell, kid looks like he got dragged behind a bus. The hell happened?”

“When he doesn’t meet their standards, they whip him,” Miltia growled. “This is from this morning! It’s been going on for weeks now!”

Roman tossed the scroll back to the red twin and shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell ya, brat. The world spins, people treat each other like shit. That's just how it fuckin’ is.”

“So you'd do nothing!?”

“Pretty much.” Roman rolled his eyes when he saw Miltia's scowl. “Don't give me that shit, brat. I don't know if you can tell, but we're not exactly nice fuckin’ people out here, eh?” He picked up his cane and pointed it at the girl. “I've killed people to survive, you're training your ass off to be an assassin . You were literally born into the mafia! So, don't get all smart with me about heroic bullshit and being a ‘good person,’ cause all of us are in the moral gutter!”

“Fuck. You. I'm trying to help Scott out!”

“And would ya do the same for a stranger?” Roman demanded, kicking off of the desk to tower over the ten-year-old. “If you saw someone bleeding in the fuckin’ street, would you stop by and help them? Fuck, would you even call a cab or an ambulance and get the bastard to a hospital?”

“I-I-”

“You wouldn't , brat,” Roman hissed. “ That is how the world works—a dog-eat-dog world where life is cheap and kindness is shit.” He glared at the girl. “I'll get your shit since you're paying, but don't get it in your head that you're a good girl.” 

He turned and left the room, leaving Miltia to fall to her knees, cursing under her breath as she fought hard to keep the tears out of her eyes.

— Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion—

“We’re going to Atlas,” Issac announced during breakfast, not even looking at Scott. He was eating food, some sort of savory pastry from Vale reminding Scott of a stuffed croissant, which was a good sign. Any time Scott was present at breakfast and he was the only one presented with a meal, it was undoubtedly poisoned.

“Any reason why, Father?” Scott asked, forcing his voice to carry across the table despite his permanently exhausted state. He’d lost weight, how much he wasn’t sure, but he knew it wasn’t healthy. Scott looked more pale than what was normal and his cheeks were slightly sunken. Despite this, he made sure he looked presentable in the morning. Any deviation from his parents’ standards led to extreme punishment.

“Your father and I have business to be taken care of in Atlas,” Sylah said calmly. “Should it prove successful, we’ll become one of the primary sellers of Dust processing and transportation technology to the SDC.” She raised her necrotic gaze to him. “I hope you understand the importance of such, even if you are so young.”

Scott nodded. “We’re going to the Schnee Manor, then?”

“Yes,” Issac said, finishing a glass of red wine. “While we are staying there as guests, you have a job. Weiss Schnee is the youngest member of the Schnee family. She is your age.”

“And you want me to get close to her,” Scott said, forcing down a sigh. This was both a boon and a bane. It meant he also had to get Winter to trust him, and that was going to be difficult.

“Correct. Your ultimate goal, my son, is to be strong enough to lead the Ishvaltars to greatness, but also strong enough in will to make the Schnees capitulate to you.” He made a dry laugh. “Jacques has already proven it possible when he subjugated Willow. You will do the same with Weiss, Winter if possible.” He chuckled again, a grating sound that sent a shiver up Scott’s spine. “After all, polygamy is legal in Mistral, and having both Schnees will only further your rise to power.

I want to vomit, and, for once, it isn’t from poison. “Yes, Father,” Scott said, with a bow. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight.”

“Then, if you’ll excuse me, I must pack for the travel. How long will we be staying?”

“Seven nights, six days,” Sylah said with a bored tone. “And, of course, your training will be halted for the duration of our stay.”

“Of course.” Scott stood. “Is…is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Eventually, we’ll be needing to make footholds in Vale as well,” Issac said. “Now, that cannot be done through your mother, seeing as how Hei Xiong has a deal with Spider that prevents… interference .” He smiled eeriely at that. “However, there is always another avenue for such things. You need not worry about it now, but eventually, I want you to get close to the daughter of the Vale City Planner. The information from my associates tells me she’s defective . As such, her parents will certainly give her over to us if it advances their power, even if you are certainly younger than her.”

So, Neo, right? I’m pretty sure she comes from the Vanille family. Scott felt bile try to bubble its way into his mouth, before swallowing it. “Yes, Father. If you’ll excuse me.”

Scott quickly left the room and steadily made his way to his room before rushing into the adjacent bathroom to vomit in the toilet. “Gods, everything about this guy makes me sick!” he spat, flushing the detritus away. “Okay, okay, game plan.”

He grabbed the maroon suitcase that was left in the room presumably by Tasha while he ate breakfast and folded clothes into the compartments. The boy snatched up the book where his gift from Miltia laid dormant and hidden, and he placed it in the suitcase. He opened the book and brought up the text message chain with his cousin. Part of him disliked that his scroll simply labeled him as “Unknown Guest” (Or just UG) when he texted Miltia, but at the same time, it kept both him and Miltia protected for now.

UG : I’ve got an update for you. Are you available?

Scott waited for a moment before the scroll silently alerted him to a response.

MM : k whats up

Scott cringed at the lack of punctuation, the lingerings of his English Major mind demanding he at least correct her in some way, but he shoved the thought aside.

UG: I’m going to be in Atlas for a week. Business related, but I’ve been given a task.

MM : wym

UG : I’m to build ties with the Schnees, potentially marriage ties specifically.

MM :...

MM : gross 🤮

UG : My thoughts exactly.

MM : now what

UG : I’ll do as I’m told for now to proceed with our plan, but there may be another snag we’ll encounter later.

MM : which is

UG : Trivia Vanille. She’s the daughter of the Vale City Planner and he’s got connections to the Xiong family there.

MM : fuck is Issac stupid

UG : More like overly ambitious.

MM : what does he want you to do then

UG : Grow close to the Trivia and win her hand in marriage.

MM : hes trying to make you do the harem route

UG : I’ve noticed.

MM : how old is she

UG : Your age.

MM : ewwww

UG : He is trying to set me up with Weiss and Winter, too. I’m pretty sure we can assume that Issac is gross regardless.

MM : anything else

UG : Trivia is mute.

MM : fucking hell

UG : Good thing I wanted to learn Vytalian sign language anyway. Did you want to learn it with me?

MM : why

UG : Secret language that only the two of us will know. We can talk without Melanie, Issac, Tasha, or Sylah even knowing,

MM : cool is it hard

UG : It’ll take time to learn, but we’ll do it together.

MM : ugh fine stay safe in atlas

UG : The same for you.

Scott turned off the scroll and closed the book cover on it, placing more clothes, research material, and utilities he’d need when he was in Atlas. Things were moving along which was both a blessing and a curse. The more I interact with anyone, the larger the ripple effects I’ll create. He frowned. Which will mean my information will slowly become more twisted. Well, that’s not all bad. I am trying to change the future after all.

—Atlas: Schnee Manor—

It was the middle of the cold months in Atlas, though that was really a relative description as far as Winter was concerned. The northern kingdom was always in a state of chill, cold, or freezing no matter what time of year it was, though she did prefer to call this time the “cold months” if only not to make things more confusing with her name. Her father’s obsession with making everyone in her generation’s names with some sort of “w” was also tiresome considering she would be sharing the same initials with three other people if she was correct about her baby brother on the way’s name being Whitley. 

Winter stood by the window in her room, dressed in a white and pale blue dress that her father deemed acceptable to the Schnee brand, watching the gaudy maroon and gold airship land on the Schnee private airfield. Unlike the sleek white and grey vessels that Atlas used, resembling graceful sea creatures, Mistral employed these archaic designs with painted wood panels and decorative sails to resemble old tall ships from before the Great War. And it seemed the Ishvaltar family had their own personal ship, the hull painted a dark red with gold accents, and the golden sails were emblazoned with the Ishvaltar Technologies company logo. It was all incredibly garish.

Winter took a deep breath and exited her room to help Father greet the guests. Some would say she was too cynical for an eight-year-old, but having grown up not only in the limelight and the massive pressure from the media but also the suffocating presence of her father made her grow distant in order to protect herself. 

And now we have to meet with yet another rich family that wishes to curry favor with Father, she thought. They probably have another son or daughter they wish to marry into the Schnee name, not that Father would let a girl marry his daughters. I wonder how shallow this one will be.  

She arrived at the foyer, standing at the top of the stairs by the behemoth armors that stood idle yet eternally guarding. Somehow, even being inside these thick walls filled with the SDC’s most advanced heating system, everything still felt so unbelievably cold, so cold that, when the doors opened and the three guests walked inside, the frost and snow barely lowered the temperature. 

Winter studied the three guests as Mother, Father, and Klein greeted them. Weiss was elsewhere, likely still getting ready to meet the guests. The two adults of the group looked about how she'd expect from Mistrali elite: eccentric colors matching the gaudy ship outside with equally stern expressions to her father's. The woman—Sylah Ishvaltar if she remembered correctly—had light, blonde hair, a round face, and sharp eyes, definitely sharper than Mother's increasingly hollow expression. The man looked similar to Father in his younger days, a thought that made her frown more. One Jacques Schnee was a hassle, but two?

She shook her head as she directed her attention to the final guest, a child that Klein was collecting a heavy coat from. He was also dressed in maroon and gold, but there was a different air about him from what she could tell. He looked like he was thanking Klein? Quietly, of course, so as not to alert his parents by the looks of it. The boy looked young, probably not even older than Weiss, with golden hair and soft grey-blue eyes. Briefly, he glanced at Winter, the first one to do so of the group including her parents, and the boy smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgment before his face went neutral when his parents had him introduce himself to Mother and Jacques. Winter steeled herself and descended the stairs, not without Father noticing.

“Ah, and here’s my dear daughter, Winter,” Jacques said as he led her to the forming circle in the doorway. “She is the pride and joy of the Schnee household. I must say she’ll make a wonderful successor to myself and lead the company further into greatness.”

Winter stiffened at the remark. Father knew she wanted to become a huntress, no, a specialist , more than anything, but he would always deny, deny, deny, convinced that this was merely a fad, nothing more. She curtseyed. “Winter Schnee. I welcome you to our home.”

“Well disciplined, too,” the dark-haired man said, further sowing distrust in her. He extended his hand. “Issac Iapetus Ishvaltar the third.”

Winter politely took it. “A pleasure.”

“And this is my wife and son,” Issac motioned.

The woman was dressed in an expensive, form-fitting dress that matched her husband's colors. Despite the cold winters of Atlas, she remained having her shoulders exposed for some strange reason. Must be some sort of Mistrali pride, Winter thought.

“Sylah Ishvaltar,” she said. Her expression screamed boredom and aloofness.

The son stepped forward, placed his hand over his heart, and bowed. “Scott Ophiechus Ishvaltar. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Huh, more polite than I was expecting. Winter studied him up close when he rose. He looked so…pale. His eyes were slightly sunken and his cheekbones were poking through the skin. He looked gaunt and sickly, but the most surprising part was his eyes. The boy, despite whatever medical condition he was combatting, looked undefeated, an ember of insubordination in his grey-blue eyes. He even held himself tall.

“Winter.” 

The girl shook herself from her thoughts. “Yes, Father?”

“If you would stop staring at our guests and help escort Scott here to his room while Klein does the same for his parents. I’m certain they must feel exhausted from their journey.” Jacques smiled charismatically at the guests.

Ugh, more posturing . “Yes, Father.” She reached for the suitcase next to the boy, but he quickly grabbed it and nodded at Winter.

“Shall we be off, then?” he asked.

Winter blinked. “Yes. Follow me, if you will.”

He speaks much more formally than I’d expect. Weiss doesn’t even speak like that. She eyed the boy once more before stepping up the staircase and leading him to the guest wing. I know Father is trying to find a suitable suitor for me, but seriously? The kid is like six years younger than me!

He doesn’t act like it, a treacherous thought leaked in. 

“Shut up,” she growled under her breath.

“I’m sorry?” Scott asked, rolling his suitcase behind him. “I didn’t say anything, but if I offended you somehow, I apologize.”

“N-no, I’m sorry,” Winter quickly apologized. “I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“Ah, one of those,” Scott chuckled. “An internal argument? I know those well.”

Winter turned to him with a confused expression. “I…you know what, never mind.” I’m not going to even entertain the thought. Jacques’s manipulations are so bothersome. I don’t need to get to know this boy well at all.

She saw Scott turning his head as he walked, probably examining the hallway’s architecture and paintings. His expression seemed to sour and scowl the longer they walked.

“Getting impatient?” she asked. The other guests she guided through the manor before would sometimes become envious of the wealth on display or annoyed at how long they had to walk. This boy was no different.

“No, I’ve walked more than this before,” he sighed. “It just feels like such a waste.”

“Waste?”

“Yeah.” He stopped and turned around. “We’ve been walking to the guest wing, I assume, right?”

“Actually, no, Father is having you stay in the wing where Weiss and I reside,” Winter said. “That way, Klein, our butler, can cater to your needs more easily since he’s the most qualified for helping children.”

“Huh.” He shrugged. “Fair enough. Anyway, we’ve been walking for, what, three minutes?” He looked up and down the hall. “I know my legs are short, so we’re going at a slower pace, but it feels rather excessive.”

“What does?” Winter raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“Well, first off, the space.” He gestured around him. “Your family is four people, right?”

“Soon to be five,” Winter nodded.

“But you don’t have any extra relatives living here. No one from your father’s side of the family. Just you, your sister, and your parents, right?”

Winter nodded again. “Sometimes my Grandfather is here, but he’s usually away on some adventure.” She paused. “So, you think a place as grand as this is unnecessary?”

“Absolutely,” Scott said, smiling. “Just from a logistical perspective, you have so much wasted space, like these halls. Each one has to be powered, which is a waste of copper, silver, and fiber optic cables to transfer electricity. Then there’s the sheer amount of Dust needed to keep the place running. Entropy will happen, meaning that a lot of that energy is wasted as heat and light rather than powering the manor.”

Winter blinked. “I guess you’re right.”

“Then there’s a personnel problem.” Scott picked up his suitcase and kept walking. “The larger the place, the more people you have to hire. Not just maids and butlers to keep the place clean, but also guards to keep people from attacking in the night.” He flicked his head at one of the windows. “Lots of points of entry.”

Winter felt her cheeks burn with irritation. “And your point? Aren’t you also living in a mansion? Where do you get yourself off by mocking my family’s home?”

Instantly, Winter felt her stomach clench. What am I doing arguing with an actual child? How pathetic can I be?

“Sorry,” she whispered, turning away. “Father tells me I need to control my temper.”

“No, I’m sorry, Winter,” Scott said. “I got carried away.” 

The two children walked in silence for a while as Winter continued to force her annoyance back down. She was a Schnee. Schnees did not dishonor the family.

“If it’s any consolation,” Scott began slowly, “I think the same of my own home.”

Winter turned in silence and arched her eyebrow for him to continue.

He shrugged. “Mistral is overpopulated. That’s not some profound revelation. Everyone knows that the cities are struggling to keep themselves overflowing. There aren’t enough houses, enough jobs, enough food, clean water, power…So, it irks me to know that I live in some massive mansion where only three people and a handful of staff live full-time.” He turned to Winter, his soft eyes meeting hers. “So, it’s a waste. I could never say this to my parents, of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Death before dishonor and all that.”

Winter felt the irritation slowly ebb away. “Yes. I guess that’s something all elite families must deal with, especially ones like ours.”

“Always on the public stage,” Scott chuckled. “I don’t envy you with that. My parents have kept me rather hidden from the public. Keeps me more out of danger.”

“Danger?” she asked, a tinge of concern.

Again, the boy shrugged. “Mistral has a problem with crime families, too. A boy with chronic health issues born to one of the richest families in Mistral is a wonderful target for kidnapping and ransom, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry,” Winter said, her shoulders sagging.

“Eh, give and take. I don’t deal with the media, but I have my own problems.” He smiled again. “But, that’s not really what our parents would want us talking about, right?”

Winter stiffened, her gaze turning icy. “And what might that be?”

Scott stopped moving, his expression turning soft. “You seem like the kind of person who appreciates when people are candid with you.” He waited for her to nod. “My parents are scheming for me to get close to both you and Weiss in an effort for me to marry either one of both of you.” He scowled and took a deep breath as though he were suppressing his own fury. “My love life is not some bargaining chip, and I expect that both you and your sister would appreciate your own romantic freedom.”

“You would be correct,” Winter said smoothly. “I expect that Father wishes for either of us to become engaged to you early and secure the I.T. property as an SDC asset.” She frowned for a moment before chuckling. “And I agree, my romantic endeavors are something I wish to pursue freely and not used for monetary gain.”

“Perfect! Honestly, I was just wanting to have some genuine friends,” he said, relaxing. “I only have the one cousin who likes to hang around me. Her twin sister used to, but she hates my guts for some reason…” He glanced back at Winter before straightening. “How about we start this over?” He offered his hand with a smile. “Hi. My name's Scott. I'm just your average Mistral boy. I like reading and learning. What's your name?”

Winter stared at the hand in confusion for a bit before laughing. “My name is Winter. I'm trying to become a Specialist. Happy to make your acquaintance.” She took his hand and shook it.

He's certainly a strange boy, but I think I can get along with him, she thought. At least we know we're on the same page.

Chapter Text

—Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Scott didn’t get to meet Weiss the night he arrived in Atlas, which wasn’t too bad in his opinion. Jet lag hit him hard and the days in Atlas were significantly shorter this time of year than in Mistral. Adding to the fact that he was still recovering from his most recent poisoning session left the boy more than exhausted by the time he arrived at his room.

At least Winter and I have gained an understanding, he thought, dressing for the day. 

The itinerary wasn’t nearly as full as he expected, probably to give him ample time to get to know Weiss and Winter and continue the ploy for their hand in marriage. 

Scott laughed quietly as he recalled Winter’s bombardment of questions and the sudden shyness the girl had when the interrogation turned towards his father’s plans for marrying multiple people. The girl was baffled that Mistral allowed such a lifestyle to happen and how, for the social elite, it was generally encouraged. I doubt Mother would share Father with anyone. Her ego is much too inflated to consider such a position.

Scott heard a knock at the door and froze, instincts from Tasha and his parents kicking in.

“Master Scott, breakfast will be ready for you and the other children in ten minutes,” Klein announced cheerfully, poking his head in the room enough for Scott to see his yellow eyes. 

Scott let go of his breath. “Thank you! I’ll be out soon!”

“No rush, Master Scott. Though, Miss Winter seems to be growing impatient.” Klein’s eyes flashed pink. “She wishes to speak with her new friend as soon as possible. I believe she wants to show you and her sister what she’s been learning.” With that, the butler left Scott alone.

“I wonder if it involves her huntress training,” Scott whispered. He grinned and rummaged through his suitcase until he found the well-used and annotated book on Aura that he smuggled into his room all those months ago. “Maybe I can help.”

Tucking the book under his arm and sending a quick update to Miltia—though she wouldn’t see the text until after school—Scott left the room with a comfortable stride. He could feel his strength returning to him now that he hadn’t been poisoned for four days, and he knew he could trust the food made in the Schnee Manor. Issac and Sylah wouldn’t dare do something that could sully the name of either the Schnees or themselves. 

He glanced around the white and blue halls. Yup. Sterile. You’d find more cheer in an ICU or crematorium.  

After a minute of walking, Scott came to the doors that the map provided to him said was this wing’s dining room. He didn’t know if he should laugh or rant about the fact that he needed a map to guide himself around the manor or that Weiss and Winter didn’t even dine with their parents. The doors opened automatically and Scott saw a low table in the center of the room where Winter was helping set up and Weiss sat at her spot humming some tune and swinging her feet under her chair. It was both funny and adorable to see Weiss like that, knowing that she’d become the silver-tongued rich girl by the time she ended up in Beacon. 

“Ah, Scott!” Winter called as she finished placing a plate on the table. She fast-walked around the room to greet him but stopped before him like a soldier at attention. “There you are! I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost.”

“Your home is quite the labyrinth, Winter,” he smiled. “And good morning to you.”

“Good morning.” Winter turned and led him to the table. “This is my sister, Weiss.”

Weiss finally looked up, and she did look quite different from her older self. For one thing, she lacked the scar on her eye, but that was unsurprising. Her hair was shorter, cut into a short bob rather than the off-center ponytail that would become her trademark. The biggest difference that Scott could see was just how relaxed the girl looked.

“Hi!” Weiss said with a huge smile. “Where’re you from?”

And her speech pattern is rough around the edges. No matter, she's still young.

“Mistral, the city.” Scott paused to see if Weiss knew what he was talking about but she furrowed her brow. “South,” he specified. “Closer to the equator.”

“Ah!” Weiss nodded. “So, why’re you here?”

Scott shrugged. “My parents own a company back home. My guess is they are having a bunch of meetings with your parents for something.”

“Father is trying to work with Mr. Ishvaltar to make cheaper mining equipment,” Winter said, though she looked unhappy about it. “Something about Atlas tech being too expensive.”

“Always wanting to squeeze a profit out,” Scott sighed. “Though, I'm surprised you even know, Winter. My parents didn't tell me anything despite me being the heir. Too young, I guess.”

“Father intends for me to take over the family,” Winter frowned as she took a seat. “He doesn’t like the fact that I’ve taken an interest in combat and strategy.” 

“I can imagine. Unfortunately, I’m too young to really participate in anything like that.” Scott pulled out a chair and sat across from the two girls.

“How old are you?” Weiss asked. She smiled and bobbed her head to some unheard tune. 

Gods, she’s so adorable! A primordial Weiss untainted by Jacques’ bullshit. Scott smiled. “I turned two a little over a month ago.”

“Ah! You were born in March?” Weiss excitedly. “I was born in May. I’ll be two soon!”

“I suspected you were young, but not that young,” Winter whispered, staring at Scott in awe. “You don’t really act your age.”

“So I’ve been told,” Scott shrugged. “My cousins tell me I’m weird, but they love me all the same. I’m left to my own devices back home a lot, so there’s not much else to do but read and learn. My parents are often busy with something or other all the time.” Sometimes, it’s not legal, but I can’t really say that without retribution.

“You don’t have a butler?” Winter asked, nodding towards Klein.

“We do, but he serves the entire family. Lee’s duties spread to other parts of the house.” Scott tilted his head in thought. “I do have Tasha, my caretaker, but she still only sees me as a bumbling baby. Conversation with her stagnates often.”

“At least you can have conversations with her,” Winter huffed. “Our staff remains so professional that I thought for a couple of years they were AK-130s with very convincing disguises.” The girl chuckled quietly with a smirk, a playful twinkle in her eye.

“I wouldn’t know,” Scott shrugged before grinning himself. “Perhaps they’re actually aliens and don’t understand human or faunus behavior? Or they’ve been body snatched and replaced with unfeeling clones?”

Weiss started to look fearful, shrinking away.

“Kidding!” Scott said quickly, holding his hands up. “It’s just a movie I’m referencing. My cousins always use the at-home theatre when they come over.” However, Invasion of the Bodysnatchers isn’t even a movie on Remnant! You careless idiot!

Weiss relaxed with a quiet sigh. “That’s good.” She glanced at Scott and then at Winter. “Do you know anything about huntresses?”

I guess she always had an interest in the profession. “I know some things about them,” Scott smiled. “I’d like to try my hand at being a huntsman myself, though I doubt my parents would let me do anything with the career.” Mainly because they’d train me as an assassin instead if they wanted me in a combat career. “I do have this, however.”

Scott placed the heavy book on the table, dozens of sticky notes peaking out between the pages all with scribbles in black ink. “When Winter told me last night about how she wanted to be a Specialist,” he glanced at the girl and she…blushed? Scott blinked in confusion for a moment before deciding that she was likely just embarrassed that he remembered. He cleared his throat. “Right, so, I decided that grabbing one of my most-read books would lead to some interesting conversation.”

Winter seemed to calm down, pouting in thought as she read the cover. “ The Complete Guide to Aura and Semblances. Sounds like a tough read.” 

Scott shrugged. “It’s a textbook, but definitely a useful read if you’re looking into becoming a huntress,” he paused for dramatics, “or a Specialist .” 

Winter raised her eyebrow. “You seem confident that I’ll even be allowed to try out for the Specialist Program.” 

“You’re a Schnee. Resourcefulness and cunning are part of the trade, right? I’m sure you’ll work something out if you’re keen on making it into the program.” Scott smiled.

“Y-yes, you’re right,” Winter stammered. It was almost endearing to see her act unconfident like this, the usually stoic and stern eldest Schnee daughter just be a young, passionate girl with a dream that, from what Scott was gleaming, wasn’t used to receiving praise in any amount. Winter cleared her throat. “Well, perhaps, after we eat breakfast, you’d like to see some of my training, Scott?”

“I’d like to!” Weiss jumped from her seat. “Your training is amazing!”

Scott chuckled. “Then, how about we make it an excursion? I have no agenda for my time here, so I was either going to spend it reading or researching.” He tapped the book. “Maybe there are some Aura tactics in here that we could potentially test out?”

Winter grinned, her piercing eyes sparkling as she jumped out of her chair and leaned over the table. “That sounds amazing! I usually am only training with swordplay, so Aura training gets put on the backburner…” She blinked and her face turned a slight shade of pink as she delicately sat back in her chair. “I…apologize for my outburst.”

Scott shrugged. “No biggie. We’re all in the same boat with having to put on a certain appearance for others, right?” He waited for the two girls to nod. “So, since we all know the ‘rules’ we’re supposed to play by, how about we just, oh, I don’t know, ignore them when it’s just us?” He leaned back in his chair. “They get rather annoying after a while, y’know?”

Winter relaxed back in her chair and an excited smile crossed her face. “It’s a deal.”

After an admittedly fast breakfast where little was really talked about in lieu of scarfing down as much food as possible, Scott walked with the two Schnee sisters. Weiss skipped happily through the halls, again humming some unknown tune that Scott had trouble following. Winter, on the other hand, briskly walked through the manor, occasionally turning to see whether her two cohorts were keeping pace and stopping to let them catch up. The way she was taking them seemed rather roundabout, avoiding any of the main entrances and places of gathering like the foyer, but Scott chalked that up to keeping away from her father where the disciplined mask would undoubtedly have to return for all of them. 

“We have a private training room,” Winter explained after a full ten minutes of walking and skulking. “Grandfather Nicholas had it built back when the manor was originally made to help him personally train the guards and explorers when he went out to survey Solitas for Dust deposits.” She beamed at the retelling. “It’s also where Mother was originally trained before she studied at Atlas Academy.”

Scott blinked. “Your mom is a trained huntress? I never knew.”

“Mom doesn’t talk about it,” Weiss chimed in. “She doesn’t talk about much really.”

“Probably because Father doesn’t want to be reminded that his ‘demure and obedient’ wife could snap him like a twig should she wish it.” Winter paused, her eyes falling to the floor. “Or if she wasn’t hiding in a bottle.”

“Mom doesn’t hide in a bottle, Winter,” Weiss said, giggling. “You’d need a really big one to do that!”

“Yes, Weiss, you would,” Winter said, patting her sister’s head. Her smile seemed strained and her eyes briefly met Scott’s. He only nodded sadly to let her know he understood. “Regardless, Father still keeps the facility top-notch as our major security personnel for the manor train there. There’s a private section for the family to use exclusively, which is where we’ll be going.” 

“That’s more than what we have back in Mistral,” Scott said as she jogged to catch up to Winter. “We have a small gym, but it’s mainly for generic weight training or jogging. Civilian workouts and not proto-huntsman training.” 

Winter hummed. “You said you wanted to be a huntsman?”

“It’s a possibility, though it mainly stems from my goal of helping people.” He grinned. “It’s the more romantic route, but there’s only so much one huntsman can do. I won’t fault you for the path you’re taking, I’m kinda envious in all honesty.” He glanced at Winter and saw the slight color to her cheeks. She doesn’t take praise all that well. Or she’s not used to talking with people who have an interest in this lifestyle? “But, it seems my path is set in stone.”

“Why’s that?” Weiss bluntly asked as she popped between the two.

“Have you seen me? I’m not quite the paragon of health,” he said circling his face with his finger. 

“I…was curious about that, but I didn’t want to bring it up…” Winter winced.

“Eh, it’s no biggie.” It is. It’s abuse, but I can’t change that right now. “I have chronic liver and kidney problems.” Close enough. The liver and kidneys would be the ones processing the poisons the most. “Makes me get sick more easily and look like something out of the Mummy .”

Winter blinked. “ The Mummy ?”

Scott waved her off, wincing internally about letting yet another Earth reference slip. “Just a movie my cousins made me watch. You know, mummified corpses coming to life.” He hunched his back and raised his hands while letting his head roll to one side. “Braaiins…”

Weiss looked scared for a moment before pouting and pointing at him. “You don’t scare me, monster!” she declared with a defiant grin. “With my semblance, I shall blow you away with my endless nedvermorns!”

“Nevermores,” Winter giggled.

“Nevermores!”

Scott dramatically clutched his heart and stumbled back. “No! My cursed ring shall let me endure! I’m the Pharaoh of these lands! I will not fall to–”

“Hiiiyah!” Weiss yelled as she tackled him to the floor and grabbed his hand that covered his heart. “Die, monster!”

“No! My precious power ring! Gone forever! Aggghh!” Scott slumped against the floor, his tongue flopping out of this mouth and his eyes rolling back.

“Come on, you two,” Winter laughed, “before Father sees us goofing off.”

“Okay!” Weiss said as she jumped back to her feet. She held her hand out and helped Scott to his.

“Good joust, Weiss,” he said with a dramatic bow. “You freed me from the Pharaoh’s curse.” He hummed as he gazed at the nearby window to see his reflection. “Still look like a mummy, but, eh, you win some and you lose some.”

“And that’s why you don’t think you will become a huntsman?” Winter tentatively asked.

“Pretty much. What’s the use of a huntsman who is as physically weak as me?” Scott shrugged, unbothered from the circumstance as he knew it would come to an end at some point. Change was always slow. He had to be patient. “That’s why I use this so often,” he tapped his head. “Sure, I probably won’t be able to use Aura or a semblance, not that it’s all too needed for a civilian, but I can keep up on the Hunter world. I am the heir to a technology company, so maybe I can push corporate policies in a way that can aid huntsmen and huntresses like yourself. Faster bullheads or skyships or mantas, better weapons or city-wide defense systems. Artificial Aura or Aura batteries.”

“You really thought things out,” Winter said, before smiling. “Perhaps, once I’m a Specialist, I can ask my commanding officers to hire your company for such materials.”

“We’d have to get through my parents first,” Scott pointed out. “I may be fairly open to it all, but not everyone likes the idea of outsourcing weapons or tech from foreign countries.”

“Fair enough, but the offer still stands.” Winter stopped before a door. “We’re here. My training saber is in the locker room, so let me grab that.” 

Scott nodded and entered the training facility with the two sisters. As was with the rest of the manor, the gym was white, grey, and icy blue illuminated with stiff, blue chandeliers. One of the longer walls of the room was a massive mirror, likely twenty meters long and five meters high. Across from the mirror was the plain white, grey, and blue paint job that Scott was growing more and more bored of with each second only being interrupted by two doors with a large sign above it labeled “Lockers,” and a screen and input computer resembling the training fields Beacon used. All the way across from the side they entered from was a large window and glass door, showcasing the ravenous blizzard outside in the Atlas cold. 

“You seem unimpressed,” Winter commented as she strode for the locker room. 

Scott shook himself from his thoughts. “It lacks color!”

“It’s Atlas,” Winter said, rolling her eyes. “We don’t know what color is.”

“Why do you think my name is Weiss?” Weiss said with a smirk.

Oh, there’s some of her snarkiness. I wondered when that’d come into play. “Fair point. Honestly, my home isn’t much better. You’ve got brown or black stained wood, gold accents, and maroon wallpaper EVERYWHERE! Not even red, but maroon .” Scott threw his arms open and twirled. “I don’t even like maroon, but I have to wear it.”

“I suppose we all have our problems with representing our respective families,” Winter sighed, opening the locker room. “I’ll be right back.” 

Scott watched the girl leave then made his way toward an audience stand near the computer terminal. It gave him more of an opportunity to examine the room, seeing two large rings on the ground dimly glowing teal. Barrier Dust, I think? Scott cursed in his head. Getting any information on all the uses of Dust had been slow progress. Yes, he had the scroll now, so he could simply look things up, but he lacked the time to do so when home, stuck between attending mandatory etiquette lessons on days he was feeling well and vomiting his intestines out from whatever poison Sylah had used on him for the day. 

“So, what is your favorite color?” 

Scott blinked and turned to see Weiss hovering over him. There was an almost overwhelming excitement in her eyes that was almost blinding. “Uh, green. Dark greens, mostly, like forest, pine, or emerald colors.”

Weiss just stared at him before nodding with approval. “So, Mistral’s a nice place for you, right? I hear that the city is almost overgrown with forests.” She rolled her eyes. “Daddy complains about it. Bugs.”

Scott took a breath as he sat on the bench. “I wouldn’t know. I rarely get to leave the house. Even coming out the Atlas was a huge deal.”

“‘Cause you get sick?”

“Yuuup.”

Weiss stared at the floor and then plopped herself next to Scott. “Winter doesn’t get along with people,” she said quietly, looking up at Scott to read his expression. “I…I know I’m little, and Winter’s a big girl, but Daddy’s always…making us meet new people for…” She scrunched her face in frustration.

“Engagements?” Scott offered.

Weiss blinked then nodded. “The boys are annoying. Winny–” she stops, her eyes widening in fear. “D-d-don’t tell her I called her that. She gets upset…”

Scott made a zipper motion across his mouth and pretended to throw out the key.

“Thanks,” Weiss chuckled. “Winter…she tells me to stay away from them. I don’t have friends. She doesn’t, too.” The girl’s shoulders slumped for a bit, before she sat up and beamed at Scott. “But, she likes you! That makes you special! So I like you, too!”

Scott chuckled nervously, sliding his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t really do anything. I just set boundaries and expectations…”

“Ezzpecklations?”

The boy forced himself not to laugh, fearing he’d upset Weiss for mispronouncing it. Wasn’t too long ago that I couldn’t speak a single word, after all. “It’s like…I told Winter what I wanted out of knowing her, to be friends, and she told me what she wanted, not to be married off to someone a quarter her age.” He waited for Weiss to nod. “I know my father wants me to marry one of you, but he doesn’t control this,” he tapped his heart. “Besides, it’s nice just to talk to someone besides my family.”

She nodded. “You mentioned your cousins before. What’re they like?” 

Scott puffed his cheeks out with a dramatic exhale. “Hoooboy, how to describe them? Miltia and Melanie are identical twins with black hair and green eyes.” He tilted his head in thought. “They’re a little older than Winter, turning ten this year, and…rough around the edges.”

“Huh?”

Scott held his hands out like he was juggling a set of invisible balls. “They aren’t from our social class? They curse a lot, play pranks, and just a general lack of etiquette. Melanie is really demanding, and I get the feeling she doesn’t like me all that much anymore…”

“Why?” 

Scott looked over to see Weiss’s piercing eyes watching him. “I, uh, I guess it’s because she can’t really control me? Melanie is the kind of person who wants everything done her way, so when I act independently from her goals, she yells and complains.”

Weiss snorted dismissively. “She’s a meanie.”

Scott shrugged. “Probably. Miltia though, she’s nicer. Yea, she’s competitive and hot-headed, but she looks out for me the most, butts heads with Melanie when it involves me a lot. She’s the closest person in my family for me.” 

“Like me and Winny.”

“Like you and Winter ,” Scott corrected as Weiss squeaked with embarrassment. 

“Y-y-yea.” She looked away. “You…you don’t hate girls that can fight, right?”

Scott blinked. “Why would I?”

Weiss huffed. “Other boys get mad when Winny-Winter talks about being a spec..specila…”

“Specialist.”

“Yea, that.” She stared at him with wide eyes.

Scott took in a breath and leaned back on the bench. “What does it matter to me? People and their egos can be tiresome. So what if Winter wants to be a kick a…kick-butt, top-of-the-line warrior? It doesn’t take anything away from me.” He gave a lopsided smile. “I’m just a dude with big ideas. I’m sure Winter can and will become a Specialist.”

Weiss beamed more. “Yea! I will, too!” She froze, then looked back and forth. “Don’t tell anyone but Winter, but I want to be a huntress when I grow up.”

“Not a Specialist?”

Weiss nodded. “Specialists stay home. I want to see the world.” She smiled. “Maybe visit you down in…in…”

“Mistral.”

“Yea!” She pumped her hand in the air. “Missile!”

Scott just chuckled. Seeing Weiss so enthusiastic and relaxed…well, it almost made it worthwhile the personal hell he was going through.

“What are you two talking about?” Winter said, now dressed in sports equipment and holding a full-length saber in its sheath at her side. Her eyebrow is arched, either with skepticism or intrigue.

“Just about family and how some boys don’t like it when girls one-up them,” Scott shrugged. His eyes were drawn to the sword again. “You already use a full weapon?”

Winter sighed. “Not quite. This is a training saber. Blunt edge, so really just for practicing swings.” She…pouted. For some reason, that threw Scott for a loop, seeing the Winter Schnee sulk with frustration at all! “I want a real weapon, but Father won’t allow it until I turn ten. How am I supposed to practice properly to get into Atlas Academy if I don’t have the proper weapon style I want!?” She huffed again.

“You have your aura unlocked, though, right?” Scott asked.

Winter nodded, a proud smirk on her face. “Unlocked it myself two years ago. My semblance came in eight days later.”

Holy hell, I knew Winter was an effing prodigy, but that’s insane! “I…wow. That’s incredible!” Scott jumped to his feet, starting to circle Winter as he mumbled. “My book said that it’s dangerous for someone under the age of eight to unlock their Auras. The lack of control at first makes the Aura burn off and can put someone into Aura Exhaustion when the body digests fat tissue and muscle mass to keep the Aura topped off…” He stopped when he saw Winter’s dumbfounded expression. He blinked before shyly sliding his fingers through his hair. “Uh, ha ha ha, sorry. I get carried away sometimes.”

“No, that’s quite impressive,” Winter said, shaking herself out of her shock and a little red coming to her cheeks. “I-I will admit that it wasn’t good that I unlocked it early. Father called me a glutton because of how much I needed to eat to keep myself…stable.” She looked away. 

“Oh. Sorry if I brought up something…uncomfortable…” Scott winced. The three were silent for a bit before Scott clicked his tongue. “So! Weapons? You use a…saber for quick slash attacks, right?”

Winter stood straight as she recomposed herself, a smile coming back. “Yes.” She drew the saber and did a few practice slashes. “Piercing weapons can be useful in their own right, but I wanted a blade that was a little stronger than, say, a foil.” She struck forward with a jab. “A saber gives a nice balance between slashes and jabs, but I want there to be a secondary short-sword hidden in the hilt of the saber,” she said, making a motion for how the blade would pop out. 

“No ranged options?” Scott asked. He knew the answer already, but it was always a question he had. Why did some huntsmen not utilize some ranged combat? Jaune? He knew the reason, the kid ran away from home with the family heirloom and figured swinging a sword would be easier than picking up a gun without any training. But others like Winter or Yatsuhashi?

“My semblance can get around that limitation,” Winter explained. She raised her sword, summoned a white snowflake glyph behind her, and fired a small, white projectile across the room. “I can create projectiles, and, eventually, I can summon Grimm I’ve slain to aid me further.” She smirked, obviously trying to show off.

“Okay,” Scott said, glancing between the two sisters. “What happens if you’re low or out of Aura?” The two girls stayed silent, Weiss opening her jaw to say something before shutting it. Winter, on the other hand, looked offended. Scott raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying you’ll lose, Winter, but it’s a…contingency.”

“What’s a ‘contingency’?” Winter asked, her sword drooping. 

Ah, right. She’s a child. “Think of it as a plan in case things go wrong,” he explained. “Picture this. You’re surrounded by Grimm in the Solitas tundra and your Aura is…below twenty percent. Help is out of reach, but you can get out of this alive. You can either use your Semblance to…launch you?” He tried to act out of the loop. Scott knew most of the ins and outs of the Schnee semblance, but they didn’t know he knew. 

Winter nodded. 

“Right. Either you can use your Semblance to launch you away, but tanking your aura which is protecting you from the cold, or you can use your glyphs to fire projectiles.” He held up his finger. “But, both options take away from your Aura! So, having a ranged sidearm that doesn’t rely on your Aura as a backup option could even the odds and get you back to safety!”

Winter just stared at him, eventually biting her lip and squinting. “It’s an idea…”

“And it doesn’t have to be your main weapon,” he continued. “The saber-short sword combo with glyphs can be your default, but Specialists have to be flexible, right? So having a high-impact sidearm with modular ammo for close-medium range would be another tool in your kit!”

“Yeah,” Winter nodded as she tapped the tip of her sword against the floor. “Yeah! That’s a great idea! I’ll have to research guns now which Father will call ‘barbaric,’ but…” She smiled, her eyes glinting with excitement and the skin around them crinkling. “When have I ever agreed with him on anything Specialist related? Thank you, I wasn’t expecting someone to be as passionate about my career as I was.”

Scott gave a goofy two-fingered salute. “My pleasure–” He felt a tug on his arm to see Weiss behind him, pouting. 

“What about me?” she asked. “My weapon?”

“Ugh, do you know what you want?” Scott asked.

Weiss pouted more, slumping back onto the bench, defeated. “No…”

Scott watched her for a bit. Well, I have an idea what Myrtenaster should look like, even if I don’t know too much about Dust– His eyes widened as he turned to Winter. “Got any pamphlets or books on how Dust works?”

The older sister snorted. “Where do you think we are?” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“Yea, yea,” Scott said, tapping his chin before lightly slamming his fist into his open palm. “I’ll help you, Weiss. I just gotta do more research for it.”

She looked up, her eyes filled with wonder. “Promise?”

Scott reached out his hand, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.”

Weiss looked at his hand like it was some alien parasite, tentative and unsure, before grabbing it awkwardly. “Okay. Don’t break it.”

Scott laughed. “I don’t intend to.”

Chapter Text

—Atlas-Mistral Transit—

“Eat.” 

Such simple words shouldn’t fill Scott with as much dread as they did, but what more could he really do? He was aboard the Ishvaltar’s private skyship, not having left the Schnee Manor for twenty minutes, and his parents were already scrutinizing him. 

Sylah sat in her seat next to Issac across a small table from Scott with neither of the adults having plates before them. They looked like the delicate marble statues Scott remembered seeing in museums back on Earth—cold, uncaring, and frozen in time. Nothing bothered these two unless Scott’s mounting defiance won out. He had never been a rebellious person before, but things were different now. He had an abusive family, one that could be compared to the mistreatment Cinder endured in The Glass Unicorn, but he also had the wits of someone much older than his body. And, maybe Miltia’s rubbing off on me. She’s not afraid to speak her mind.

Slam!

Scott jumped, his eyes darting up as he finally registered the feral snarl on his father’s face. He had slammed his fist on the small table, the knuckles turning white and his joints creaking. The muscles bulged beneath his tailored coat.

“I said, eat, you insufferable shit!” He sneered. “What could possibly be going on in that fucking head of yours that has you so distracted?” Issac leaned forward and glared. “Unless you’re afraid. Soft .”

“N-no, that’s not it,” Scott said, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of the Atlesian breakfast before him—a type of sausage similar to a bratwurst with sauerkraut and roasted acorn squash. All things considered, it would’ve been a delightful meal were it not for the context that it was all poisoned. “I apologize if I seem distracted. I was just…thinking about the task you’d set me on while we were in Atlas.”

The rage ebbed away from Issac’s face as a cruel smile formed. “Thinking about your next move?”

Kinda, just not the move you want. “Yes.”

“We hadn’t spoken during the trip,” Sylah said as she leaned back in her padded seat like an aloof warrior queen. “Give us an update. How were the Schnee daughters?”

Scott swallowed a piece of sausage, making sure he took his time with the food. The slower he ate, the less the poison affected him. “Both are smart for their ages–”

“But not as smart as you,” Sylah said.

“R-right.” Not wrong, but damn, you’re rough. Scott tilted his head in thought, trying to figure out what would be the best way to describe the siblings without giving his parents too much information. “Winter acts above her age and is training to become a Specialist.” A safe bet they already know that. Winter made it clear how much it annoyed Jacques.

“Yes, Jacques mentioned that,” Issac said dismissively, waving it off. “I’d expect you to discourage that. It’s foolhardy and pointless for our efforts.”

“Is it?” Scott shrank under the pointed glare from his father. “W-what I mean is…well, Aunt Lil’ Miss has friends in the MPD that get her information and help keep her, and us, out of their sights, right? Having Winter be in the Specialists could be the same thing, but also allow us to have better access to Atlas military tech—”

“Which we could steal and modify for our own efforts,” Sylah nodded approvingly. She turned to her husband. “It’s another avenue for us, especially once she becomes his fiancé.”

Issac hummed before snapping his fingers twice as Lee appeared next to him. “A glass of Cardinal Desert Rose.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Issac drummed his fingers on the table. “Very well. And the younger one?”

Scott nodded. “She’s much younger and doesn’t quite know what she wants to do yet.”

“But, has she fallen into your grasp?”

Scott felt a shiver of fury in his core. “Yes,” he forced out. “Both are isolated and don’t like any other suitors her father has brought them in the past.”

Issac smiled, making Scott’s stomach writhe. “Good. Exploit it. Two lonely girls in the tower and their foreign prince comes in and sweeps them off their feet.” He laughed. “This will certainly be easier than I thought . You’ve done well, wouldn’t you agree, Sylah?”

“Yes, though he must finish his food and not use this conversation to avoid it.” The woman glowered at him from across the table. “I know what you’re doing, Scott—eating small bites and taking your time to lower the concentration of the poison ingested at once. That won’t do.” She made a disappointed sigh. “And here I thought you were getting better, but you decided to cheat your training.”

Scott slumped back. Fuck.

Issac bared his teeth. “When we get home, you will be punished. What a waste.”

— Atlas: Schnee Manor—

WinterS: Did you get a chance to read the book? Tuesday 9:28 pm – Unread

Winter sighed with annoyance as she tossed her scroll on her bed and collapsed next to the device, letting her long, white hair scatter across the faint, blue quilt. It was past nightfall, and her room was only illuminated by the shattered moon in the night sky, painting every surface in an ethereal silver light. She couldn’t tell what was more annoying, the fact that she’d been left unread for two days or that she had grown impatient about such a stupid thing in the first place! Scott had warned her that he couldn’t consistently check his scroll, something she thought was weird but ultimately thought little about it mainly for one reason.

Scott was weird . 

But, at the same time, she felt a dull ache in her chest the more she thought about it. This weird kid from Mistral was…well, the first person she considered a friend. She had Klein, of course, but Klein wasn’t someone she could gush about the latest things she found out about the Specialist program. Oh, he’d listen, that’s how reliable the butler was, but it just didn’t feel the same now that she had met the boy.

So, yes, she was impatient. She wanted to talk to her friend again, a sudden splash of color in the winding cold walls of the Manor. And, no, it wasn’t that she felt like he was ignoring her which made her more agitated each day. That would be stupid. But there was also another reason for her impatience.

Winter heard a faint knock on her door. “Enter,” she said, sitting up. 

Weiss poked her head through the doorway wearing her night gown. “Winny? Did he—”

“ No ,” she growled and then cringed at the sudden venom in her tone. She sighed. “No. He hasn’t sent us a message. I’ve checked.”

“Oh…” Weiss deflated a little as she stood in the open door. Her head hung low as she made some strange noise. Winter blinked, squinting in the dull light and straining her ears to catch the noise again. Weiss sniffled, and Winter’s eyes went wide as her sister spoke again. “Does…does he hate us? Did we do something wrong?”

“Weiss…” Winter sighed and patted a spot on the bed next to her. The little girl slowly padded over and sat beside Winter, nuzzling against Winter’s side as she cried more. “He doesn’t hate us. He wouldn’t have spent as much time with us last week if he did.”

“Then why?” Weiss sobbed. “I don’t want him to hate us like Daddy…”

Winter’s stomach clenched. Jacques truly didn’t care about them, she knew that. She knew in the way he ignored or outright mocked her dreams and plans. Sure, Mom would argue against him with a quiet word or pull Winter aside to give her private encouragement, but Winter could tell there was some underlying friction between the two. With each day, Mom’s eyes became a little dimmer, sometimes leading her to forget about Winter or Weiss.

“Scott doesn’t hate us,” Winter said again, more to convince herself than her sister. 

Ding!

Winter blinked, looking down at Weiss as she pulled away in confusion. Winter twisted on the bed and reached over to grab her scroll. 

Scott: Hey. Sorry I haven’t responded in a while. Got sick as soon as I got home and have been really out of it. Hope I didn’t upset you and Weiss too much.

“Is it him?” Weiss sniffled, her eyes both bleary and excited.

Winter smiled. “Yes. He said he got sick.” She began typing out a message.

WinterS: I’m sorry to hear that. Weiss was upset that you hadn’t answered.

Winter felt a slight blush come to her cheeks. She couldn’t admit that she was worried, too! Schnees were paragons of self-control. So, no, she didn’t miss him and chatting excitedly about the one thing that made her happy. It wasn’t like that at all.

Scott : Tell her I said sorry. Again, sorry to you as well, Winter. I know you wanted me to look into Dust applications for our theoretical secondary weapon for you, but I’ve been throwing up pretty much everything I eat for the last two days. Not much reading to be had. 

Winter clicked her tongue in annoyance as her face felt more and more hot. Of course, that fool was thinking more about her needs than his own. 

“Something wrong, Winny?” Weiss asked, tugging on her sister’s arm.

Winter huffed. “He’s apologizing that he didn’t get to read the books we gave him since he was sick.” She rubbed her eyes and felt a little wetness on her hand. Her scroll dinged again.

Scott: However, I was thinking of some other Aura applications you could try out? There’s a technique called an Aura Slash where you focus the energy being used to reinforce your blade and fling it forward? Not really sure how to describe it since I don’t have my Aura unlocked.

Winter barked a laugh, startling Weiss. She smiled as she tapped on the scroll.

WinterS : I’ll keep it in mind. Are you sure you should be up?

Scott: Probably not, if I’m honest. But I felt you and your sister needed to hear from me to let you know I didn’t just ditch you guys. So, yup, I’m alive and am thinking about you two. 

Winter’s breath hitched as a lump formed in her throat.

“Winny?” Weiss sounded concerned.

Winter smiled. “He just said he wanted to make sure he’s thinking about us.” She laughed. “See? I told you he cares.”

The little girl buried her face into Winter’s side as she tackled the older girl to the bed. “I knew he would! I knew!” 

Winter chuckled lightly, deciding not to say anything about Weiss’s doubts not even ten minutes ago. She grabbed her scroll again.

WinterS: Thank you. I was–

Winter blinked. Was what? I can’t say worried! That would be embarrassing! She deleted the message and began again as Weiss snuggled into her side.

WinterS: Thank you. Weiss was worried. You are taking care of yourself, right?

Scott : As much as I can. Speaking of, I should get to sleep. I’m six hours ahead of you two and it’s almost two in the morning.

The dull ache returned to Winter’s heart, but she knew it was an absolutely selfish thing. She couldn’t put her own…wants before her friend’s health. That was what Jacques did, indulging in his own selfish desires while turning his back on the people he should be caring about. And I’m not like Father .

WinterS: Get well soon, Scott.

Winter bit her lip.

WinterS: Do you know when you’ll message me again? Or be in Atlas?

She waited, her heart thumping louder in her ears. I’m not being desperate. I’m not .

Scott: In the morning, if I’m feeling better. Not sure on when I’ll be in Atlas again, but Father does want me to get “closer” to you for the sake of an engagement. 🤮 Can’t imagine it’ll be super soon, but probably on Weiss’s birthday if I can convince them.

Winter let go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

WinterS: I’ll hold you to it. Sleep well, Scott.

Scott: I’ll try. Goodnight, Winter.

The eldest Schnee sibling clicked off her scroll and placed it on her bedside. Weiss was curled up next to her sound asleep with her breathing light and even. Winter idly stroked her sister’s white hair as a smile came to her face. It’s good to have a friend.

— Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion —

Scott clicked the scroll off after turning off the bug jammer, quickly slamming the false cover shut and tucking the book away on the shelf. He stumbled as he tried to stand, his vision still not quite there with how swollen his left eye was. Issac’s punishment had been hell. Scott had been locked away in a dark closet wearing barely anything where his “father” would come in and thrash him with the flayed whip and punch him in the face or stomach. It was never enough to break his nose, bones, or teeth, but everything burned. 

He hated to admit it, but he had forgotten about Winter and Weiss. Hell, he didn’t even know how much time had passed until after he’d gotten out of the closet. Fifty-two hours, and his first instincts, when he got back to his room, were to grab his scroll and catalog the injuries and effects of the poison. 

It wasn’t until he saw the thirty-eight notifications from Winter that he realized how much he screwed up. Most of them were ideas for her new sidearm or what the ammo types she’d use. She even admitted that she was just sending the texts to him purely because she couldn’t figure out another place to have it and she wanted his opinions. But the last few?

WinterS: Did I get the number right?

WinsterS : I know you said you couldn’t answer all the time, but please message back soon.

WinterS : Weiss is asking about you. Everything okay?

WinterS : You haven’t read any of my messages. Sorry if I’m bombarding you.

WinterS : Did you get a chance to read the book?

And then, radio silence for two days straight, like she’d given up.

This isn’t the stoic and stalwart Winter that slaps Weiss the moment she’s introduced, he thought. This is a girl who feels alone and wants to have someone she can confide in. And I…

Exploited it.

Somehow, that realization hurt more than all the slashes and bruises coating his body. 

They aren’t characters anymore. They’re people with dreams and hopes. I can’t be careless with how I interact with them. Scott dragged himself to his bed and pulled a thick book from under his mattress and his composition books. Metallurgic Dust: Introduction to Dust Studies and the Application of Dust Variants.  

He flipped the cover open and glanced at the clock—1:36 AM. I promised Winter I’d help her with this. I’m not tired anymore, not after Sylah gave me that caffeinated bullshit after I got out of the closet. He didn’t even know what it was, but he suspected it was given to him with the sole purpose of keeping him awake longer and endure the pain. And it’s to my advantage for now.

Scott winced as he leaned against the wall his bed was next to. The lashes on his back hadn’t closed yet, though he wasn’t going to get an infection since Tasha had tended to it. However, he had to put the bandages on. But the pain means I’m still alive to feel it. He snorted. Cognito, Ergo Sum. I think, therefore I am, now with pain overload! Get your free trial today!

He laughed, but immediately tensed and hissed in a breath as the aches returned. How the hell did Scott Ishvaltar make it through all of this the last time?

Scott froze. Maybe he didn’t. What was it Issac said? That I was mentally ret– he grimaced, mentally lacking? Perhaps Scott died in the original timeline because he couldn’t endure this torture.  

He shook his head. “No point in thinking about that now. Gotta help Winter.”

“Why?”

Scott looked up to see a ghostly reflection of himself lurking in the shadows, draped on the shelf. He wore a lazy smile, tipping his head back and forth as he kicked his legs out, but his grey-blue eyes had an empty quality.

Scott glared at the intruder. “Go away,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood for my mind playing tricks on me.”

The spectre gasped. “ Come now! That’s not how you treat a guest, is it?”

“You’re not a guest,” he hissed. “You’re a distraction and a pest, a delusion created by my fatigued and frantic mind and that cocktail of poisons and crap Sylah forced down my throat.”

The specter smiled. “ Ah, but that means I’m part of you, no? How exactly do you think you can get rid of me, Scotty-boy? ” The illusion tutted his tongue. “ Answer the fucking question, will you? Why help Winter? ”

Scott gripped the cover of the book. “Because she’s counting on me.”

“Is she?” The delusion jumped off the shelf and strolled around the room “Winter grows up to be in the Specialists anyway! Weiss goes to Beacon! Both are prodigies in their own right no matter what! How will you, some fucking university student who’s such a failure that he died in a car crash and got himself trapped in a toddler’s body, help move that along?”

Scott slammed the book shut and stood, clenching his teeth as his body screamed in agony. “Winter also didn’t have a gun before, but now is interested in having a secondary!” 

The specter feigned fear as he shivered. “ Oh no! She has a gun! ” He rolled his eyes. “ Fuck off with the semantics. We both know that means nothing for the crazy train Ozzy's gonna throw them at.”

“Even a modicum of preparation is better than nothing.”

“ Is it? ” He put his left hand into the shape of a gun. “ This gun? No gun is big enough to stop Salem! Fuck, not even the show figured out a way to kill the psycho bitch. Infinite power, infinite army, and infinite time! While you, ” he flopped his hand in Scott’s direction, “ have fifteen years. Seventeen if we’re being generous. What the fuck can you do? ”

“I know how things will play out–”

“ Bullshit you do! ” the illusion growled as he stormed forward. “ What was that whole theory? You know, butterfly effect? Chaos Theory? Your very fucking existence is changing the course of history, Scotty-boy.” The specter grinned. “ And you’re losing it. ”

“Stress and chemical cocktail,” Scott countered.

The specter shrugged. “ If that’s what you believe. ” He stretched his arms. “ Still. Not gonna change much in my opinion. Miltia’s still going to be an assassin bodyguard at Junior’s, flaunting her body to drunk men under the rave’s atmosphere. ”

“Shut up.”

“ And Winter’s still gonna turn her back on Weiss and Whitley as Willow falls deeper into depression and Jacques becomes worse, so really, what do you think you can do?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scott hissed. “There’s still time.”

“ Pfft, please, don’t be so fucking arrogant! ” The specter danced around him. “ You’re just one guy! Oh, and don’t try some cheeky G-Man ‘the right man in the wrong place makes all the difference in the world’ bullshit. These ‘people,’” he said, making air quotes, “ had their lives decided for them the moment their names were written on some document. They aren’t real people, not like you and me.”

“You’re not real,” Scott said, feeling his breath hitch. “You. Are. Not. Real.”

“ Real enough to you . ”

“No, you’re not . You’re a…Clarence, no, a Harvey .”

The specter rolled his eyes. “Really? It’s a Wonderful Life or Harvey? I’m not some Jimmy Stewart sketch.” The specter blinked then began to laugh. “Is that what I am to you? You’re own personal pop-culture reference machine since no one in this fucking world will understand you?” He laughed harder. “Eh, doesn’t matter. I’m still you, and you’re pathetic.”

“No. You’re not, Harvey ,” Scott seethed. “Get. Out.”

Harvey raised his eyebrow. “ Make me. ”

Scott yelled and threw the closest thing he could grab at Harvey, one of the composition books spread out on his bed. The book sailed through the specter and clattered against the wall, knocking over a lava lamp. The lamp shattered against the floor and coated the composition book in water and oil.

“No, no, no!” Scott hobbled his way over to the book and tried to shake the water from it. A handful of pages tore out as he tried to dry it. “NO!” He grabbed the torn pages and knocked a bunch of books off his shelf to lay them flat to dry. His breath was erratic, gulping down air like a drowning man as he began to cry, the tears staining and smudging notes he’d painstakingly written down. “I…I can’t fail now. Not when people are relying on me. I just have to persevere…survive…”

Exhaustion finally took the boy as he collapsed on the ground in a restless sleep.

— Mistral: Spider Controlled Slums—

It was the middle of the night, and Roman was pissed off. That wasn’t an unusual thing these days seeing how his entire life was a fucking miserable experience, but this time he had something else to be pissed about.

“What’cha mean you don’t have it?” Roman asked, tapping his cane on the counter of the pawn shop. “I paid damn good money to ensure the package would be delivered, and you said it would be here today. Or are you calling yourself a liar, Petey.”

The owner of the shop, Petey, was a ratty-looking man—short with a beer gut, gangly legs, and an absolutely dreadful combover. Despite it being a crime against all fashion to wear a stained, purple apron over his khaki shorts and greasy, white, wifebeater, the guy was usually good at getting whatever Roman needed on the down low. Keyword, usually. 

“I-I-I didn’t lie, Roman!” the man pleaded. He jumped when Roman slammed his cane against the counter. “Please! You’ve gotta believe me!”

“Now why would I do that?” Roman tossed Melodic Cudgel in the air and caught it, swiftly snagging Petey’s neck with the hook and dragging him closer. “See, this package isn’t for me, buddy, it’s for one of Lil’ Miss’s brats.” He smirked. “So, you can tell why this isn’t something that’s going to just disappear without trouble.”

“B-b-b-but I pay my protection fees! I haven’t caused trouble—” Petey whimpered when he saw Roman glare.

“Not the point! You’re causing me a helluva lot of trouble with the only good one of the terrible twins, and your whining is just pissing me off! You had the package, so where is it now?” 

“I don't know! Reggie was supposed to get here with the goods this morning, but he's been missing!” Petey yelled. There were tears, actual tears , staining the greasy man's face. “I haven't heard from him for days!”

Roman squinted at the pathetic sniveling trash before he pushed him away and planted Melodic Cudgel into the ground. “Any idea where I'd find him?” 

“N-no, but he wouldn't disappear without a reason!” Petey coughed. 

“Mhm, right, and I totally won't break his fingers when I see him next,” Roman drawled. The thief turned to leave the building full of assorted random crap and saw a lovely red bandana. He snatched it off the rack. “I'm taking this for all the trouble. Oh, and, Petey? If I find that you lied to me about this?” Roman swung his cane at a mannequin's head, taking it clean off. “Need I say more?”

Without another, word, Roman stepped outside into the chill air. Winter in Mistral was never quite a full experience, always dipping cold enough to freeze your balls off if you weren’t careful but never enough for snow to fall. No, it was just slush mixing with the dredges of asphalt and soot left behind by the myriad of cars passing through. And, even worse, it kept on going well into the middle of Spring, in April.

Roman grumbled as he pulled a cigar and lighter from his pocket. 

“Those are going to kill you eventually, you know.” 

Roman rolled his eyes and he puffed out a breath of smoke. “You know, Chameleon, I never really thought I’d live too long anyhow. And, it matches the aesthetic. Rougish charm.”

“Mhm, smoke and tar, what a lovely combination,” Chameleon said. The woman was dressed in the same uniform that all of Spider’s operatives did—well, minus Roman of course, he had style—a purple halter top, black cut-off shorts, and thigh-high black boots, though Chameleon was wearing a lavender colored trenchcoat over everything. “So, mind telling me what you’ve been up to?” she said, nodding back toward the shop. “Not double dipping into our protection fees again, are we?”

“Ha! You wish.” Roman took another inhale of his cigar. “Nope, I was trying to get a package, and the dickhead lost it.”

Chameleon chuckled fondly. “Roman Torchwick, running around like a delivery boy? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Roman grunted with annoyance. “It’s for the boss’s brat. Something very important.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you indulged them,” Chameleon said. “I always thought they were ‘annoying and spoilt brats?’”

“Spoiled,” Roman corrected, to which Chameleon lightly punched his arm. “The white one is, yea, but Red? Nah, she’s actually not that bad, but I’ll never say that to her face. Can’t let her ego one up me.”

“Really?” Chameleon blinked before turning to look at the cloudy sky. “Huh, wonder what changed.”

“Whatcha mean?”

The woman shrugged. “I had to work a few jobs with the Boss personally a while back. One of them was doing what you did, babysitting the kids, and they were awful. I’m talking paintball grenades and razors hidden in your food.”

“HA! The white devil got you too, eh?”

“No, it was both of them,” Chameleon stressed. “Miltia just followed Melanie’s orders all the time. She was quiet and, to be honest, rather stupid, ditsy.”

“Well, well, that’s not what I’ve been gathering,” Roman said. “Red’s actually pretty smart on things. Helluva good deal broker and is always asking me to spar with her. Kid’s got claws. And, she argues with White all the fuckin’ time. I gathered that they hated each other.”

“No, they were glued together when I worked with them,” Chameleon said. “That’s what so fucking weird about it all. Miltia did everything Melanie said. What you’re saying doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe she was possessed by a Chill her whole life and got it exorcised?” Roman laughed. “But, whatever, still gotta finish this job for her, but now it’s turnin’ into a wild goose chase just to get some medical equipment.”

“The hell?”

Roman tapped some of the ashes off his cigar. “Blood toxicology analyzer. Got any of those lyin’ around, Colours?” 

Chameleon’s face flashed pink before reverting to normal. “Asshole. No, I don’t. That’s some expensive hardware you’re getting her.”

Roman shrugged. “You know how girls are, love getting new toys.”

“And you say Petey lost it?”

“Nah, his go-getter, Reggie, is missing along with all cargo he had.” Roman glared at a spot in the distance. “So, now I’m needin’ to hunt the bastard down.”

Chameleon stood quietly next to him for a while. “That’s…not good.”

“Something you know?”

Chameleon pouted in thought. “He’s not the only runner that’s gone missing. I was on a job for the Boss, spyin’ on Parrot, y’know? ‘Parently, the boys over there have been tryin’ to get their hands on Atlas military tech, robots and something bio-tech related they wanted to figure out how to make. Guess they thought it’d be something to sell to junkies.”

Roman grimaced. Sure, he thought that everyone was pretty much scum, but he’d seen enough people on the streets, both in Mistral and Vale, become vacant husks wasting away from a new drug called Appy. Whores took it to get through the day, but they’d slowly stop caring about everything ‘cept getting doped up. It was the one thing that made Roman pissed off about when it came to other people. Well, two things now if he, begrudgingly, included Red. 

“And someone’s been doing heists on hospitals,” Chameleon continued. “Taking blood samples, lab tech, and all kinds of chems for testing shit.”

“You think Red’s toy was taken by the same people?”

Chameleon shrugged. “Where there’s smoke…”

Roman nodded. “Good talk, Colours. You report this to the Boss?”

“Was on my way to now.”

“Good. Keep an eye out for Reggie for me, will ya?”

Chameleon raised an eyebrow. “And where do you think you’re going?” 

Roman barked a laugh. “To find another toy for Red. I got paid for this fucking job, so I’m gonna finish it.” Then, Roman walked off into the night, twirling his cane idly. Now, where’s a good place to steal medical tech?

Chapter Text

—Atlas: Downtown Atlas City—

True to his word, Scott did message Winter come morning, though it probably was closer to afternoon for him in Mistral. Winter was sitting in a limousine as she was being escorted to some event Father told her she needed to attend, a sort of mingling event with more of Atlas’s elite. She nearly tore her scroll from her purse when it quietly vibrated, and if anyone claimed that she was beaming with excitement when she saw who it was from, they were sorely mistaken. 

Scott: Hey, still haven’t read anything yet, sorry. I’m getting onto it now. Had a rough night so I’m still feeling really out of it.

WinterS: Please don’t push yourself if you’re still sick. But, thank you for checking in.

Scott: I promised, didn’t I? I have to make up for worrying you before.

Winter’s cheeks flushed as her eyes darted around the car’s interior and relaxed when she remembered she was going to whatever this was alone. Mom was busy with a different event she was forced to attend with Jacques and Weiss…well, she was at home with Klein, so probably having the best deal of the three of them. 

Satisfied that she was alone, Winter brushed the bangs out of her face and smoothed out the white and blue dress. It was beautiful, she knew that objectively, with the silver thread snowflake pattern gleaming across the front and down to her feet, but she just couldn’t bring herself to like it, not when it looked exactly the same as every other set of clothes she owned. What it needed was some color, a splash of red like on the Specialist emblem.

“I don’t even like maroon or gold, but I have to wear it! ” 

Winter smiled to herself. I know I’m not the only one who thinks life needs more color. Her scroll vibrated again.

Scott : So, what’s up with you? Any fun events or activities for you and Weiss today?

Winter snorted. 

WinterS: Hardly. I have to go to a social event for Atlas Elite my age. It’s going to be boring, especially since I’m attending alone. 

Scott: A soiree? 

Winter tilted her head as she read and re-read the strange word.

WinterS: I don’t know what that means. Soiree.

Scott: Oh! Sorry. It’s just a fancy word that means party or get-together.

WinterS: I’d hardly call this a party, or “soiree” as you called it. I’m stuck here having to talk with other children obsessed with money, fame, fashion, and stupid things.

Scott: Yikes. Try not to use your semblance to throw people who annoy you away, alright?

Winter squawked as her face turned beet red. She typed frantically at her scroll.

WinterS: What!?

WinterS: Who do you take me for!?

WinterS: Even if someone did annoy me like that, I wouldn’t use my glyphs to throw them!

WinterS: And I don’t have control of my semblance enough to do that to begin with!

She stared at her scroll for a while, realizing her breath was much too fast. He…riled me up? Teased me?  She could almost hear the boy’s hearty laugh as realization dawned on her. A determined frown crossed her face.

WinterS: You’re the worst.

Scott: I guess you realized I was teasing you. Sorry, couldn’t help it.

Scott : For what it’s worth, I know you wouldn’t do something like that. You’re better than most people your age and have a good head on your shoulders.

Winter made a strangled cough as she kept reading. Jacques never really praised anyone, no matter how well they did on something unless it explicitly benefitted him. And Mom? She was encouraging sometimes, but it always felt forced. Winter got the distinct feeling that Mom did that only to keep up the narrative that she loved her daughters, be she thought Mom was afraid of Winter and her sister. People did say Winter reminded them of Jacques sometimes, usually when she was determined or stubborn, and she could still see how Mom flinched slightly when his name was mentioned.

WinterS: Thank you for the confidence. It’ll be a boring evening, I’m sure.

Scott: Where are you going? The venue I mean. The Glass Unicorn?

Winter blinked. Why would he be asking about that? She shrugged it off as just Scott being weird as usual. The boy was incredibly knowledgeable about strange topics anyway, and it was likely that he’d been to the Glass Unicorn before. It was the most exclusive hotel in Upper Atlas.

WinterS: No, nothing that extravagant. I’m heading to the Marigold residence. They own several companies in Atlas mainly in media coverage and fashion. I think Atlas Eye is a news channel they run.

Scott : Sounds important. 

WinterS: They also have two sons in the family. One is slightly older than me, I think he’s fourteen, and one is your age. 

Scott : You’ve done your homework.

WinterS: More like Father forced a bunch of information down my throat.

Scott: Ah, a word vomit. Everyone loves that. Any names I should recognize?

WinterS: Not that I know of. Have you been to one of these before?

Scott: Nope. Outside of meeting my cousins and you, I’ve not really left the house much.

WinterS: I’m sorry. That sounds boring.

Scott : It is. Hence the books. 

Yes. The books. Winter frowned in thought. She tried reading that massive thing Scott brought along to her sparring sessions, and so many of the words just didn’t make sense to her. Sure, she was smart, she had to be to survive Atlas Elite social parties, but the things in that Aura book? It was all extreme jargon that took her several minutes to figure out even with the hundreds of scribbles Scott had written in the margins breaking down the more complex rules like Aura Pressure or Decay and potential uses of Aura contained in ammunition. 

It made her…jealous? No, envious . To have such a voracious appetite for learning to pick apart things like that was insane and admirable! Just how much did he learn to get to the point he is now when he was six years younger than her!

WinterS: You'll have to lend me your aura book next time you're in Atlas. You're making me feel behind on my studies.

Scott : Hardly! Winter, you're a prodigy already. I'm just Booksmart, nothing really to write home about, but sure. 

Scott: I'll lend you both that and the book I have on weaponsmithing. It's just an introductory book talking about the basics of huntsman weapons, no mechashift or dust-infused alloys, but I gotta start somewhere. 

Winter was about to type out a rebuttal to his self-deprecating comment when he quickly typed out a final message.

Scott: gtg parents home for dinner keep me updated talk later

Winter quietly sulked. She was hoping at the very least he would've been available to ease her boredom at the soc— soiree , but she supposed she needed to learn not to rely on one toddler all the way in Mistral as her sole source of conversation. Maybe there were others attending who shared her interest? It was certainly possible. Everyone loved huntresses for the noble work they did. There had to be at least one person there to whom she could talk.

WinterS: I'll let you know if anything piques my interest or annoyance. 

With that, she clicked her scroll off with a sigh and slid the device back into her purse. She frowned, letting the practiced mask slide back onto her face with ease as the stoic heiress of the SDC, the words of Jacques echoing in her mind.

You will be respectful. You will be demure. You will be obedient. You are not to speak of the Specialists. You represent the SDC and will not tarnish its reputation.

Winter forced herself not to grit her teeth, instead taking a few quiet breaths to recompose herself. She wasn't going to disobey Jacques openly, she wasn't stupid, after all. However, a quiet rebellion was certainly something she could do. Demure was not Winter's MO. A smile crept across her face upon realizing she used Specialist lingo. She was respectful, yes, but she wasn't shy, just easily irritated by people's infatuation with her family’s money and status.

“Miss Schnee,” the driver said, “we've arrived.”

She stepped out of the limousine under the grey and cold sky. She was in front of the large manor, not as large as the Schnees’, but still “excessive” as Winter’s new friend no doubt would’ve called it. Rows of guards and servants stood before the estate to welcome Winter silently—be present but not seen. 

The Marigold estate wasn’t a bad-looking building by any means, but it certainly looked like Atleasian architecture. White exteriors with tall, imposing, marble columns, thick, double-paned windows to keep the cold out, and extensive, manicured shrubs and bushes to look like the patriarch and matriarch of the Marigold family. Winter wanted to roll her eyes, but it would be too obvious to the staff of the family. She did think the soft yellow and gold lights were more classy than the glaring blue and white lights home, so points there. 

Again, she went through the process of sifting through the briefing—word vomit—Jacques gave her of who would be present at the soiree. Maxwell Marigold was the primary reason for this event being held. He wasn’t the heir of the Marigold estate but was the oldest child in the family, the only other being his baby cousin and true heir Henry. Maxwell was also turning fourteen, and the event was for his fourteenth birthday.

Winter hadn't even met Maxwell before, so the idea that she was here in the first place was stupid. She hadn’t even been the one to pick out a gift, instead, she was assigned one by the Marigold Family, and hers was likely the most expensive gift there by far—a custom Chronitrous gold and platinum plated watch with diamond insets for the dial, a total of 98,000Ⱡ. It was ridiculous! He was fourteen! Winter was quite sure the same would not happen with normal families, though, she supposed she wouldn’t even recognize what normal would entail. 

Gods, I haven’t even stepped inside and I already have a headache , she thought, reminding herself to cast off the sulking expression trying to reveal itself. She could see a photographer in the corner of her eye, behind the tall wrought-iron gates. Could be paparazzi or a reporter, but either could be trouble if they took the wrong picture. Any sign of discomfort or annoyance could make rounds across the upper circle of Atlas, making her do public apologies, give gifts, and whatever else Jacques put her through. She recalled the last time she made an off-hand comment about not liking Councilman Sleet’s son’s opinions on how Faunus were “animals,” and how much of a personal hell Jacques dropped her in. She was six at the time.

And now I’m thinking about how much I miss speaking candidly with Scott. At least I don’t have to dance around things with him.  

“Miss Schnee,” a butler at the top of the stairs greeted as she walked up the steps. He held the door open. “The Marigold family welcomes you to their home.” 

“Thank you,” Winter curtseyed. “It is nice to be welcome.”

“Shall I take your coat?”

Winter nodded, slipped the white coat off, and handed it to him.

“And the gift?”

Winter forced down a sigh, took the small box from her purse, and handed it to the butler. “I hope Maxwell finds it useful.”

“I’m sure he will.” The butler turned. “If you’ll follow.”

After a time of walking, Winter came to a set of large doors to what she assumed to be a ballroom. It seemed everyone in Atlas’s elite had one these days. Wasted space.  

The butler opened the doors and Winter fought hard not to cringe at the explosion of sound. People were standing around, idly chatting with one another, but, as these were children and teenagers, they were constantly trying to talk over each other, making the whole experience a strange chimera of elegant decorum and playground chatter. And a few of the guests turned to see who had entered.

“Winter!”

“Miss Schnee!”

“Ah! Winter! So glad to see you again!”

“Winter Schnee! Over here!”

“The Heiress!”

Winter felt paralyzed as the tidal wave of people came barreling towards her. A few of them she recognized from previous events: Councilman Sleet’s son, a thin boy around ten years old with black hair fading to a gold tint and in a black suit, General Hawthorne’s daughter, a girl around sixteen with cyan-colored hair and fiery eyes who was equally as venomous about Faunus as her old fashioned father—Winter even recalled that she was the product of Hawthorne’s third wife since Hawthorne himself was in his late sixties—and she was dressed in white and gold, two girls with sandy blonde hair she recalled being the daughters of the Glass Unicorn’s owner, and a few others. She couldn’t even remember their names, but all wished to gain her favor. She was a Schnee , after all. 

The two blonde girls got to her first. “It’s been a while, Winter!” the first one said. She looked older, wearing a creme and grey dress with her hair in corkscrew curls. “I haven’t seen you down at the Unicorn like you promised.”

Winter flicked through her memory. “I don’t recall promising that, only saying I would run it by my father to host his next social event there.” Winter studied the girl. “I apologize, Drizella.”

“Please, call me Rizel, not even my mother calls me Drizella,” Rizel laughed, a certain unnerving and forced sound that tickled the back of Winter’s brain. “But I won’t take offense. Jacques Schnee is a busy man, right?”

“That he is,” Winter nodded.

“Oh! And you remember my sister, Anastasia,” Rizel brought the other girl forward. She had wavy hair and wore a frumpy suit the same colors as her sister.

“Of course,” Winter smiled woodenly. She frankly did not remember this one at all. 

“How could anyone forget me?” the girl said. “And please, just call me Ana.”

They are trying to act friendly by letting me call them by nicknames , Winter thought. Stay neutral and hopefully they’ll leave me alone—

“Let me introduce you to some of the other guests!” Rizel declared, taking Winter’s hand and pulling her forward. “Do you like fashion? Of course, you do! Who doesn’t? I saw this one dress on my scroll the other day and it looked absolutely to die for!” She pulled her scroll out of her pocket and frantically typed away on it. “It’s got all this white and blue that I think will look lovely with your eyes and hair! It’s got this beautiful fur collar made from a Solitas fox pelt that’s wonderful for keeping you warm!”

“Uh huh,” Winter said. The bombardment was overwhelming.

“See?” Rizel held her scroll in front of Winter. “Doesn’t it look lovely?”

Winter examined it and…it was something . The dress was too heavy and fluffy, meaning she wouldn’t be able to move her legs well enough to fight in it. The shoulders were stiff and the stomach…had a corset. Winter hated corsets. This abomination wouldn’t be able to work at all for a huntress. “It looks fashionable?” she hazarded. 

“I know!” Rizel yelled. “Don’t you agree Ana?”

“It’s wonderful, sis,” Ana yawned. 

Rizel rolled her eyes. “Ignore her. She hates anything that doesn’t have pants.”

What’s wrong with pants? They have pockets. “Okay?”

“Tell you what,” Rizel continued, “your birthday is December Twenty-first, right?”

Winter took in a deep breath to calm herself. “Yes, it is.”

“How about I buy this dress for your birthday and you can wear it next time you’re at the Glass Unicorn?” Rizel asked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

Winter wanted to wrench her hand away from the girl’s hand and storm off, but she just stood there. “I suppose that’s fine.”

“Wonderful!” Rizel smiled but it never reached her eyes. “Let me introduce you to a few people as well.”

Gods, Scott, when can you text me back?

— Mistral: Ishvaltar Mansion—

 “And, thus, we are going to be heading to Vale for further business ventures in mid-May,” Issac Ishvaltar said and he put his fork and knife down on the plate. He was grinning with excitement the entire time. “Once we’re there, you will be introduced to the Vanilles’ daughter, Scott. She should be easier for you to mold than those proud Schnees.”

“Yes, Father,” Scott answered. Dinner was a rare thing in this family, but it also meant he was safe to eat his food. Though, that didn’t stop him from feeling sick about the subject matter discussed. Trivia is eight years older than me! This is all just so weird! “I did have a question.”

Issac narrowed his eyes as he snapped his fingers for another glass of wine to be poured for him and his wife. “Speaking out of turn again?”

“No, Father, just something I wasn’t able to say before my last punishment,” Scott said. “Before I left Schnee Manor, Winter and Weiss were asking when would be the next time I could visit them, even suggesting I could come to Weiss’s birthday in May.”

“Hmm, interesting.” Issac stroked his beard. “What day is her birthday?”

“May Fifth, dear,” Sylah said as she sipped her wine. 

“And you say they requested that you come?” Issac asked, watching Scott.

Scott nodded. “They seemed excited about the idea.”

Issac picked up his glass and swished the red liquor around the glass, watching as a thin film clung to the walls of the glass before taking a measured sip. “Then it’s decided. You will go to Atlas alone for this occasion. I cannot attend it as there's a board meeting I must deal with—”

“And my sister has been asking for my help dealing with some upstart crime family. Parrot I think is what they call themselves,” Sylah placed her glass on the table. “As such, Scott, you will do nothing to dishonor us lest you wish further punishment.”

“Yes, Mother.” I guess I can text Winter that I’ll be seeing her and Weiss in two weeks. That’s good. Maybe I’ll even have time to recopy those damaged pages from last night’s…incident. Scott fought down a sigh at the memory. Getting so worked up about a hallucination that damaged valuable information was unlike him. Having to recopy anything meant he could potentially botch it further, especially on the shakier subjects these damaged pages were: Amber, the Fall Maiden, and Doctor Arthur Watts. There is so precious little information about them to the point where most of those notes were just theory crafting. 

His eye twitched with irritation and he winced. He touched the bruises around his eye. The swelling had gone down, but it would remain purple for a long time, especially with his aura locked. 

Sylah flicked her eyes to his. “You will see the family physician to have that fixed before then but do not expect that you’ll be free of your training until you leave. Do I make myself clear?”

Scott swallowed. “Yes, Mother.”

—Atlas: Marigold Estate—

Winter slumped in a chair with an exacerbated sigh. Two hours. Two hours of those sisters droning on and on and on about dresses and makeup and dashing boys whom she measured up as being as strong as she was two years ago! Then, she got sucked into a conversation with Hawthorne’s daughter as she trash-talked the Faunus for the nth time even though everything she said was wrong! “ Oh, they're more prone to violence than humans! You can't even domesticate that filth! The only good thing they can do is test how effective a minefield is!”

Winter groaned into her hands. That's it! My career as a Specialist will be over before it even begins because I'm going to kill someone if I can't get out of here!

Ding!

Winter blinked and scrambled to grab her scroll out of her purse, and she nearly squealed with excitement when she saw who it was from.

Scott: Hey, Winter. I don't mean to interrupt if you're busy, but I got approval to come back to Atlas for Weiss's birthday. I'll be there on the 4th and leaving on the 11th unless your father has any objections.

Scott: How's the soiree?

Winter frantically typed out a response.

WinterS: That's great! Weiss will be very happy when I tell her.

Scott: I'm sure she will. Anyway, I'm sure you're busy at the party, so I'll leave you to it.

Winter's eyes widened as her face drained of color.

WinterS: No

WinterS: this party is driving me insane

WinterS: please distract me

WinterS: I might lose my temper if I dont have someone normal to talk to

Winter waited with bated breath for a response, her hands white-knuckling her scroll. 

Scott: I won’t be available for too long, but I’ll keep my scroll on.

Scott : So! Soiree that bad?

Winter let go of her breath and slumped back into her seat, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her or planning to bother her.

WinterS: You have no idea. I was dragged around by Rizel and Ana for the last two hours like a show pony.

Scott: Rizel and Ana?

WinterS: The daughters of The Glass Unicorn’s owner.

Scott: Ah

Scott: Yea, even my illustrious father considered those two as a wasted effort for his weird obsession of getting me an arranged harem.

Winter pressed her lips into a thin line. How did someone with a father she was beginning to consider to be worse and weirder than Jacques come out so normal?

WinterS : He's still going on about that? Who else does he have you trying to woo?

Scott: You mean courting? I only know of one other, that being Trivia Vanille. She's in Vale, the daughter of the city planner.

WinterS: Planning any success there?

Scott: Hardly. Trivia is like ten years old.

Winter caught herself before her jaw dropped. Sure, she knew her parents had an age gap between them, but they married when they were adults! She started running through the calculations in her head.

WinterS: 8 years older! Why?

Scott : Issac is power-hungry. Trivia is also “damaged” in his words, so he thinks that her parents will just hand her over to me if I show enough interest.

WinterS: Damaged?

Scott: She's mute from what I hear. Has a hard time making friends and is forced to act like the perfect daughter all the time.

Winter pulled an annoyed face. Another bird locked in a gilded cage. Another girl in another tower, waiting for someone to help.

WinterS: I'm sorry for her. She sounds like she's stuck in the same problem as me.

Scott: Except you have Weiss and some agency. Trivia doesn't. I've been studying Vytalian Sign Language so she can talk with me.

Winter smiled to herself at such a simple act of kindness but also felt a strangled discomfort growing in her chest, a single note of worry humming as a quiet din in her mind. Will he abandon me?

She shook her head. Somehow, the simple idea that this boy would turn his back on her felt impossible. He's kept to his promises so far. But even still…

WinterS: Promise me you're not going to stop being my friend just because you're making other ones across the world.

It was a selfish request, she knew that, but the thought of losing an easy comfort like him was enough to bring tremors to her hands and her lip quiver. Perhaps she was simply feeling more lonely after dealing with the nonsense of Anastasia and Drizella, or just feeling trapped at this stupid party where everyone acted so phony and were just digging into each other for wealth and favors. You’re supposed to be strong, Winter. You can’t show any weakness.

Scott: Why would I? Friendship and kindness are inexhaustible resources. 

Scott : Besides, it’s not like I’d abandon my first friend.

Winter sighed and felt the tension leave her body. She started typing again.

“Trying to escape the mob as well?”

Winter slammed her scroll in her lap to hide the conversation and snapped her head up to see the new person speaking. He wore a suit, black with a gold and yellow shirt under the jacket, and had navy blue hair and gold eyes. The boy looked to be in his teens and was tall and slender, though that wasn’t too uncommon for her to see. She began flicking through her memory again to remind herself who this was and her eyes widened.

“Maxwell Marigold,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice your approach.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” the boy waved it off. “Mind if I have a seat?”

Winter wanted to click her tongue in annoyance but nodded.

“Thanks.” Maxwell pulled out a chair and sat opposite her at the table. He leaned against his hand and idly stared out at the rest of the partygoers. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I-I,” Winter scowled for her sudden nervousness. She took a deep breath. “Yes. I grew tired of accommodating interests that I found…”

“Boring?”

Winter glanced at him. “I wouldn’t have said it like that.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m mostly the same here.” He sighed. “Felt like I had to come talk to you since you took the heat off me for a couple hours. Sorry about that.”

Winter sighed. “Apology accepted. I doubt anyone here would’ve interacted with me were it not for my name.” She slipped her scroll back into her purse. “I think I’m the youngest attendee.”

“You are. Parents made a special exemption for the richest girl on the planet,” Maxwell mumbled. “Kinda surprised you seem as miserable as you are.”

Winter paled, frantically searching for any photographers. “I look miserable?”

“Well, I guess miserable isn’t the right word for it,” he said, “more frozen? Polite because you have to be but wishing you were somewhere else.” He raised an eyebrow as he smirked. “That was until you were over here on your scroll.”

Winter felt her cheeks burn. “Where even were you? I know there are a lot of people here, but I never saw you at all, Maxwell. Not until now.” Again, she checked for photographers.

“If you’re looking for the camera crew, don’t worry, they won’t notice us talking,” the boy chuckled. “And call me Max or, better yet,  May. I hate Maxwell personally, just doesn’t feel like my name, you know?” The boy stretched his arms. “As for the cameras? I’m using my semblance right now, so no one can see or hear us.” His golden eyes twinkled. “ That’s how you didn’t see me before.” 

“Ah.” She blinked before jumping to her feet and leaning over the table. “You’re training to be a huntsman!?”

Maxwell– May leaned back in his chair with shock. “I am! I am!” He chuckled. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting the Ice Princess herself to be animated on some things.”

“Huntsman and Huntresses are the most noble cause on all of Remnant,” she said proudly, crossing her arms with a confident smirk. “You’d be a fool not to think of them as anything less.”

May chuckled. “Planning on becoming one yourself? I thought you were an heiress.”

“I am, but my grandfather was both a businessman and a huntsman, so there is precedence for me,” she said before the thought soured. “Though, Ja–Father thinks it’s a stupid idea. He cares more for the company than anything else.”

“Yep, can’t disagree with you there,” May said as he relaxed in the chair. “So. Who were you texting? Can’t say I was expecting to see you so excited about something when you were by yourself. Got a friend or something? Cause I thought you didn’t have any.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have many friends, that’s true, but that’s mainly my father’s fault more than my lack of trying.” She glanced at the crowd. “That and the people I’m allowed to make friends with…”

“Suck, I get it. I’m more of a Mantle gal than an Atlas one. Better people and a richer history without the snootiness of Atlas.”

Winter blinked. “Gal?”

May’s jaw dropped and his face turned stark white. “ Shit . Uh, forget that, okay?”

Winter furrowed her brow and then nodded. “I have a friend in Mistral, a recent one. He shares the same interests as I do about huntsman and huntresses, does a lot of reading about them. He’s the only one besides my sister I feel comfortable talking normally with.”

May smiled. “That’s nice. Is he planning on being a huntsman, too? You could get to be on the same team as him if you can convince him to go to Atlas instead of Haven.”

Winter sighed. “I wish that were the case, but he wouldn’t be in the same year as me even if he tried."

“Older?”

“Younger.”

May shrugged. “Well, I guess he could fudge the numbers a bit to get in the same year as you. A year’s difference isn’t too badly looked upon.”

“He’s two.”

May blinked. “Two years younger?”

“No, as in two years old,” Winter said matter-of-factly and continued before May could speak. “It’s…pathetic, I realize, but he’s a genius. He has this textbook about Aura, written by Doctor Pietro Polendina. It’s supposed to be for upper division classes in Atlas Academy, but he’s read the thing cover to cover with dozens of notes on it, explaining things to me that even I don’t understand.”

“How the hell?” May’s jaw couldn’t have dropped lower if he tried.

“I don’t know,” Winter sighed. “I wish I knew how he understands it. He’s inspirational.”

“What’s his name, if you don’t mind?” May asked, leaning forward on the table with a smile. “Might be someone I should know later if he can help me with my Aura assignments. That’s one of my worst subjects, well, behind Dust Studies.”

“Sure, his name is Scott Ishvaltar-”

“ISHVALTAR!?”

Winter jumped back in her seat at the sudden outburst. “Y-yes. Ishvaltar.”

May stood from the table and looked…panicked. “Okay, I’m only going to say this once because you seem like a nicer person than the rest of the cronies around here: stay away from the Ishvaltars. Far away.”

“W-why?”

“Look, I know you Schnees have some bad blood right now because of Jacques’ fucking around with the SDC and you’re a little young to know that much about Great War history, but the Ishvaltars are bad. Really, really, bad.”

“W-hat-”

“Just look it up online, you’ll find their family history pretty easily. It’s hard to cover it up.” May adjusted his suit. “It was nice meeting you, Winter, but let me warn you: get as far away from that family as you can.”

Before Winter could say or ask anything else, the world filled with sound again and May was gone. People seemed to notice Winter sitting on her own again and…oh no, Rizel and Ana were coming back. But Winter couldn’t care about that as both fear and curiosity burned a hole in her stomach, enough to make her feel queasy. At least she had an excuse not to eat the cake, now.

Chapter Text

—Spider Hideout—

Miltia burst into the office and slammed the door behind her. Roman was sleeping on the desk, that was until he fell out of his chair and collapsed to the floor from the sudden noise and now pointed his stupid cane at Miltia. The thief had a wild, manic look until he realized who had the balls to enter his office unannounced.

“Fuckin’ hell, Milita–”

“Do. You. Have. It?” she demanded. It had been weeks since she sent Roman out to find her the medical supplies she needed for Scott, and he’d been stalling. “Roman…”

“Fuck, don’t ‘Roman’ me like some fuckin’ nagging wife, y’hear?” He climbed to his feet.

“I wouldn’t need to if you actually did the job I paid you for!”

“Well, shit ain’t easy right now, princess , so sorry if I’m not exactly able to magically procure your toys out of thin air!” Roman scooped up his hat, which fell to the floor, and collapsed into his chair.

Miltia made to argue but got a second look at the man before her. His eyeliner was a mess, his orange hair disheveled, his green coat all rumpled. “You’ve been out all night,” she pieced together.

“Nah, I’ve been out every night since Petey lost the fuckin’ thing,” Roman corrected. He kicked his feet up on the desk and pulled a cigar out before lighting it. “Damn thing turned into one a helluva problem overnight.” He glanced at Miltia when she made to speak, but sighed to cut her off. “Some dickhead has been stealing medical equipment all over the damn place. It’s a weird heist, and I thought I figured it out, but maybe I’m not smart enough.”

“What kind of equipment?” Miltia asked as she pulled up her chair in front of Roman. 

“From what I can tell? Fuckin’ everything. MRI machines, blood testers and infusers, dilation thingies, opioids and anesthetics, ugh, animal venom and anti-venoms?” He pulled a face. “I thought someone was rummaging around the hospitals for a quick buck to sell on the black market.”

“We are in Mistral,” Miltia nodded.

“Yea, but nope, all of it fuckin’ vanished!” Roman threw his hands up. “Not even the parts are showing up anywhere. MRI machines are hella expensive. I even checked with a few guys who run underground gigs for medical shit? They were cleaned out.” Roman looked angry as he puffed on his cigar. “How the fuck did they do this? Why did they do this? I’ve even tried ordering a new one before, but the shipment vanished!”

“Which is why you can’t get me the equipment I need…” Miltia said, deflating. She felt hot tears burst from her eyes as she began to sob. “ Why ? Why now? When, for the first time in my miserable fucking life where I have something worth fighting for and some bastard get in the way! I just want to save my baby cousin!”

Miltia began crying, her hands clenched into fists and her ears ringing. Then, she heard a soft thump on the desk that caused her to raise her head. Roman was leaning forward, sliding a wad of lien towards her.

“Take it,” he said softly. “I know when to cut and run when it’s needed, and this? Something ain’t fucking right.” He sighed. “Maybe, if you can find a way to get to Atlas yourself, you can get your hands on one. The Boss doesn’t want me leaving Mistral, says I’m not trustworthy enough for it, but you?” He shrugged.

Miltia reached forward and counted out the wad. 50,000Ⱡ. “Why? Why help me?”

Roman sighed. Then he sighed again. Then he groaned. “I don’t fucking know, alright? Maybe I’ve gotten soft, maybe I have some bleeding heart left in me, maybe I’m just pissed that I couldn’t finish a job, or maybe I don’t like seeing the girl I’m supposed to be the bodyguard for, and the one who’s a hellavu lot better to deal with, cryin’ about something so fucked up. Take your pick, Red.” 

“But you’re giving up…” she whispered.

“Tch. I’m not .” Roman leaned back. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out how this all happened! The greatest heist ever happened and no one’s talking about it?”

“Have you brought it up with Mom?” Miltia asked. “I-I know that I asked you to get me this quietly, but if something this insane is happening…”

“It’s bad for business,” Roman agreed. “Yea, guess I’ll talk to the Boss about it, but I’ll keep you out of it. Say I was doing some collections and overheard others talkin’ about all this.” He stood and stretched his arms before grabbing Melodic Cudgel. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll cover for you, but you’ll owe me, got it?”

Milita nodded. “Roman?”

The man stopped walking and turned.

“Don’t…don’t fuck this up, y’hear?” she said defiantly. “And don’t get hurt out there. Out of all the bodyguards Mom has gotten Mel and me, I’d miss you the most if you keeled over.”

Roman barked a laugh. “Don’t worry, Red, I’m not gonna die. If there’s anything I know, it’s this.” He snatched his hat off the rack by the door and stepped out. “Lie. Cheat. Steal. Survive!”

Miltia grinned as she saw the door swing close. For all his goofiness and annoyances, Roman was good at keeping himself alive. I just hope that his good luck can help Scott .

—Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Winter slowly clicked her door shut after reading a story to Weiss to help her fall asleep. It felt late, but Winter knew that was just because of everything that had happened in the last week. After the ominous warning from May, the eldest Schnee daughter was both equally parts worried and curious about what the boy had said, yet she hadn’t had the time to do the research she wanted. Winter had to attend four other functions including a charity event for a children’s hospital in Mantle, something she could say she was proud of as it was from Grandfather Nicholas and not Jacques, a new SDC Dust refinement factory being opened in the industrial district of Atlas, another charity event to fuel Jacques’ ego, and finally a ceremony appointing a man named Captain James Ironwood to be in charge of Atlas Academy. 

She liked that last one, even had the chance to talk to the man in question about what it means to be a Specialist, but she was soon pulled away by Jacques. Jacques was polite at the very least, but it was clear he had a certain level of disdain for Captain Ironwood, especially after he announced a scholarship program to help citizens from Mantle and prospective students from across the globe to come to Atlas to become Hunters and Specialists. That wouldn’t have been a problem normally, but it was when a reporter asked if Faunus would be included in that program that caused tension.

“I don’t see why we should deny prospective students from becoming defenders of us all based alone on having different ears or a tail from a human, ” Winter remembered Ironwood saying. She also had to endure a rant from Jacques about the “animals” taking away the hard-earned money from Atlas when they won't even be loyal to the kingdom on the ride back to Schnee Manor.

That was three hours ago. She still hadn’t texted Scott since the party a week ago.

And now she had time to herself in the evening to finally follow up on that cryptic lead May had given her. She trotted over to the desk beside her bed and opened the laptop to the main search engine. 

“Okay,” she muttered as the keys clacked under her fingers, “let’s see. Ishvaltar. Enter.”

The first thing to show up in the search was the website for Ishvaltar Technologies, which she opened in a new tab. “Ishvaltar Technologies aims to innovate and compete in the general industrial market with Atlas, creating heavy-duty machinery for mining and transport, Mistrali Skyships, Valean Bullheads, and commercial aircraft,” she read aloud. “I guess that makes sense why Jacques is so keen on making them allies.” Nothing really ominous there, though.

Winter frowned and went back to the search engine’s list of websites. One of them was a news article from some Mistrali economic news page. “Ishvaltar Technologies to be the fastest grossing company in Mistral history since the controversial Kindred Industries.” Still, not helpful. Brothers, why couldn’t May be more specific on this?

Winter felt her eyes droop and she glanced at the clock in the corner of her laptop. 8:39. It’s not even that late.

She grumbled as she flicked through the other news sites, but none really showed anything other than how successful the business had been under the current owner, Scott’s dad. “Maybe…” Winter typed into the search engine again. “Issac Ishvaltar.”

The search engine lagged for a moment before it said it had over thirty thousand hits on the entry. “What the…” She scrolled down the page to read some of the news articles. “Mistral’s Issac Ishvaltar Brings New Line of Luxury Skyships…No.” She sighed. “Issac Ishvaltar and Wife Sylah Ishvaltar Attend Gala…No! Issac Ishvaltar’s Wife Has Not Made Public Appearance in Months: Pregnancy or Illness? NO!” She slammed her hand on the desk. “Stupid tabloids.”

She leaned back and groaned into her hands. “What was May talking about!?” For a moment, she felt like giving up, but even the thought of turning away from this made her blood simmer. Winter did not back down from a challenge. “Okay, try something different.” She paused. “He’s the third one, right? Hm…Issac Ishvaltar the third history…”

A few more hits popped up. “Good.” The first site was a general site that looked like a general information site. “Okay. Issac Iapetus Ishvaltar the Third is the current CEO and primary shareholder of Ishvaltar Technologies…yes, yes, I know that.” She scrolled down further as she skimmed through the documents. “Married Sylah Malachite four years ago, hmm.” There was a link for the woman that she opened in another tab. “Still nothing that stands out? I mean, he still seems scummy from what Scott’s said, but still, he’s around Jacques's level of mean.” 

Drumming her fingers on the desk, she kept reading. “Ishvaltar Technologies has been privately traded for sixty-eight years, but Issac Ishvaltar continues to own sixty-four percent of the company, making it the only Mistrali-based company where the CEO has the most control over the company rather than a set board of directors…” Winter grumbled. “At least I know what those mean because of Jacques, but this is so annoying!”

She huffed and propped her head on her left fist as she scrolled through the web page for a while. “Parlouie Lawsuit Controversy? What?” She opened the hyperlink in another tab. “The Parlouie Lawsuit Controversy is an ongoing class-action lawsuit from the families of the former Valean town, Parlouie, against the Ishvaltar family. Despite being brought to the Valean Circuit three years after the Great War ended, the case has been effectively stalled indefinitely by the Ishvaltar family.” She sighed. “Come on! Why does it have to be legal jargon!”

She continued. “This was after the original lawsuit against Kindred Industries and Isaiah Hyperion Oleander was dropped when the company declared Chapter 8a. bankruptcy in Mistral…” Winter grumbled and opened the hyperlink for that law. “Chapter 8a. Bankruptcy is used in Mistral when a company, for one reason or another, declares itself a financial failure and liquidates all current assets to all debt owners, such as board members and banks.” Winter frowned and slid her bangs out of her eyes and returned to the other site.

“When the company declared bankruptcy in Mistral, Isaiah Hyperion Oleander changed his name to Issac Iapetus Ishvaltar …” Winter's eyes widened. Oh gods, that's not good. “Since the lawsuit in Vale had been filed against Kindred Industries and Isaiah Hyperion Oleander, and both accused parties no longer existed in a legal sense, the Valean Circuit had no other option but to drop the case due to an archaic precedent from 247 years before the incident. The lawsuit was then refiled two years later against the Ishvaltar family in Mistral rather than Vale, where it remains unresolved to this day. Kindred Industries was only owned by Isaiah Oleander with no outstanding debt, allowing Issac Ishvaltar to found Ishvaltar Technologies only a few months after the incident, utilizing all equipment and funds from the old company.”

“Okay, so his…great grandfather was a jerk that wormed his way out of a lawsuit, but that's not too uncommon…” Winter felt sweat form on her brow. “What happened in Parlouie…” She opened a new tab in her search engine. “Parlouie Vale.” 

Winter opened a website. “Parlouie was one of many coastal towns on the eastern coast of Saunus located on the Goturka Straight, the shortest water section between Saunus and Animus. Founded in 138 PMD (Post Malik’s Death), the town had a rich history of being a fishing and ferrying town for sailors, merchants, and travelers between the two continents.” She frowned as she scrolled through more. “Yearly festivals…anti-faunus history…Borcolius Viral Outbreak…” She clicked her tongue in annoyance. She would’ve opened the tab for that one, but the date was from three hundred years ago, so another dead end. 

Winter yawned and idly scanned the website until something caught her attention. “The Ahklys Experiments and the Great War.” Promising. She opened the website in a new tab and immediately gasped at the grizzly photographs on the page, all blurred but still visible enough to make her skin grow cold. They were all in black and white, showing dozens of bodies lined along the ground with tarps covering their faces. There was one picture she could barely make out of a woman nursing a bleeding sore on her face.

Immediately, Winter turned on her browser’s applications, changing all the photographs to black and grey squares. She lifted her hands from the keyboard to see them shaking, the thought of turning back and ignoring the lead growing louder. She clicked her tongue again and scowled. “A Schnee does not back away from a challenge.” She kept reading before getting annoyed that the entire website was written in the old Mistrali language before everything was standardized to the Vale language and called ‘Vytalian’ after the Great War. She hit another button that translated the website.

“The Ahklys Experiments were a series of tests done by Mistrali occupying forces in Vale and Vacuo to determine the effectiveness of various biochemical compounds in warfare…” Winter felt nauseous, gulping down fresh air as bile threatened to leave her throat.  “Such compounds included early forms of mustard gas, which causes severe blistering of the skin and hemorrhaging of the lungs when inhaled.” 

She squirmed a little when she opened the definition of “hemorrhaging.” “A wound or ruptured blood vessel that lets blood escape profusely.” She shivered.

Winter kept reading.

“Other compounds included white phosphorus, which can spontaneously ignite even at low temperatures, causing massive burns, phosgene, a choking agent, early forms of tear gas, which cause massive irritation of the eyes and throat but are mostly non-lethal, an airborne variant of boomslang venom, a snake with a hemotoxin that causes blood to become a gel-like substance, nerve gas, which attack the nervous system, and Sálartár toxin.” Winter wiped the sweat from her brow. 

“Sálartár toxin is a unique chemical that directly attacks the Aura of a person and was developed solely by Kindred Industries during their tests in Parlouie, and the chemical compound used in it, as well as its effects, remain largely unknown to this day as all research was lost when the company declared bankruptcy and liquidated.”

Winter slammed the laptop shut as she took several breaths. She knew that she was sheltered from the Great War and everything that happened in it, but Winter wasn’t naive enough to believe Mantle wasn’t complacent in their own atrocities. Still… Scott’s family fortune comes from war crimes. 

She didn’t know how to process this information. Did Scott know about this? Does he condone these… nightmares ? No, that’s ridiculous , she chided herself. “Scott’s much too kind to ever think something like this is good…”

Do I tell him? He deserves to know, but…

Winter growled and threw herself onto her bed, burying her face into her pillows as she let out a muffled scream. What do I even do!? Why does the one person I become actual friends with have a family history even worse than mine!? She screamed again.

There was one thing she did know about all this; she doubted she was going to be getting much sleep that night, not after all those revelations.

—Mistral: East Dragon-Controlled Slums—

Roman stalked the midnight streets, his cane clacking against the uneven pavements as he walked with more confidence than he usually felt. His scroll rang and he grabbed it. “Colours! How’s things on your end? Any more fucking leads than I got?”

Roman smiled as he heard his partner squawk on the other side of the scroll. “ Dick. Nothing good so far. Just finished talking with some junkies in Parrot’s territory, and it’s mostly the same. Local doctors and clinics are being hit now, not just hospitals .” She sounded nervous. “ Roman, this smells bad, I think we should just get out of Mistral while we can. ”

Always the coward, Chameleon, he thought. Well, he knew better than to voice his opinions on her. The girl was good at some things, but as soon as something smelled fishy, she’d turn tail and run like a little bitch. ‘Course, I’m no better.

“Don’t think we can, Colours,” he said with forced bravado. “If we did, Spider and the Boss would be hunting us for the rest of our miserable fucking lives.”

“ And here I thought this was all for the kid. ”

“Hey, Red’s the reason any of us are figuring out something’s fucking weird, eh?” Roman looked up at the glowing neon sign advertising a ramen shop. “I’m meeting a contact from the East Dragons, see how things are going for them since they're the only fuckers here that we’re polite with.”

“Gods, is it Shoma? Please tell me it’s not Shoma, you stupid bastard. ”

“I think you mean beautiful bastard, Colours,” he laughed. “Keep digging. I’ll call once I’m out.” He ended the call before Chameleon could protest, put out his cigar, and steeled himself before entering the ramen shop. 

It was a nice place, he’d eaten there before, but Roman wouldn’t want to eat there with one of East Dragon’s main enforcers. The shop was small and cramped in a quaint sorta way, the whole place only serving nine people at any time at a bar. It had charm and an eccentric old man that no one this side of Animus would fuck with unless they wanted Spider, East Dragon, Parrot, and Mouse to gut them like the fucking pigs they are. A bunch of junkies who thought they were tough shit tried to shake down the humble “Ramen” shop. Their bodies were never found.

Roman dusted off his jacket and spotted the tank of a man at the end of the bar. Shoma wore the usual uniform for East Dragon, a long-sleeved black button-down shirt with dress pants and a gold insignia of a dragon plastered on the left breast pocket. Normally, Roman would comment on the swagger of East Dragon and lament that Spider didn’t wear something as stylish as they did and wished he could’ve joined them instead, but Shoma quickly shot down that idea. 

Shoma easily stood at two-hundred and fifteen centimeters and his dress shirt barely contained the ripples of muscle underneath. The man had jet-black hair and piercing pink eyes with a goatee. Along his left arm and under his rolled-up sleeves was a massive tattoo of a gold dragon. More like a Sea Feilong than a Wyvern. Gods, it just pisses me off to see someone with such a fucking degree of gaudy nonsense! Get some fucking colour, will ya?

Roman swallowed this opinion down as he grinned and tipped his hat. “Shoma! Glad to see you here!” He sat next to the mountain of muscle. “Quian, my usual, if you will.” He tossed the old man behind the counter a thousand lien. It was hard to find good fucking drink for non-East Dragon folk this side of town, and Quian was the best. 

“Coming right up, kid,” the man muttered.

Roman took off his hat and placed it on his cane, leaning it against the counter. “Nothing to say, Shoma? And here I thought we were such good friends!”

“You’re late,” the man said calmly before mumbling some old Mistrali prayer and picking up his chopsticks. “You said you would be here at 11:30.”

“I got hung up with something,” Roman apologized. “Been having some of Spider’s dogs in the police keep tabs on any other hospitals and one got hit two hours ago.”

The East Dragon enforcer stopped eating and slowly turned to Roman. “Where?”

“South East Clinics, Parrot’s territory,” Roman shrugged. No need to lie to Shoma. East Dragon was the only damn ally in the underworld Spider had, and they’d been around ruling the black market of Mistral since before the Great War. Pissing them off was fucking suicide. “Tried racing over there to see if I could tail anyone, but nothing.” 

Shoma grumbled next to him. “The Boss wants this rat found soon. Bad for business.”

“ That we can agree with,” Roman chuckled. “Parrot found out about the clinics in our territory and decided to shoot up Lil’ Miss Malachite’s tavern the other day.”

Shoma eyed him. “She alive?”

“If she wasn’t, I’d be halfway to Vale by now,” Roman chuckled. “Killed a few of our grunts since we couldn’t bring them to a hospital and get them treatment.” The thief rolled his eyes. “That Paul Parrot kid thinks he’s hot shit ever since he killed his uncle.”

“He’s older than you, Torchwick,” Shoma said. “You’re the new kid on the block.”

“Uh huh, yet I’ve got a good head on my shoulders,” Roman shrugged. “I’m narcissistic and eccentric, not suicidal and stupid.” The owner put a bottle of sake in front of Roman as he poured himself a glass, ignoring Shoma’s disdain. “Thanks.” He raised his glass and took a drink.

Shoma grunted. “The Boss’s personal clinic got hit yesterday.”

Roman choked on the liquor and nearly shot it out of his nose. “You fucking serious?”

Shoma glared at him.

“You’re serious.” Roman slumped. “Any idea who did it?”

“All our security footage corrupted where it happened, and our stuff is high quality,” Shoma said. “Don’t know if it’s like that for you–”

“Yup, every hospital and clinic’s CCTVs shutdown, broke, or corrupted.” Roman sighed, feeling the itch to light another cigar, but he held off. No smoking in the ramen shop. “Whoever is doing this has got some good fucking IT if he’s hacking everything.”

“And how are they getting the equipment out?” Shoma poured himself some sake. “Gotta be some fucking Semblance bullshit.”

“Ha! Cheers to that!” Roman raised his glass. “Got any leads I can follow and end this before something shits the bed?”

Shoma downed his drink in a single gulp. “The Boss has me watching Saint Oziel’s on West Side for anything. Feel free to stake out there if you want. I’ll let our boys know you’re to be left alone. But you’re doing it alone.”

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Roman said as he corked the bottle and rose from his seat. “Can’t trust anyone else but me, eh?”

“No, it’s your partner we don’t trust,” Shoma grumbled. “You stick out, she doesn’t.”

The thief nodded. “Let’s get this whole thing sorta and get our lives back on track.” He turned to leave.

“Torchwick.”

Roman turned, raising an eyebrow.

Shoma stood, towering over him. “Parrot is becoming a problem. They tried to assassinate Yoshino as soon as the private clinic got hit.”

“Shit.” Roman felt his blood run cold. “Fuck! Is she alright?”

“The Boss’s daughter got hit in a car crash. She’s alive, but barely.” Shoma’s pink eyes gleamed with hatred. “I was in the car when it happened, and only came out unscathed because of my Semblance.”

Roman nodded. Shoma was like him, trusted and resourceful enough to be set as their bosses’ children’s bodyguards. The man also turns to gold in response to danger, making him hard as all hell to kill. The walking tank also loved that girl like a little sister and would do anything to keep her safe. Roman pictured that happening to the girls he was in charge of. While Melanie could eat the tarmac for all he cared, Miltia wasn’t up for grabs. Fuck, I am going soft, aren’t I?  

“Boss flew her out to Atlas for surgery,” Shoma said. “She’ll live. But, if you find the fuckers who did this, either Parrot or the bastards that sabotaged our clinic, before I do?”

“I’ll beat him within an inch of his life and leave him for you to tear apart,” Roman said as he rolled his hat onto his head. “Hey, old man, thanks for the sake. And Shoma, don’t get yourself killed out there, eh? Not many people I feel comfortable drinking with in public these days.”

Shoma nodded once and Roman left the shop into the cold night. 

Chapter Text

—Mistral: Ishvaltar Estate—

“So you’re going back to Atlas already?” Miltia asked.

Scott nodded. He was still rather loopy from the most recent batch of poisons Sylah gave him—nothing that caused vomiting but certainly poisons that acted like hallucinogens and what he was beginning to believe was a truth serum—but today was one of the rare days that he was finally left in the care of his cousin rather than Lee or Tasha. The two were in his room while Melanie watched some horror movie that Scott tuned out—it wasn’t a masterpiece like The Thing or Alien and sounded like a basic slasher flick that didn’t even have the goofy charm of Child’s Play or Nightmare on Elm Street . Missing out on a movie wasn’t a problem for him, especially since it meant that he and Miltia got a chance to talk more freely. However…

“Guess you’re getting your chance to get that tech faster than we thought,” Roman Torchwick said. The man was leaning against the door to the room to prevent anyone from getting inside. “Finally, a fucking stroke of luck.”

Scott frowned. “Why is he here?” he whispered to Miltia. 

“I’m here ‘cause I’m the twins’ bodyguard and the one trying to get your shit, kid,” the thief said, rolling his eyes. At least he didn’t dare to light a cigar in the mansion, likely too afraid of drawing Issac or Sylah’s ire.

“He’s helping me,” Miltia said with a strained smile. “He’s a little rough, but you can trust him.”

Scott glanced back at the eccentric man in the corner of the room. The thought of trusting Roman Torchwick of all people was a hard pill for him to swallow, but, then, the same could’ve been said about Miltia. Scott took a breath in, silently counting to four and holding it before slowly exhaling. He trusted Miltia, so he’d need to trust Roman but keep a close eye on him. Scott was going to be leaving for Atlas in three days, yet, he hadn’t received a text back from Winter since the day she was at the Marigold’s. Internally, he was thinking about whether Winter had met May Marigold—though he suspected May hadn’t transitioned at that point—and got another friend outside of him. 

But that still hurt a little. He liked Winter and considered her someone akin to a best friend outside of Miltia, which made it all the more disappointing when she didn’t answer his messages after that day. Sure, there was the logistical problem of being cut off from the Schnees and thus his plan of escape from the Ishvaltars would implode, but if that were to happen, he’d come up with something else. Neo…no, Trivia was still an option in Vale, though he suspected her parents were bad as well if how Neo turned out was any clue. Well, now I have Torchwick allying with Miltia. Gods, am I going to have to go the kingpin route to lock Cinder out of Vale? Take over the entire Vale underworld and prevent her from getting her claws in? The thought was amusing, but Scott wasn’t so keen to recreate The Godfather . He wanted to keep his morals intact. 

“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not going to Atlas,” Roman snorted. “I may be Red and White’s bodyguard, but, honestly, they’ll be safer in Atlas without me there.” The thief waggled his fingers. “So much wealth packed into one place? Might get an itch I can’t scratch.”

Scott sighed. “Mil, you have a kleptomaniac as a bodyguard.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “How the fuck do you know what that word even means?”

“Trade secret.”

Miltia started laughing. “You two are getting along nicely. And Roman, don’t fuck with him, alright? He’s still a little–”

“Delirious,” Scott nodded. “I suspect they are testing other types of poisons against me now, things that affect the mind rather than the body.”

Roman grimaced. “Fuck. Well, I guess I should say my piece, eh? Things aren’t doing too hot in Mistral. Someone’s been robbing anything medical-related and taking whatever isn’t nailed down.”

What? I don’t know anything about this. Scott remained silent.

“Now, that means a whole bunch of shit deals for the crime families, and now motherfucking Parrot is sticking the knife in everyone and giving it a twist.” Roman looked pissed, furious. “Best thing we can do is keep you and White with the Ishvaltars to keep you safe, Red.”

“What?” Miltia looked at him in shock.

“Yea, I didn’t mention it before, mainly ‘cause I didn’t want to hear White fucking nag and complain, but the Boss wants me investigating this fully, and I can’t do that and guard you and your sister.” Roman tapped his cane against the bookshelf, making Scott cringe as a book fell to the floor. Roman didn’t even try to fix it! “Got in contact with someone from East Dragon. Their head honcho’s kid is in the ICU in Atlas because Parrot’s now targeting the crime families themselves. And without the med-tech to help people in Mistral?”

“Unless someone has a semblance capable of healing people, any gang shootout could be catastrophic to both the gangs and the bystanders,” Scott concluded. This new information was bad. Really bad.

“Heh, the little tyke’s smart, huh?”

“I told you he was,” Miltia said, beaming with pride.

Scott didn’t make much of a reaction. Why now? Who could possibly benefit from causing chaos like this? He froze. There was one person. Damn! That means she’s involved and I have no idea how to help! He glanced at Roman. There’s not enough time to come up with a game plan. I don’t even know who’s in Salem’s court at this point, only that Tock is dead. What a pain in the—

“Hey, you okay?” Miltia asked, cupping his face. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Scott closed his eyes and took a breath. “Still out of it.” He glanced at Roman. “You realize that Winter and Weiss have never met Miltia and Melanie, and this is supposed to be Weiss’s birthday. You’re throwing a lot of responsibility on me with this.”

Roman winced. “Look kid, it’s not exactly my choice to rely on someone still in diapers for this!”

“I haven’t been in diapers for months,” Scott countered. “But I digress.” He tapped his fingers. “Any way can you get me one thing for Weiss? I know we have the usual Atlas ‘we choose the gifts for you’ nonsense, gods know Winter’s complained about it to me, but I still want to get Weiss something nice in secret.”

Roman barked a laugh. “Trying to sweep the girl off her feet already?”

“ No ,” Scott said as forcefully as possible. It didn’t sound quite right, coming off more whiny than he’d wished from his squeaky voice, but it would have to do. “Weiss deserves the freedom to choose her own path, her own love, and her own life. I am not going to use my position of friendship to undermine her in that way. I respect her and her sister too much for that.”

Roman shifted uncomfortably in the corner, not saying anything.

Miltia cleared her throat as she patted Scott’s back. He winced as the pain shot back through his skin and Miltia tore her hand away. “Sorry,” she whispered, a twang of anger in her voice and a fire in her eyes. “W-what was it you wanted to get her?”

“Merely a book on how to design mechashift weapons,” Scott said as he rubbed the recent lash marks along his spine. “Winter’s going for a more classic design, but Weiss seems to want a rather complex style. This could help her.”

Miltia turned to the Gentleman Thief with a pleading look, making Scott force down a chuckle especially when Roman buckled to her puppy eyes.

Roman groaned. “Fine, I’ll get the damn book for you, kid. What is it?” 

“ The Evolution of Huntsmen Weaponry and Mechashift Engineering: Ninth Edition, by Barry Corilon and Alice Stark,” Scott recited. Again, it was a massive tome of a textbook for university students, but at least Weiss wouldn’t have to hide the damn thing.

Roman whistled appreciatively. “You sure you’re not pining for her, kid?”

“We’re two, romance doesn’t really develop for a while,” Scott answered quickly. 

“Sure, sure, what do I know?” Roman waved them off.

“I’m sorry, who has the recent experience of being a two-year-old?” Scott asked.

Roman blinked. “You know what, fuck, I’m not dealing with this right now.” He moved for the door. “I’ll get it for you, and no, you won’t owe me anything this time, brat.”

“Thank you, Mister Torchwick.”

Roman shivered at the polite response and exited the room. 

Miltia sighed. “So. Atlas. Do we need to act differently up there?”

Scott sent a skeptical look toward his favorite cousin, trying to say “What do you think” with only his eyes.

Miltia nodded slowly. “Guess we gotta tell Mel.” She groaned. “And she’s going to be such a bitch about it!”

Scott raised an eyebrow at her. “First thing, don’t cuss when you’re there. You’re probably going as representatives of the Ishvaltar family, so anything like that could make Jacques Schnee hate us as being ‘barbaric.’”

“Your dad curses all the time,” Miltia pointed out.

“Only in private or at his company,” Scott corrected. “Atlas is…I don’t want to say old-fashioned since Mistral can be that, too. But…they’re more aristocratic about things.”

“You mean they talk all fancy like you?”

“In essence, yes.”

Miltia groaned again as she flopped herself on the bed.

Scott blinked as a thought came to him. “Do you have your claws yet?”

The girl sat up with a feral smile. “Fuck yea–er, yes, I do. Mom finally caved and gave us our weapons early.” She frowned. “Though, now I’m wondering if it’s to arm us in case we’re targeted by the other gangs.”

Scott nodded. “Winter is really into being a Specialist and is…more lenient about informal interactions than her father. Militaries rarely go without cursing. If you get into a spar with her, you’ll probably have more fun.”

“Alright, I’ll do that, but are you sure you want the heiress of the SDC to hang out with a couple of mobster chicks like us?”

Scott made an exaggerated shrug. “What else can we do?”

Miltia grumbled. “Fair. Guess I’ll tell Mel the news.”

“And I have to text Winter about the change,” Scott said. “I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

Miltia hugged Scott and left the room in silence.

— Atlas: Schnee Manor —

Scott: Hey, Winter. There’s been a slight change of plans on my end. My aunt has to do some business elsewhere with my parents, so I’m going to be attending Weiss’s birthday with my cousins. I’ll try to keep the reigned in, but Melanie will be difficult. I’m sorry if that imposes on you too much. -Yesterday: 3:12 PM

Winter had been staring at the message for thirty minutes, trying to figure out if she should tell him not to come. It had been four days since her research into the boy’s family, and she hadn’t dared open her laptop since. Nor had she answered Scott’s texts, each showing more and more worry if she was okay.

Now, he was going to come to Schnee Manor in a day, and she was beginning to panic about what to do. 

“Why does this have to be so complicated!” she yelled into her pillow. Scott was her friend, but now everything was so messy and stupid!

And now she was lying to Weiss, too. Her little sister kept asking how Scott was doing, and Winter would either say the boy was busy, sick, or hadn’t responded to her texts, further making Weiss upset and further making Winter lose sleep. All the while, she kept hearing a little voice in the back of her head mock her, calling her nothing more than a shallow copy of Jacques for manipulating her family.

Ding!

Winter grabbed her scroll again and felt a cold guilt wash over her as she saw whom it was from.

Scott : Winter. I don’t know if I’ve done something to upset you or break your trust, but if I have, I’m truly sorry. It’s been nine days since you’ve said anything to me, and I completely understand if I’m being annoying if I’m not taking a hint that you don’t want to talk to me anymore, but I’m still worried about you and Weiss. 

Scott : If I am not welcome anymore, please just send me a message and I’ll have my parents cancel my flight over tomorrow.

Winter clicked off her scroll and screamed into her pillow again. He may not act it, but he’s still just a little kid! And I’m being such a jerk!

A knock echoed through her room and she quickly sat up and smoothed out her dress. “Enter.”

A shock of white hair in silver and blue armor opened the door and stepped into the room. “Winter,” Nicholas Schnee said warmly. “I heard you yelling not too long ago. Is everything alright?”

Winter felt her face burn with embarrassment. “I’m fine, Grandfather–”

“Grandfather!” Nicholas laughed. “Oh, you must really be upset if you’re going to be so formal with me, little blizzard.”

“Grandpa!” Winter whined before pouting. 

Nicholas laughed again. “You may be hard to read for your parents and peers, Winter, but Weiss and I will always be able to tell.” He stepped forward and sat next to the girl. “So, tell me what’s wrong. Jacques isn’t being a pain again, is he?”

Winter sighed. “No…it’s not about him.” She glanced at the scroll next to her before her eyes darted to the laptop on the desk.

“Ah, then it’s about this new friend you’ve made?” Nicholas said as he ruffled Winter’s hair before laughing again. “Is Winter finally having a spring melt for her heart?”

“Grandpa!” Winter hissed before slapping his hand away. She took a deep breath and straightened out her hair. “It…it is about him, but not in that way!” She turned to her elder with pleading eyes. “I learned some things about his family and…they’re not good, and now I’m all confused and I’m hurting him because I don’t know what to say!”

Winter felt her grandfather wrap his armored arm around her back, the metal clicking quietly, as he took a deep breath before having a small coughing fit. “Is this friend of yours someone you care about?” He waited. “Do you feel like you’re being forced to spend time with him or–”

“No, I-I like talking with him…” Winter said, balling her hands into fists. “He…he understands how lonely it can be for us, Weiss and me, and knows the schemes our fathers are doing and is…moving around them.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow for a moment, then he grumbled. “I’ll have to talk to Jacques about that. I won’t be having you and Weiss marry someone you don’t love only for business pragmatism.” His eyes fell to the floor, and Winter thought he looked so tired. “I’ve already made that mistake, and Willow is paying the price.”

“Grandpa…”

“But, it’s good to know that your friend has a good head on his shoulders,” Nicholas smiled. “I dare say he’s being smarter about it than I was in my youth. How old is he?”

Winter squirmed uncomfortably. “He’s…Scott’s two…”

Nicholas blinked. “I…huh. And you consider this Scott to be your friend despite him being so much younger?”

“I do,” Winter said firmly. 

“Then, whatever it is that is bothering you, talk about it with him first,” Nicholas said. “It could be that he does not know what you do.”

“But, what if talking about it hurts him?” she whispered.

“Would you rather hurt him by communicating your concerns or abandoning him to learn it himself when friends don’t surround him?”

Winter felt her jaw go tight as she contemplated his words.

“And…I can’t imagine whatever you found would be so devastating to him that it would lead you to such an internal crisis,” he said warmly as he stroked her hair. The man chuckled fondly. “I don’t believe you’ve actually told me this boy’s name. Well, his full name, that is.”

Winter took a deep breath. “His name is Scott Ophiuchus Ishvaltar.”

Nicholas’s hand froze, and Winter swore she heard his breath hitch. “Shit,” he whispered. “At least, I understand where you are coming from now.” He sighed, loudly. “Your friend is about to carry a lot of baggage once you tell him of the Ishvaltars’ history.”

“Yeah…but don’t Weiss and I, and soon our baby brother, also carry a similar weight?”

Winter stared into her grandfather’s pale blue eyes and saw the sorrow and guilt. Nicholas turned away as he grabbed a handkerchief and coughed into it. “Another fault of mine,” he finally said. “Forgive me, Winter. I was always a man of adventure, not wisdom, and now…I fear your father is going to tear this family apart all for his relentless greed now I no longer hold sway in the company.” There were tears in his eyes. “I’ve failed you, Weiss, and your mother. I hope that you can forgive this stupid old man.”

Winter hugged her grandfather. “I never blamed you at all…”

“You are too kind, Winter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your friend…I’d like to meet him one day before…”

“Before what?”

Nicholas smiled. “Nothing. I’d just like to meet him. See the boy for myself.”

Winter swallowed. “He’ll be here for Weiss’s birthday, along with his cousins…” Her eyes widened. “I have to text him. Gods, I’ve been ignoring him for over a week!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Nicholas said as he hugged her a final time. “Don’t let your father stuff out your kindness, Winter. Promise me that.”

“I promise, Grandpa.”

Nicholas stood from the bed and left the room with a sad smile, though Winter couldn’t quite understand why he was sad anymore. She grabbed her scroll and begun the work of apologizing to Scott and catching up.

— Mistral: Saint Oziel Hospital—

“Dedicated to Saint Oziel who led the resistance against Malik the Sunderer with his healing light and unbreakable kindness,” Roman read as he stood in front of the audacious bronze statue on a marble pedestal. The plaque was shiny from all the times people touched it, enamored with the story of one of Mistral’s greatest heroes.

Roman thought it was too romantic for his liking. “Bunch of revenant chumps, waiting for someone else to fix up the mess…”

“Perhaps that is what some people need,” Shoma said, walking next to the thief. 

“You, of all people, think that?”

Shoma grunted. “We are the bottom feeders of the world, the realists, the survivors. Not everyone can handle that life.”

Roman rolled his eyes. 

“You’re out here in daylight,” Shoma commented idly, still looking at the statue. “Must I assume your targets have left Mistral?”

“In Atlas for some birthday party,” Roman shrugged as he turned to walk toward a bench he planned to stick by. “I’m free to follow this lead how I please.”

Shoma grunted. “You are being granted a moment of reprieve. Don’t. Fuck. Up. You get in trouble, East Dragon isn’t bailing you out.” 

“Up yours,” he said, flipping off the giant and stalking away. 

The bench he picked was across the street from the hospital but had a great view of the building. Two entrances, the main one and the alley on the left side where the ambulances entered. No employee entrance since the hospital wasn’t that big nor well funded, another example of the city council hoarding their wealth to themselves. Not that Roman could fault them for it—he did dream of rolling around on a bed of money surrounded by women—but everyone knew the council was the true scumbags of Mistral. 

In a normal stakeout, Roman would’ve stuck by in a car or some apartment nearby, but since he had the stipulation from East Dragon to stay visible by their people—likely Shoma—and the Boss wanted this fiasco done quickly. Can’t extort people if they’ll just die from any old injury. 

“And now we wait,” Roman grumbled. “Honestly, this has gotta be the stupidest job I’ve ever had to do. Why am I doing this again?”

The color red flashed in his mind. Right. Miltia.  

Roman let his mind wander, he did have a few hours to kill and he wasn’t some idle-brained schmuck that he couldn’t fucking multi-task, heh? The first thing that came to his mind was the kid. Not Miltia, but that blonde kid she was so worried about. Sure, he’d seen the pictures of his tattered back, but there was a difference between knowing some random kid was suffering and being face-to-face with said kid. And holy fuck did he look bad.

The kid—Scott was it?—was also fucking creepy. Yes, he knew from Red that the kid, Blondie, was a smart-ass, but hearing him talk for the first time? What kind of kid is as quick-witted as Blondie? Fuck, what kinda kid knows what “kleptomaniac” or “trade secret” means? It was like talking to a living dictionary.

Then there was the immediate distrust Blondie had against Roman, almost like he knew Roman could be trouble. It was almost like the kid knew exactly the kinda person Roman was…

The thief made a sharp laugh. “Gods, I’m being fucking paranoid now, heh?” He clicked open his lighter and lit a fresh cigar. “Suspecting a toddler like he's some grand mastermind.”

Roman rolled his eyes and kept watch on the building, occasionally switching between reading a newspaper or his scroll, though he was always aware of anyone around him for several hours. 

That was how he caught the sight of two people walking into the hospital around dusk, the front door even. Well, they weren’t hard to notice, if he was honest, Huntsmen rarely were. And these two definitely were huntsmen. One had a lanky build with a lousy posture and spiky black hair. He wore a disheveled grey coat, black pants, a tattered red cape, and, most notably, a massive fucking great sword on his back. The other stood with more confidence. He had a slight tan, a big tattoo on one arm, a vest, cargo shorts—fucking cargo shorts—and messy blonde hair. No weapon, though. Must be a brawler. Fuck, now huntsmen are getting involved in this fiasco?

Roman was about to return to his newspaper when he caught a dark shape dropping down from the fire escape of the neighboring building and leaping off an ambulance’s roof. Roman smirked, folded his newspaper, and grabbed Melodic Cudgel. He quickly crossed the street, keeping out of line-of-sight from the intruder, and poked his head around to see what was happening.

Three people were unconscious on the ground, two guards and a faunus EMT. Roman would’ve just ignored them—wasn’t like he knew the people, after all—but anyone from these hospitals needed to stay alive, especially in East Dragon’s territory. He checked for a pulse on each of the downed people, letting go a breath when he found they were all alive, before walking up to the door that was wide open. Whoever was doing this heist was going for speed and stealth over strategy. 

Roman didn’t much care for subtlety. Red would’ve called him a glory hog, a diva of robbery, and he’d agree but for one thing: Roman Torchwick was an artist with style . The man walked into the hospital and followed the empty hall to the one room with a light on. Fucking amateurs.

Watching through the crack in the door, he could see a figure dressed all in black, so much so he couldn’t see any inch of skin nor figure out if this thief was human, faunus, man, or woman. But what he could see was the blood sample storage machine shimmering black before shrinking down to the size of a toy and the thief shoving each object into a bag.

Well, that’s just bullshit! No style! No cunning tricks or schemes or fun exit strategies! Just fucking semblance horseshit! Roman cracked his knuckles as he pushed the door open, forcing a confident smirk on his face. No amateur thief is getting away with this today!

“Attention all shoppers!” he declared as he tapped his cane to open the firing tube. “The store is now closed! Please direct yourselves to the nearest exit or closest ass beating!” 

Roman took aim at the thief and was surprised by the sudden twisting the black-cloaked figure made as it dove right at him! Roman squeezed off a shot, but the attacker deployed two batons and smacked the cane up, launching the shot into the ceiling. Particle board and glass rained down as the heavy lead slug tore through the building like wet paper. Roman backpedaled to keep some distance from the thief, but the attacker fervently continued its onslaught, forcing Roman to parry both simple weapons with his cane.

“You mind telling me what your plan is with all that medical tech!?” Roman yelled as he dove out of the room and back into the hallway. “Awful lot of trouble you’re going through just to steal all this!” 

The attacker said nothing and struck forward, causing Roman to block it. But he was wrong. The attack was a feint and the other weapon cracked against Roman’s forehead, sending him crashing into the wall. 

“Fuck!” he hissed. The attacker was making a break for the exit. “Oh no you don’t!” Roman flipped Melodic Cudgel and launched the hook of his cane at the attacker, snagging the hood of its jacket. Roman smiled as he reeled the man back, but the jacket tore off, revealing the attacker’s body beneath it. 

It was male, judging by the muscle and body shape, and lithe, obviously opting for speed over strength. But Roman could also see slabs of black metal coating the thief’s torso, and the flesh he could see was massively scarred. What’s more, the head of the attacker looked to be sealed in a black helmet, only showing his mouth, which was in a tight frown. 

“What the fuck!” Roman yelled as he chased after the thief. “What are you? Some Atlas black ops agent!?”

By the time he’d gotten outside, Roman saw the figure quickly scaling the fire escape from the building next to the hospital. He aimed Melodic Cudgel at him and fired the hook. This time, the hook missed and latched onto the railing of the fire escape, and, without him even pressing the button, the cane reeled itself back, shooting out of his hand at insane speeds and landing at the top of the escape.

“Motherfu–”

Roman felt pain lance through his face as the world spun and he crashed into a brick wall. He coughed as he tried climbing to his feet, tasting the iron of blood filling his mouth and smelling it as it dripped from his nose. He couldn’t tell what was happening until a massive sword was pointed at his throat.

“I’d surrender if I were ya,” a man said. Roman looked up and… fuck . It was the red-caped huntsman from before.

“Looks like your bad luck finally worked on someone we wanted it to,” the blonde huntsman laughed as he clapped the other on the back.

“Yeah, I guess it did. Did punching some criminal help with your funk?”

“I don’t know. Let me try again.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait, wait, wait–”

And all he could remember was a fist rushing at his face, then darkness. 

Chapter Text

—Schnee Manor—

“Why is it so fucking cold!?” Melanie whined as she drew her white coat tighter around her shoulders as SDC guards led her, Scott, and Miltia from the manor’s private docks. Her waist-length black whipped around her head in the cold wind. “It’s supposed to be spring!”

“We’re several kilometers in the air on the continent known for having extremely long winters,” Scott explained, truly pushing his patience to the upper limits of what he thought possible. Melanie had been complaining the entire trip about the lack of CCST service while in transit, about how dull the food tasted on the skyship, about how noisy it was, about how she forgot to charge her scroll and ran it out of power because she was playing some game and so many other asinine things that Scott had begun tuning out. How the hell did Melanie end up more spoiled than literally the richest girls on the planet? “I’d be surprised if Atlas didn’t have a cold front this time of year.”

“Fuck. You.” 

“Mel! You’re supposed to be on your best behavior when we’re here!” Miltia hissed. Scott noticed her free hand curling into a fist in the arm of her red coat. Her short bob made her hair look much more organized than her sister’s. Ah, even she’s getting fed up with Melanie’s behavior. “Don’t make me call Mom about how much of a bit–brat! How much of a brat you’re being!”

“I don’t care! You’re not the boss of me! I’m older than you!”

“By twelve minutes!”

“Still older than you!”

Scott sighed. “That’s barely even relevant for this, especially if your mental maturity is that of a spoilt child.”

“Fuck you! You’re just a toddler!”

“Yea?” Miltia challenged. “He’s eight years younger and is acting so much more mature than you! How are you not fuck–er, freaking embarrassed!”

At least she’s trying . Scott groaned as the mental anguish and the subsequent migraine magnified. Then, a thought came to mind. “Miltia, that’s enough.” The red twin looked at him with confusion while the white twin crossed her arms with a defiant smirk. Just you wait. “Obviously, Melanie doesn’t think she can act like she’s from high society and is giving up instead, refusing to rise to the challenge. Let’s not waste the energy trying to correct her and let her make a fool of herself instead.”

Melanie’s eyes widened. “W-what!? No! You fucking little dick! You’re mocking me!”

“Merely stating a fact,” Scott shrugged. “Miltia and I aren’t responsible for your actions, so you’re free to act how you please. Just know, you won’t be making any friends here and will likely be left alone and bored.” Scott turned away and grinned at Miltia who returned a feral smile back. Scott swore he could see the pair of SDC guards smirk as well, though he wouldn’t call them out for it. He’d rather not endanger their jobs just for a moment of unprofessionalism. “Ah, we’re here.”

The guards opened the doors and Scott smiled more when he saw Winter and Weiss waiting for them in the foyer, along with another person that Scott vaguely recognized but couldn’t quite place in his mind. The man was tall with white hair and pale blue eyes and wore armor? Scott shook the confusion away. “Hello, hello! Sorry for keeping you waiting here for so long!”

“Scott!” Weiss cheered as she skipped to him and curtseyed then tackled him in a hug. “Thank you for coming!”

“Of course! I wouldn’t want to miss spending time with my friends,” Scott chuckled as he patted her back. 

“Weiss has been barely holding back her excitement for her party ever since your parents accepted the invite,” Winter nodded. She smiled but looked rather restrained. “Though, I have missed the opportunity to speak candidly with someone else.”

I’ll ask about it later, Scott thought. “As have I, Winter.” Scott cleared his throat. “I suppose I have some introductions to make?” He stepped away from Weiss to stand before the twins. “Winter, Weiss, these are my cousins, Melanie and Miltia.”

Melanie rolled her eyes and walked away. “Where’s the room I’m staying in? I need to charge my scroll.” 

Scott glanced at Miltia who had a brittle smile and her shoulders slouching. Truly, how did those two end up so different in the same household? “Please excuse my cousin’s rudeness. It was a rough flight over and we had to take a longer route after the control towers told us the normal flight path had a Lancer hive nearby.” Though that’s just how Mel acts, maybe I can play it off a little.

“Of course,” Winter nodded. She held her hand out before Miltia. “Winter Schnee. I hope you enjoy your stay in our…frigid abode.”

“Ehehe, I’ll try,” Miltia laughed nervously as she shook Winter’s hand. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something, girls?”

The children all turned to address the amused man in armor. “I’m happy to see all of you getting along, and I may be dressed the same as these statues, but I am a living, breathing man!” he laughed.

Winter’s jaw dropped in mortification. “I-I’m sorry, Grandfather–”

“I’m messing with you, Winter,” he chuckled. “I’m no Jacques, remember?”

“R-right, yes.” Winter cleared her throat. “Scott, Miltia,” she glanced at Melanie and noticed she wasn’t paying attention, to which she rolled her eyes. Scott and Miltia both chuckled to themselves. “This is Weiss and my grandfather, Nicholas Schnee, founder of the SDC and—”

“Certified adventurer and huntsman! Glad to meet you both!” the man boomed as he got to one knee and extended his hand.

Scott tentatively took it and was met with a firm shake. As he smiled and looked up at the older man, he felt a sudden tension from the pale blue eyes he had. Nicholas was watching him like a hawk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mister Schnee,” Scott said, forcing his voice to be neutral. 

“Yes, yes it is.” He turned and shook Miltia’s hand as well.

What was that all about? Before Scott could question the interaction further, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Winter standing before him. “Yes?”

“I-I…” Winter hesitated and glanced at the two twins before leaning down to Scott’s ear. “Can we speak in private later? There are things I want to talk about.”

“Uh, sure? Why all the secrecy, Winter?”

“Just,” she sighed. “I found something out and I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone. Can you come by my room tonight? I’m sure Weiss wants to talk with you about everything and will berate you with questions on Dust application and Aura, but…”

“I can make time for it,” Scott nodded, though he felt a growing thrum of concern in his mind. “I’m a late sleeper anyway.”

“Stop hogging him, Winter!” Weiss complained as she pulled on Scott’s arm. “Come on! I wanted to show you some things!”

Scott just laughed as he let himself be dragged away by his fellow toddler, keeping his emotions in check as anxiety rooted itself in his heart like a strangling ivy. Thankfully, Miltia is here with me. I’ll at least have her to lean on if something bad does happen.

— Mistral: ???—

Roman winced at the harsh light. His head pounded as he felt the dull ache of a bruise around his eye. Fucking huntsman. I had my Aura up and everything!

“Well, well, looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up,” a rather raspy voice commented.

Roman looked up and saw the two huntsman from before staring at him, the red-caped one looking amused whereas the blonde one looked impatient but also relaxed. He tried to move and get to his feet, but immediately felt the tug of metal on his hands and feet, his arms shackled behind his back and to the chair he was in. A quick glance around the room showed that he was not in an interrogation room but more what looked like an office. Great, an informal interrogation. Just what I fucking need.

“If you’re looking to get frisky with me, you could’ve had the courtesy to buy me a fucking drink first, eh?” Roman sniped at the two huntsmen. 

“You’re not making yourself look all that great, y’know, kid?” Red-Cape said.

“At least he’s talking,” Tattoo shrugged. “Most of the time we have to do something like this, they just clam up.”

“What can I say, I’m a charismatic bastard,” Roman shrugged. “Now, can you kindly untie me and fuck off? I’ve got a pretty tight schedule I’m keeping to and you two are wasting my time!” 

“Sorry bud, but you’re gonna need a rain check on that,” Tattoo said, rolling his eyes. “We’re not gonna let you run off and keep stealing medical technology that is putting a massive strain on Mistral just because you’re ‘running late.’” 

“Oh, for the love of–I didn’t steal anything!” Roman yelled.

“Uh huh,” Red-Cape said sarcastically. “Then, what are these?” He tossed a bunch of stolen wallets on the table, all items Roman had pocketed from the last week from tourists visiting Mistral. Honestly, he was doing them a fucking favor, teaching them the responsibility of at least wearing a chain on their wallets and not keeping them in the most obvious fucking spots possible. 

“So, huntsmen are in the business of shaking down ordinary crooks, huh?” Roman countered. “Please, that kinda theft doesn’t even get a fine in Mistral, but, then again, you two don’t seem like you’re from around here. Vale would be my guess.” He grinned.

“We have you here because you were found fleeing the scene of a recent heist against Saint Oziel’s Hospital,” another voice said as a man walked into Roman’s view. He had a large mane of sandy-blonde hair and tan to rusty red colored robes and armor with a small shield on his arm. The man, no, faunus, Roman corrected once he saw the tail, towered over the two other men with proud confidence. Headmaster Leonardo fucking Lionheart. “And, Mister Torchwick, you are a known entity working for Spider, is that right?”

“Fucking hell,” Roman snorted, shooting blood out of his broken nose and onto his green coat. “FUCK! Gods damn this all! I’m going to send you the fucking bill for this, Tats!”

Red-Cape and Tattoo glanced at each other. “Tats?” They finally said.

“Or should I call you a fashion disaster for even having the gall to go out in public with cargo shorts of all fucking things!” Roman growled. “And for your information, headmaster, I didn’t steal the medical tech. Sure, I pickpocket tourists, but come on, they’re tourists! They’ve got money to burn anyway. And even if I did steal med-tech, where the fuck would I even put it, huh?” He flicked his head down at the front pocket of his green coat. “I go for style, and unfortunately, that means having false pockets!”

“That’s the thing,” Red-Cape said as he leaned against the wall. “Normally it’d be simple to dismiss it, the cameras were down, power outage in the whole building…There’s just not a lot of evidence in it that you did anything, kid.”

“Stop calling me kid, asshole,” Roman growled. “I’m a professional, and I have standards .”

“Sure, kid,” Red-Cape rolled his eyes. 

“As to what Qrow was saying,” Lionheart continued, “Semblances are so varied and versatile these days that one could be inclined to think a semblance is involved.” He smiled at Roman. “You wouldn’t be so kind as to tell us what your semblance is.”

Roman groaned. “I don’t fucking have one. Thieves who rely on cheap tricks like that deserve only to be gutter rats.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Why get away with doing something like a cheap, one-trick pony when you could use charisma and cunning!”

“Sure, charisma, if that’s what you want to call it,” Qrow dismissed. “You’ve got as much charisma as a passed-out drunk bandit.”

“Takes one to know one, Qrow,” Tattoo ribbed the other. 

Roman narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“Qrow, Taiyang, if you would stop agitating Mister Torchwick,” Lionheart sighed as he pulled out a chair and began reading from a stack of documents. “So. Roman Torchwick. Eighteen or Nineteen years old. Immigrant from Vale. You’ve been jailed several times for assault and petty theft, but always get out of it relatively unscathed. You also don’t cooperate with the authorities.” Lionheart glanced over the papers.

Roman rolled his eyes. “I know it may be hard to believe, Headmaster, but I’m not exactly the biggest fan of local law enforcement.”

“Yea? And what about the world’s defense against evil?” Qrow countered.

Roman looked from Qrow to Taiyang, Tats, then to Lionheart. Each of them had tacky clothing, though at least Qrow had a couple of points in style. “Hmm, first impressions? Not great. Maybe if you put actual thought into your clothing choices, I’d be impressed, but I’d be even more impressed if you’d caught the right fucking guy!”

“Uh huh, that’s what they all say,” Qrow grumbled. “You were literally fleeing the scene–”

“I was trying to catch the fucker who was escaping you stupid twat!”

“Or trying to sell out your partner to cut a better deal,” Tai countered.

Roman huffed then chuckled sarcastically. “Idiots. I’m surrounded by bloody fucking morons!” He glared at Lionheart. “There was some cyborg fucker that I tailed into the hospital who was taking the equipment during your blackout! Had some semblance that allowed him to shrink objects and shove them in his bag, so I confronted him!” Roman glared at Qrow and Tai. “You think I’d be stupid enough to fire a gun for no reason in the middle of a stealth heist? Who the fuck do you take me for? An amateur?”

Tai shrugged. “Eh, kinda.”

Lionheart held his hand up to silence the two huntsmen. “What’s Spider’s plan with the medical tech? Where are they being kept?” 

“I. Don’t. Know.” Roman gritted his teeth. “I was being sent by Spider to figure out where it was all going! I even worked with some allies in East Dragon to stake out Saint Oziel’s!” He glared at Red-Cape before the man could make some snide comment. “We’re just as in the fucking dark as you are! Spider, East Dragon, and Mouse are all banding together to hunt this fucker down while his law enforcement,” he flicked his head at Lionheart, “fumbles around with their thumbs up their asses!”

Tai stepped forward to stop Qrow. “Whoa, whoa, hold on–” 

“What do you mean the criminal families are working together?” Lionheart pressed after shooting a pointed look at the two huntsmen.

“Exactly what I said. Weren’t you paying attention?” Roman rolled his eyes. “Parrot’s the only one working against it and are taking advantage of the chaos to take out the competition. I’m talking hitting kids connected to the families with cars or rigging bombs kinda bullshit.”

“Why would the families even care about keeping the hospitals operating?” Tai asked.

Roman groaned again. “Do you have any brain power in that skull of yours? What is the easiest way for the mafia to get money?” He waited for dramatic effect.

“Extortion,” Qrow answered.

“ Protection Money ,” Roman corrected. “We protect you from the other gangs and our own, and you pay us a fee for it. Don’t pay the fee, and you’re likely to find yourself with a pair of broken legs either by our guys or someone else’s.”

“And without the hospitals, the people you’re extorting die, and the cash stops flowing,” Qrow finished.

“See? Not that fucking hard to figure out, huh?” Roman sniped at Tai. “On top of that, if we get into a proper scrap, how are we supposed to patch up our boys? No hospitals? No money? Gang wars get infinitely worse.”

“Except that you can get treatment at some underground clinics or equipment from the black market,” Qrow said. “Your point?”

“The point is, we can’t .” Roman slouched back in his chair and huffed. “I’ve been trying to get my hands on a blood toxicology test for a client for weeks, and it’s been a fucking nightmare! I had to give a refund because I failed at it! Do you know how bad it is for me to give a refund!? Think of my image! People will start thinking I’m a proper, law-abiding citizen!”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Tai smirked. 

“Again, your point?” Qrow said, stalking forward.

“The black market is shot. All that equipment? Fucking vanished. No one is reselling it anywhere, and all shipments from Atlas and Vale for replacements keep being intercepted.” Roman grimaced. “I’d hate to admit it, but this fucker is good . Thorough.” Roman leaned back in his seat again as he watched the three huntsmen glance at each other in confusion. A sly smirk came to his face. “Oh. Oh! Ohoho! None of you idiots actually checked the black market, did you? Fucking goodie-two-shoes.”

“Shuddup,” Qrow snapped before turning to Lionheart. “You believe any of this shit? These guys talk a lot of game but always are out for themselves.”

“And if this Roman guy is the one we’re looking for, I get to go back home sooner,” Tai said with the dumbest fucking smile Roman had ever seen.

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Already married again and you want to get back to the missus. Why don’t ya save some of the badass women for the rest of us?”

“Keep trying, Qrow, I’m sure you’ll get there,” Tai grinned as he patted the man’s shoulder. “Plus, you’ll get to see Yang again. I know she misses her uncle.”

Roman rolled his eyes and was about to dismiss the whole thing off when a thought came to mind. Fuck. I’m gonna have to thank Red later. He whistled to grab the huntsmen’s attention. “You want to know why I’m so desperate to get this job done? Why I’ve been running around like a bat outta hell hunting down a single piece of medical tech?”

“Ugh, save it, kid,” Qrow groaned. 

“I’m trying to save a kid’s life.”

Qrow laughed, shaking his head. “And I’m Jacques Fucking Schnee.”

“He’s the son of someone high up in the crime families,” Roman continued, letting the words tumble out of his mouth. “Been kept pretty outta sight from the public light and the underground, but I’ve met him. Kid’s seen some shit, been through a lot of shit, alright? My client wants to get him out of the mafia and away from Mistral, but because of who he is, that’s not fucking possible.” 

“You believe this shit, Tai?” He laughed more until he saw Tai’s serious stare. “What?”

Tai held his hand up at Qrow to silence him. The brawler pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Roman. “Continue.”

This is fucking working!? Roman nodded. “From what I’ve seen, the kid’s being poisoned by his fucking parents of all people. He’s underweight and looks like one of those awful fucking pictures they show you of gas victims during the Great War in school. My client thinks we can get him away from his family if we can gather enough proof of the abuse he’s going through, but getting that proof is what’s become fucking impossible with all this shit going on.”

“Why not report this to the authorities?” Tai asked. 

“In Mistral? Fucking hell, you’re naive!” Roman yelled before flopping his head over to stare at Lionheart. “A bunch of waterlogged corpses dragged outta the river and Lake Matsu could be better cops since they don’t take fucking bribes! We’re talking about the major crime families here!”

“Who’s the kid? What’s his name?” Tai asked.

“I can’t tell you. Puts him, my client, me, and everyone in this room at risk.”

Tai leaned forward. “That serious?”

“Tai…” Qrow growled.

“Look, it’s in everyone’s best interests to catch this fucker and put him behind bars, heh?” Roman asked. “And you two don’t look like you know you’re way around the criminal underworld. You stick out like sore thumbs.”

Qrow scoffed dismissively.

“So, whatcha need is a guide. And, luckily for you, there’s one fucker here who’d be willing to introduce you to some of the faces down below.” Roman grinned wildly.

“You? Really?” Qrow demanded. “How do we know you won’t just turn tail and run?”

“A couple reasons, actually. I don’t have the luxury of burning any bridges right now. For one, I don’t want Spider hounding my ass for years to come just because I did the ol’ bait and switch and skedaddled outta here. I know Atlas won’t be welcoming for me, Vale’s got allies with Spider, and Vacuo? Whew, forget it!” Roman whistled as he smirked arrogantly. “That leaves Mistral. And that client of mine? I actually like working with them. A breath of fucking fresh air since they aren’t arrogant or stupid.”

“You’d cut a deal with us, then?” Lionheart asked with a pleased smile.

“Better than the authorities, I’ll tell you that much.” 

Lionheart nodded and turned to Qrow. “Keep a tight lease on him. I’ll leave him in your hands.”

“Leo…” Qrow growled.

“Don’t worry, Qrow, I’m sticking with you here as well,” Tai said as he hooked his arm around Qrow’s shoulder. “Even if it means me not getting to see my girls for a bit longer.”

Qrow growled again before slugging Tai in the shoulder. “You owe me a drink. Fuck it. You owe me five for this, you blonde bastard.” 

Qrow stalked forward and undid the shackles around Roman’s hands and legs. “Thanks, sweetheart. Pleasure doing business with ya.” Roman stood and stretched, rubbing his wrists. “So, when can I get my cane back—”

“You’re not,” Qrow hissed.

“Oh, come the fuck on! That thing was custom-made! Do you know how much I had to fucking pay for that? It goes with my style and everything!” Roman complained more and more just to irritate Qrow. “Oh, and Tai was it? You still owe me a dry cleaning bill.” 

Qrow groaned. “I’m already regretting this…”

“Then you should’ve caught the right fucking guy!”

— Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Winter paced around her room in a cold sweat. It was after dusk. Weiss was asleep by then after a day of happily chattering with Scott and Miltia, showing them everything she was learning about being a huntress. The other twin, Melanie if Winter recalled, stayed in her room the entire day. Overall, Winter should have been happy to see her friend again, but she’d barely spoken to him all day, unable to shake the dread of this conversation out of her head all day.

She jumped when she heard a knock at the door.

“Winter? You asked to speak with me,” Scott called through the door. 

“Y-yes, enter,” Winter said. She stood deathly still as Scott entered. The boy still looked so gaunt and barely stood a little over half her height, but the polite twinkle in his eyes still held that spark that made her…trust him. Trust the boy who didn’t care about Winter Schnee and the SDC but cared about Winter and her dreams. “I-I guess you’re wondering why I wanted to talk.”

“The thought’s been on my mind,” he nodded with a slight smile, but it soon fell as worry filled his face. “Winter, are you okay? You’ve been…avoiding me, both online and in person. Did I do something to upset you?”

Winter sucked in a breath and tried to speak several times, the words caught in her throat as she simply could not figure out what would be the best thing to say. How was she supposed to open this conversation!? Hi, Scott, do you know that your ancestors are responsible for wartime experimentation and the deaths of hundreds of people in the name of chemical warfare!? That’ll surely go well! Just go ahead and break his will now, why don’t you? Kill off that little light in his eyes and make him into another hollow person like Mother!

Winter nearly jumped out of her skin when Scott took her hands and guided her to sit on her bed. “Sorry,” he whispered. “You looked like you were heading right for a panic attack. I didn’t want you to collapse and hurt yourself.” He smiled fondly. “You may be tough and have Aura, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about my friends.”

Winter closed her eyes and took a few breaths to re-center herself. “N-no, I should apologize to you. I’ve…been an awful friend. Frankly, I don’t know how to be a good friend anyway.” She glanced at the boy. “I never really had the chance to.”

“Then it pleases me to be the first,” he chuckled. He scrambled to get on the bed and sit next to her, mumbling to himself and cursing his short legs, something that made Winter giggle. “So, friend, since something is on your mind, how can I clear it up?”

Winter sighed. “You remember that party I went to the other day?”

“The Marigold’s soiree?” he asked. “I remember it quite well. Especially with how miserable you sounded over text.”

She groaned into her hands. “It’s not my fault that Rizel and Ana dragged me around for two hours to talk about stupid, frivolous things…”

“I’m not saying that,” he said, giving Winter a playful punch on the shoulder. “I’d be bored, too. Give me a book, a movie, or music, and I’ll be happy any day.”

Winter smiled at how easy it was to talk with the boy, then she frowned after remembering how quickly the conversation with May crashed and burned. “Well, Maxwell Marigold, he calls himself May, talked with me later in the party. He wanted to be a huntsman, even had a powerful semblance for himself, turning an area around him invisible.”

“So, you made another friend! That’s great, Winter!” Scott cheered. 

“No, I didn’t…” Winter sighed and started curling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “We talked for a bit, and I was enjoying talking with him, then things got weird.” She glanced at the boy next to her. “I talked about you for a bit.”

“You did?” Scott blinked, then grinned. “Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No, it was practically glowing. May even said he’d like to meet you if you could help him with his Aura assignments for class.” Winter groaned again. Why can’t this be easy? Oh, right, war crimes. “But, when I told him your name, he got…freaked out.”

“My name? How?”

“He warned me to stay away from you and your family, even told me to look up your history online for myself.” Winter stood, went over to the desk beside her bed, and grabbed the laptop before returning to sit beside the boy. “So…I did.”

Scott fell silent. Then, he gave a sharp exhale, an almost frantic-sounding thing. “I-I’m not going to like what you're about to show me, am I?”

“I don’t know,” Winter admitted. “I’d hope so, but I don’t know how much you know about your family’s history…”

“Next to nothing,” he admitted. “I’m not sheltered, but my parents don’t exactly know how voracious of a reader I am. I…I-I don’t want to give them more power over who I am.” Scott was shivering, quaking with fear. “Winter…what are you going to show me?”

Winter sighed and opened the laptop. She hadn’t even cleared the windows from her previous research, instead having long since stalled her investigation until after she’d talked with Scott about everything. She sat in a deafening silence as the boy read everything. Sometimes, he’d be as quiet as the dead while other times he made these strangled cries and haunted gasps. She didn’t even protest when he held her hand for any semblance of comfort as he learned more and more about the atrocities his family committed.

Eventually, Scott pushed the laptop aside and quickly ran to the bathroom connected to Winter’s room. Winter felt her stomach twist as the sounds of gasping and vomiting echoed from the powder room. She wanted to help him, but how could she? The burden of such…evil had crashed down on the boy as though the sky itself had fallen. “Would you rather hurt him by communicating your concerns or abandoning him to learn it himself when friends don’t surround him?” Winter resolved herself with her grandfather’s words and stood to follow Scott into the bathroom.

The boy lay in a collapsed, sobbing heap against the wall, shivering and sniffling. He looked so…fragile. Every time Winter saw him, the boy, despite his medical conditions, always had an unbreakable quality in how he carried himself and spoke and acted. But now?

Scott slowly looked up at her, his eyes puffy and bloodshot. “My family line is cursed. Why would anyone do something so horrific?” He looked away. “Why?”

Winter crouched down next to him and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said as the tears finally flowed freely. “I’m so sorry.”

For a long while into the dark hours of the night, she just held him until the boy calmed down. His breathing became even and the sobs and tears from both had long since run dry. She thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Winter,” he whispered, “I…I’m sorry your first friend had to be me.”

“What? No, no, no what are you talking about?” Her voice could barely be heard. “You didn’t do any of that. You’re different, Scott. You have a heart, empathy…”

He stayed silent, barely moving in Winter’s tight hug. Winter was spent, physically and emotionally, and she just kept holding onto the boy until sleep finally claimed her.

Scott waited until the girl’s breathing evened out and relaxed before he slid out from her grasp. He both longed for the warmth Winter gave him, the sheer care she had for him, but at the same time, he refused to take advantage of it, calculating the cold loneliness as something he could better handle. Quietly, he left her room and roamed the dark and shadowed halls of Schnee Manor to return to his.

“Well, well, well! Quite the revelation, isn’t it, you Nazi scum.”

Scott froze in his tracks. “Go away, Harvey.”

The apparition of Scott’s dark reflection stepped out of the long shadows cast by the towering windows. “Can’t, remember? I’m you, after all, and we’re pretty shit. I mean, who could’ve thought we’d be connected to this world’s equivalent of Mengele and Al Capone? Fucking hell, Scotty-Boy, you really shouldn’t gamble. You’ve been dealt a losing hand.”

“I said to go away. I’m not in the mood.” Scott kept walking, phasing through the hallucination like a fog or mist.

“Hmm, pass.” Harvey drifted through the air, following him. “ Come on, you’ve gotta have something to say! You always live in that big brain of yours, coming up with plans and overthinking every single fucking thing!”

Scott stopped in his tracks and let out a pathetic, drawn-out sigh. “I said I’m not in the mood to talk right now, Harvey. Just, leave me alone.” Scott continued walking, the only sound they could hear was the quiet tapping of his shoes as he trudged through the manor.

The apparition rolled his eyes and followed. He was silent for a bit, and then Scott noticed a feral, Cheshire grin appear. “ Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again! And there’s no discharge in the war!”

“Stop.”

“ Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin ‘em!” Harvey sang as he danced around the haunted boy. “Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different! Oh—my—God—keep me from goin’ lunatic!” 

“Stop it!” Scott yelled, swiping back at the ghostly visage. “Go away!”

“ Have you ever thought what it’s like to drown in mustard gas?” the ghost chuckled. “ Your eyes burn, your skin melts, your lungs bleed and you cough and sputter and suffocate in a pool of your own blood!” Harvey floated in front of Scott as he acted out the part of a drowning man. “ Think of all those people who died because of your family. Your fortune was built on their suffering, yet you want to use it save the world? Hypocrite.”

“You can’t blame me for something that happened eighty years before I was born!” Scott yelled, storming off into the room where he was staying and slamming the door.

“ Oh, I don’t fucking need to. You’re doing a bloody right job of it yourself.”

Chapter Text

—Schnee Manor—

When Winter awoke, she felt stiff and sore from a night sleeping on the floor of her bathroom, but also significantly colder than she expected. Upon opening her eyes, she noticed that Scott was no longer there, and she suspected he hadn’t been there for several hours. That was worrisome, even more so since today was Weiss’s birthday and there was going to be some massive celebration around it. She recalled the plans to be set in the ballroom with an indoor pony ride, a bounce labyrinth, musical performers, and dozens of tables set up for the various guests, all to show off Jacques’s ill-gotten wealth, but also Nicholas’s desire to spoil his grandchildren rotten. The day was supposed to be fun and happy.

And I destroyed his worldview.

Winter sucked in a breath to recompose herself. “I guess I should get ready.”

The next hour was a blur for Winter—taking a hot shower to wake her senses, getting dressed, finalizing her side of preparations for Weiss’s party—as she barely paid attention to anything around her. Part of her felt guilty for telling Scott about…well, everything. He didn't deserve that burden. She just hoped what she did was the right choice.

As she stepped out onto the foyer to help her parents greet the guests, she saw Scott standing off to the side with his two cousins, all dressed in more extravagant and stiff outfits. Scott wore the trademark colors of his family in a suit that seemed to be choking him at the neck, judging by how much he kept pulling at the collar. Miltia wore a short, vibrant red dress with a black sash tied into a bow around her waist and a black fur mantle on her shoulders and around her neck. The girl even had a decorative red comb in her short hair, an emerald in the center with a red, dyed peacock feather sticking out of it. The other twin wore a white dress with long white boots reaching her thighs and a white fox pelt around her neck, the jaws of the fox head doubling as a clasp on its tail. 

The one in white leaned against the wall on her scroll, completely oblivious to the outside world. Miltia, though, seemed to be fussing about with Scott, an expression of worry plastered to her face. Scott stood with a neutral expression, saying something to his cousin that made her scrunch her face in anger and disgust, but he also seemed to be trying to calm her down. That was something alien to Winter, not Scott trying to calm someone down—he'd done that at the party for her—but someone being allowed to be as expressive as Miltia. She wasn't hiding her emotions, not like how Winter needed to. 

Winter descended the stairs and approached the group. “Good morning, Scott. Miltia. Melanie.”

Melanie didn't even look up from her scroll to respond; she just flicked through it and paid no mind to the people around her.

Scott smiled politely. “Good morning, Winter. I hope you had a better night's sleep than I did.” That was when Winter noticed the heavy circles around his eyes and slouching posture, all signs that he was completely exhausted.

“I…I'm sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes met Miltia's striking verdant eyes, and Winter nearly flinched at the sheer fury in them. 

Scott gently grabbed Miltia's arm and tugged, grabbing her attention. “Mil, stop. Winter is still my friend and told me what she did out of concern, not malice.” He gave a tired smile. “I'd have found out about…this eventually. Let's not spoil Weiss's day over misplaced aggression.”

The girl looked at her cousin and then made a loud sigh. “Idiot. Fine . But we're gonna talk about this later, Winter. Got that?”

Winter nodded, relaxing just a smidge. The fact Scott still considered her a friend was a huge relief. “Thank you, Mil-”

“Don't thank me yet. I'm still really pissed about all this, y'hear? Not just at you, but at the whole thing.” The girl crossed her arms and gave Winter the impression of a bodyguard rather than a cousin. 

“After Weiss's party,” Winter negotiated. “I'll give you all the time you want, but only if you don't take your anger out on my sister or at all during the party. She doesn't know about any of this.”

Miltia huffed but nodded anyway while her twin just kept watching something on her scroll, blissfully unaware of the tension that was forming. The red twin turned her attention away to the score of people entering the foyer, followed soon by Winter and Scott joining in. “Seems like it’s one hell of a party,” Miltia commented. “Definitely a step up from your second birthday, Scott.”

“On that, we agree,” the boy said. He glanced at Winter when she raised an eyebrow at him. “Mine was a rather simple affair,” he explained. “Just a family get-together, but I was rather ill during it. My parents and my aunt–”

“Our mother,” Miltia clarified, jutting her thumb at her sister.

“Mostly used it as an opportunity to…discuss business deals in Mistral’s economy,” he said with a frown. “And Melanie…” he spared a look towards the twin, “acted relatively the same as she is now—headphones over her ears and a scroll in her hands.”

Winter hummed non-commitment, more just happy to have some sort of civil conversation. “Jac- Father spares no expense on these types of events. All more reason for him to show off our family’s wealth, no matter how ill-gotten it is.”

Miltia’s jaw opened in confusion. “Ill-gotten?”

Winter nodded. “Scott is not the only person here who has a…dark spot on his family’s legacy. I never had the chance to bury my head in the sand about the wrongs my father has committed on a global scale.”

“The Faunus,” Scott answered smoothly, but Winter heard a tinge of both sorrow and anger creep into his voice. “Worker exploitation because barely anyone else in Atlas will hire them, leaving the Faunus to claw for any work at all. The SDC is technically an Atlas champion of Faunus employment, but they rarely receive equal pay and usually work in the harshest locations, like mining colonies in the Solitas tundra.” 

“I-I, yes, that,” Winter stammered. “How do you know all of that?” 

“I researched various things when I was bored,” he shrugged. “The Marigolds, the Vanilles, the Schnees, each of the Huntsmen Academies, etcetera.” He narrowed his eyes and sighed. “Though, I suppose it was a gross oversight that I did not dive into my own family history. I’ll have to rectify that later.”

“So, you knew of my family’s…” Winter trailed off.

“Yes, I did.” He smiled fondly and bumped his shoulder into her arm. “But, I knew that was your father, not you . I would rather get to know the people first rather than make judgments based on some other information.” Winter saw a flash of some complicated emotion across his face before he returned to a neutral mask. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Gods,” Miltia groaned as she rustled his hair. “Scotty, stop being so damn nice , will ya? You’re making it hard for me to stay angry here!”

The boy chuckled lightly. “That’s the point, Mil.”

“Scott!” 

The group, minus Melanie of course, turned to see Weiss coming down the stairs in her white and teal blue dress. Winter smiled at her sister’s awkward run-walk as though the girl was barely keeping her excitement but also walking the balance of being a high-class lady. Upon her arrival, she almost ran up to hug Scott but instead skidded to a halt and curtseyed. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Weiss,” Scott said with a polite smile. “I see you’re excited for today.”

“Of cour–” She winced as she saw something behind Winter. Winter turned and saw the death glare from their father, and she fought to prevent the fury from showing on her face. “Yes, yes I am. Today is going to be wonderful.”

Scott made a disappointed sound as he followed Winter’s gaze. Jacques quickly turned away and instead talked with the parents of other guests. At least, Winter hoped they were parents and not random board members or managers like she’d come to expect for other events, such as her eighth birthday. 

“How many people are going to be here?” Miltia eventually asked. She rubbed her arms as though she were feeling the cold from outside.

“I don’t know,” Weiss said with a frown. “As many as Daddy wants, I guess.”

“Which, judging by how big the ballroom is, I’d say between seventy and a hundred people,” Scott said, a weary frown on his face. He turned to Winter and Weiss. “Recognize anyone, yet?”

“Nope!” Weiss said. “I don’t know any of these people. But I know you!” She finally let her jovial attitude win as she hugged Scott from the side. Winter had to fight a rising chuckle at how uncomfortable Scott looked at the sudden affection. “And that’s enough.”

“Ha, I guess so,” Scott said as he relented and hugged her back. Then, he yawned, hiding the action behind his hand. “Gonna be a long day.”

“Are you tired already?” Weiss pouted as she pushed off the boy. “We’ve barely started! You’re supposed to come with me as we concord the labreenanth!”

“Conquer the labyrinth,” Scott corrected.

“Yes! That!” Weiss narrowed her eyes as she studied Scott. “Did you sleep last night?”

Winter winced as she turned away from the conversation. She tried to walk away until she felt someone catch her hand. Turning, Winter saw it was Miltia who didn’t even look at Winter as she made the action. “Don’t run away now, y’hear? You want to keep your sister outta this crap, then you have not to seem like you’re avoiding my cousin. That’ll cue her in that you did something.”

Winter sighed. “She’s more aware of things than others her age.” Her eyes flicked to Scott. “Well, not all.”

“Yuuup, Scotto’s one of a kind, huh?” Miltia asked, falling into a relaxed posture.

“Has he–”

“Always been like this? Yup,” she said, popping the p. “First time Mel and I met him, we were on our scrolls and he was reading some textbook about Aura. College level shi–crap.”

“I know which one you’re talking about,” Winter nodded as she watched Weiss chat excitedly with Scott. “I had a hard time reading it.” 

“ Everyone has a hard time reading it,” Miltia laughed as she crossed her arms. “The thing isn’t exactly a breeze to read through with all that jargon and crap. But Scott just eats that up. I think he was reading some other things recently.”

“Probably the book I gave him about Dust and the properties it has,” Winter recalled. “Also something for more advanced students at the academy level.” Winter silently watched the two toddlers talk as more people poured into the foyer, when a thought came to mind. “Do…do you have any interest in being a huntress, Miltia?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. Gonna be honest, I’m not really sure about anything right now. I thought I did, but…”

“But?”

Miltia shifted and looked around before beckoning Winter to be closer. “Things aren’t going too well in Mistral right now.”

“Really?”

The girl nodded. “Someone’s been stealing from the hospitals, clearing them out of everything. I know Mel and I are kinda imposing on your hospitality and everything, but it’s because our Mom wanted us out of Mistral for a while in the hopes things will cool down.”

Winter blinked as she searched through her mind for a potential answer. “Is this related to the…less legal stuff? Scott mentioned that he wasn’t in the public light in Mistral because he’d be a target.”

“Got it in one,” Miltia chuckled. “Yea. I keep tabs on what’s happening down below since…I have people I care about.” She stared at Scott and Weiss for a bit then continued. “My dad was assassinated a little over a year ago.”

Winter’s eyes widened. “Oh, Miltia, I’m so sorry…”

She nodded sadly. “Mistral isn’t like Atlas, y’know? If you wanna be successful in the city, legal or not, you have to make deals with the local groups. That includes Scott’s family. I think the only one exempt from that is the Headmaster of Haven since no one would want to fu–mess with a huntsman, let alone one of the world’s best and brightest.” 

“And…you think Scott might be targeted?”

A shadow masked Miltia’s face as she drew in a harsh breath. “Absolutely. Just last week, a girl named Yoshino Nakamura, the current heir of the Mistral Trade Company, got into a nasty car crash. She’s staying in Atlas right now with the best doctors available to stabilize her and keep her alive, from what I hear.”

“Brothers,” Winter gasped. “H-how old was she?”

“Twelve I think.” Miltia shrugged. “Don’t really know all the details on that. Scott’s the one who photocopies everything he sees.” She clicked her tongue. “No working hospitals, no medical care for those that need it.”

“And Scott has been sickly for a while,” Winter concluded, failing to see the flash of disgust on Miltia’s face. 

“Yea. So, Mom sent me and bitchy back there to join him in Atlas,” she said, pointing back at her sister. 

“You really don’t get along with her, do you?”

“This is as civil as we’re gonna be,” she shrugged. 

“Why?” Winter couldn’t imagine a world where she and Weiss didn’t rely on each other and help each other in their times of need. The fact that Miltia and Melanie’s relationship could be generously called frosty was almost appalling.

Miltia drew in a long breath. “We…used to get each other. Had each others’ backs, y’know?” Her green eyes turned glassy as she recalled something. “But Mel wanted to be in charge. She wanted to be the smartest, prettiest, fastest, strongest, and whatever other ‘ests’ you can think of.” A scowl formed as Miltia huffed again. “She sabotaged me whenever she got the chance to. Made me this…class idiot I guess, and I fell for it. I had style, but my red was garish to her ‘princess white.’ Uh, no offense.”

Winter giggled. “None taken.”

Miltia grinned before her irritated look returned. “She would even swap out my tests whenever she offered to turn mine in to the teacher, replacing them with a fake one that would get me an F on each and every exam.” She chuckled darkly. “And I…believed them. It wasn’t until Scott that I started pushing back on things. He helped us with our homework and would complement my maths or interpretations on stories and constantly corrected Melanie on them.” She turned to Winter. “So, I finished a maths test early and decided to turn it in myself.”

“And you got a good score?”

“I got a flawless score,” she corrected. “And Melanie bombed the test.” She grinned. “That’s how I caught dear old Mel cheating, turning in my work to make her look better.”

Winter shot a look at the other twin, her eyes wide with disbelief. Why? That’s so stupid and pointless! If you wanted to be the smartest, then you should’ve put the work in yourself! “Is she stupid?”

“Nah, Mel isn’t,” Miltia weakly defended. “She’s just lazy as fu–crap. She’s pretty smart in her own way, but doesn’t ‘apply herself’ as Scott puts it. Instead, she uses those around her as a step stool for her own success.” She leaned against the wall. “Gotta be smart to come up with something that devious.” 

“I suppose, but I wouldn’t know.” Winter narrowed her eyes at the white twin. “She sounds like Jacques.” She saw Miltia’s look of confusion in the corner of her eye. “My father. Smart, but devious in his own right.” Winter waited. “Why did Scott not mention this to me? I feel like he would’ve warned me to keep Melanie at arm’s length.”

“Probably would, but I never told him,” Miltia said. “He has a lot on his mind as it is, so I didn’t want to drag him into me and Mel’s stupid drama.”

And why you didn’t want me to tell him about his family’s history, Winter inferred. “Well, I guess that’s enough of the heavy stuff for today, don’t you agree?”

“Yea.” Miltia sighed then grinned. “So, Winter, when do we get cake?”

— Mistral: Saint Oziel’s Hospital—

“So, mind tellin’ us why you brought us back here?” Qrow demanded as the three men walked down the street. The huntsman slouched forward and clicked his rings together in an almost taunting way. 

Does this prick want me to rob him? Roman thought. “Because I snagged the dick’s jacket during our fight and I have a guy who might have seen where he ran off to.”

“Great, more fucking mafia assholes,” Qrow grumbled.

“Cheer up, Qrow! At least we have a lead this time!” Tai slapped the huntsman’s back. “And it’s not like Roman here would lead us into a trap, not unless he wants me to break his nose again!”

Roman rubbed the cast around his nose. “I’m not leading you into a trap, alright? You two would tear up any group of mobsters with your bare hands. And could you two stop with the sexual tension already? I already have enough problems with Colours flirtin’ with me all the time, and I don’t need two bros acting like they’re about to suck each other off.”

“Gods damnit Tai!” Qrow yelled as he slugged the blonde. “You already fucked Raven and Summer, you’re not gettin’ me as well!”

“Aw, is Qrow getting jealous? Do I need to pamper you more to make you feel special?”

“You like what you’ve done?” Qrow growled at Roman. “Now he’s going to be fuckin’ insufferable for the rest of this.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Please, after what you two put me through—”

“You’re late.” Shoma was leaning against a wall in a side alley.

Qrow immediately reached for his sword and Tai readied his fists before Roman jumped between them and Shoma. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, cut it out, assholes! This is the guy I was talkin’ ‘bout, heh? No need to make things all bloody.”

Shoma crossed his arms and glared at the huntsmen with his pink eyes. “Roman. You’re late.”

“I got caught up in something, alright? Give me a fucking break.” Roman shook his head. “Shoma, assholes. Assholes, Shoma. Shoma’s my contact in East Dragon.”

“You brought huntsmen into this?” Shoma demanded, still looking them over. 

“More like they started nosing around and butted in,” Roman shrugged. “Anyway, they want to get this whole disaster over with, and you want to catch the bastard that caused Yoshino to get all banged up. So, we’re gonna play nice with them.”

Shoma glanced at Roman. “You lost a fight.”

“I almost had the fucking prick if they didn’t get involved, alright?” Roman rubbed his nose. Fuck, they’re making me self-conscious with this thing. Me! “You didn’t happen to see a robo-ninja prick climbing the fire escape over there, did ya?”

Shoma tilted his head in confusion before huffing. “Only you Roman.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Shoma shook his head. “I’ll ask the boys to keep an eye out for this ‘robo-ninja prick.’ Any other descriptions I should know?” 

“Black chrome helmet, metal arms, goes beep-boop? Fuckin’ hell,” Roman scoffed. “Uses batons to fight. He’s gotta shrinking semblance. Doubt he can use it on people since he would’ve done it to me if he had the chance.”

“Which is how he’s smuggling everything out of Mistral,” Shoma concluded. “By the way, Parrot hit Mouse while you were meeting your new friends.”

“Shit,” Roman cursed. “How bad?”

“Full blown gang shoot out. Probably fifty dead or injured.”

“Damn!” Qrow cursed. “Gods, I hate Mistal.”

“You and every other deadbeat here,” Roman said. “Right, let’s get on this quick. I’m taking Grumpy and Horny back inside, maybe there’s fucking DNA or whatever so we can get a name on the bastard.” 

“Horny?” Tai asked.

Roman shrugged as he turned back to the two huntsmen. “That is something you two can do, right?”

“I mean, I hope so,” Tai shrugged. “Would be pretty stupid if we couldn’t do something like that, right Qrow?”

“You’d forget it. You’re not exactly the brains of team STRQ, Tai.”

“And yet, I pulled both your sister and Summer and got you to wear a skirt that one time.”

Qrow scoffed. “And you wonder why Candledick calls you Horny.” 

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” Roman gasped. “And you call yourselves professionals.”

“I call it how I see it.” Qrow started walking towards the hospital and Tai started bickering with him.

Roman pulled Shoma aside, the arrogant persona falling away and instead being replaced with a brief moment of concern. “How’s Yoshino?”

Shoma sucked in a breath. “Stable. The family is pulling through for her to get prosthetics so she can walk again, but they expect she’ll have chronic pain for the rest of her life.” Roman could hear the man’s fists creek as he flexed them. “What about yours?”

“In Atlas, not sayin’ where,” he added as he took out his cigar box and offered one to the hulking bodyguard who quietly accepted it as Roman lit it. “Safe for the time being.”

Shoma grunted. “You’ve changed, Roman. I remember you hated those two with a passion. How many times did you complain to me in a drunken rant about them?”

“I still hate the one,” he grumbled. “Red’s the only reason I’m even in this far.”

“You still hated her before.”

Roman clicked his tongue. “Yea. She was a brat. Not really a brat now.”

Shoma nodded. “Sounds like Yoshino.” He took a long drag of his cigar. “Hated me when I first started. Made my life a living hell. Then, I saved her life from—”

“Let me guess, Parrot?”

“Mhm. Fucking Parrot.”

“Polly wanna cracker my ass.” Roman turned to the larger man and both started laughing.

“Yo! Candledick!” Qrow yelled. “Get your ass over here!”

“Heh, duty calls.” Roman pushed off the wall. “I’ll save a piece of him for you to brutalize.”

“Ha. Good luck, Roman.”

Roman jogged over to the huntsmen. “Sorry, just wrapping things up. Don’t be so pissy, Tweety,” he said as he slapped Qrow on the shoulder. Roman ignored the huntsman’s protests as he stepped through the same exit that he followed the cyborg through. Tai was talking to some medical staff and police officers who eyed Roman warily as he walked past. The thief rolled his eyes as he flipped them off and followed the trail of glass and tattered particle board. “Tch. Everything here is cheap garbage.”

“That’s cause you guys keep bleedin’ them dry,” Qrow said as he pushed Roman aside.

“I’ll have you know, this hospital is East Dragon–”

“Territory, yea, yea, I know, I’ve got ears.” Qrow crouched down over a red footprint. “Did ya actually hit the guy?”

“Nope, he was slippery.” Roman walked forward and pointed at the broken room with caution tape around it with his thumb. “Guy was stealing from here. Stores blood samples for patients and transfusions.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “You know a lot about medical stuff for a mafia grunt.”

“Oh ye of little faith, do you know how many times I had to sew myself back together from a bad scrap?” Roman glared. “I don’t wear large coats and gloves for no reason.”

“Really? Here I thought you just wanted to pretend you were an Atlesian prick.”

“Tch. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman turned, made an awkward step, and shuffled around the black jacket left on the ground. “Found it.” 

“Don’t touch it–”

“I know how these things work,” Roman hissed as he did jazz hands at the grump. “Gloves, remember? I know not to leave fingerprint evidence!” Roman spun on his heels and stormed off. “Gods! Here I am tryin’ to help you and all you do is hound my ass for every fucking thing I do! I want to catch the guy just as much as you do, so piss off, will ya? Not everyone’s so lucky to be a huntsman like you and actually have the chance to live our lives with some freedom!”

Qrow sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?” He snagged a pair of medical gloves from a box on the floor and picked up the jacket. “Did you ever try?”

“Try what?”

“To be a huntsman.”

Roman made a sharp laugh. “‘Course I did. I was born in Vale and was dropped off at some fucking orphanage by my whore of a mother. What kinda orphan doesn’t dream of being a huntsman or a hero?”

“And what stopped you?”

Roman froze, then leaned against the wall. “Survival. Never had enough money for me and the boys in the orphanage to really live, barely had enough for food. You think I wanted to be a thief?” He paused to see if Qrow would respond. “Lie. Cheat. Steal. Survive. Been my motto for years. The only person you can rely on is yourself. I don’t trust people because I’ve been burned too many times. I stole food, wallets, and jewelry to get by, to feed my boys, and wanna know what happened? They sold me out, not just to the police but to the other gangs for a loaf of bread.”

Roman seethed for a moment, taking in sharp breaths over and over to calm himself. “Got beat within an inch of my life and seven months of juvie. Lost my spot at the orphanage, too, because why the fuck not. All ‘cause I stuck my neck out for those brats. So, when I tried to apply to Beacon after years of that same song and dance, Old Ozzy rejected me because I had a rap sheet.” He glared down the hall away from Qrow. “Never even got the chance.” 

The two men were silent for a long while as Qrow stuffed the jacket into a sealed plastic bag and got the blood into a test tube for later. Roman just watched him as he leaned against the wall, not really caring if he seemed anti-social. The guy just pissed him off, especially with that fuckin’ ‘holier than thou’ attitude from being a huntsman. Sure, Roman was still bitter about the whole thing years later, but wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He was good at stealing, damn good, and he’d survived everything Remnant threw at him.

“Have you ever killed anyone before?” Qrow asked as he dusted off his pants.

Roman shrugged. “Not ‘till I hitchhiked across the world to get from Vale to Mistral. You know how many bandit tribes there are on the road? Threw up a few times after my first kill. I'm a thief, not a cold-blooded murderer.”

Qrow had this weird far far-off look in his eyes as he reached for a flask secured to his hip before stopping. “Let's get this back to Haven. Got some Atlas crap that might be able to pull something from this.”

Fine with me . 

Roman followed Qrow back to Tai who still yapped with the cops and docs. One of the officers saw their approach and narrowed his eyes on Qrow. The thief kept a close eye on him and decided it was probably best to let the huntsmen talk it out.

“Found this from the perp,” Qrow called out to Tai, holding up the sealed bag. “Looks like our thief here wasn't lying.”

Tai turned with a smile. “That's good. You're getting some brownie points in my book.”

Roman rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“You're working with that shithead?” one of the cops growled. 

Qrow came to Roman's defense. “As a matter of fact, we are, so back off, bud. This is the guy who tried to catch our perp in the first place.”

“Leave it, Qrow,” Roman sighed. “Not gonna change Dickless's mind over here. Let's just get out–”

Roman was the only one who saw it with the two huntsmen having their backs turned to the officers. The one who had been glaring at Qrow drew his firearm, a bulky black pistol that had to have been modified illegally, and took aim at Tai. Before he finished, Roman dove forward and bodyslammed Tai, twisting the two of them as he did to set his Aura up and catch the bullet on his back. Roman's body tensed as he prepared for the shot and instead of the dull impact, he felt electricity dance across his body and making his veins feel like they'd been filled with fire. 

Roman crashed to the ground, writhing from the Lightning Dust that fucker shot at him when he heard four more shots fire. As he convulsed, Tai burst out of his grip and moved like a blur between them as he prepared to take down the corrupt cop. Roman heard three thuds and saw the bodies of the doctor, EMT, and the other cop shake on the floor. Then, moments later, the shooter collapsed to the ground with Qrow’s blade at his throat. 

“What the fuck was that!?” Qrow demanded. 

The corrupt cop bared his teeth at the huntsmen. “Glory to evolution!” Then, he bit down on his teeth and his head exploded out from the back as he collapsed to the floor in a broken heap.

Qrow knelt down and checked his pulse. “Fuck. Dead! Tai! How are the others?”

“Mostly in shock, but alive except for the cop!” Tai called back. “Hospital EMTS on the way!”

“Now's not the fucking time for your stupid puns!”

“That one was unintentional!” Tai moved over to Roman and gave his face a few taps on the face. “You okay, kid?”

“W-what t-the f-f-fuck!” Roman gasped, struggling to climb to his feet as his body slowly stopped convulsing. “I've heard of bribed cops before, b-but that!? The hell did you guys drag me into?”

“Straight to hell it seems,” Qrow mumbled. “How'd the cop die? Those weren't piercing rounds. Just shockers.”

Tai tossed something to the other huntsmen. It looked like a driver's license. “Pacemaker. Must've short-circuited from the shock.” Tai's voice went grave. “Bad luck.”

“Fuck!” Qrow suddenly kicked a hapless nearby garbage can. “This whole thing’s fucked!”

“What's gotten into him?” Roman grunted as Tai dragged him to his feet. 

The blonde huntsmen sighed. “Ask him later. It's his story to tell.”

“Right.” 

“And you. That was one ballsy move you did there,” Tai grinned as he elbowed Roman in the ribs, right where Roman thought he bruised a bone from the impact and seizure. “Why'd you do that?”

Roman let himself rest on the stupid blonde. “You didn’t have your Aura up, right? Had your guard down ‘cause they were officers. Didn’t want to be the one who told your wife and kids why Daddy ain’t coming home anymore.” Roman growled as he saw medical staff cart away the two injured as he pushed away one from examining him. “I’m fine! Go away. Fuck, I’m getting soft. Damn it, Red!”

“Red?” Tai asked.

“My client, the one I talked about.” Roman winced as the huntsmen rested him down on a bench. “Big heart but not naive, thankfully.”

Tai started laughing before turning to Qrow. “Any luck with that one? The hell happened?”

“Some kinda bomb in the back of his head,” the grump mumbled. “I think he had a detonator in his tooth instead of the ol’ cyanide capsule.”

“Ha! People still use that?” Tai asked.

“‘Course they do.” Roman shrugged when the two men turned to him. “What? I’m a fucking mobster. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with assassins, and this is textbook if a little techy. What was up with that gun?”

Qrow bent over to pick it up then scowled. “This is expensive hardware. I’ve only seen crap like this from those Atlas Spec Ops everyone’s blabbing about.” He turned the gun over in his hands as he walked over and sat next to Roman. “It’s a capture gun.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tai said.

“You shouldn’t. Means someone’s not only tryin’ to stop us, but also nab us while also getting whatever intel we have.”

Roman groaned. “Ah, gods damn it! What kinda of conspiratorial shit is this–” He paused as he felt his scroll ringing. Roman slid it out of his pocket and his eyes widened as he saw the caller ID. “Colours! Haven’t heard from you in a–”

“ Roman! There’s been an attack! ”

“What!?” Roman jumped to his feet. “Where? Who?”

“ PARROT! WHO THE FUCK ELSE!?” Chameleon screamed. Roman heard the sounds of gunshots in the background. “ It's a full-blown raid over here! The Boss is in the safe house, but I just saw some dickheads running around back with firebombs!”

“Fuck!” Roman was already moving despite his body's protests. Qrow and Tai were close behind him. “Who's still with you?”

“ We've got a few guys left. Brick and Mortar are dead! Had their brains fly out the—AH! FUCK!”

“Colours! Talk to me!”

Roman heard the scroll hand off to someone else. “ Torch! It's Honey Wine! Fuckers just shot Chameleon's hand! You bringing any big guns with you!?”

“I've got two huntsmen in tow! Just hold on!”

“ How the fuck did you get huntsmen!?”

“Later! Just don't die on me! Focus on getting out alive!”

“ Don't need to tell me twice!” Roman heard more gunshots. “ Oh, motherfuck–”

Then all Roman could hear was the dial tone. “Shit!” Roman was in a full-blown sprint as he looked over his shoulder at the two following him. “Now can I get my–”

Qrow tossed Melodic Cudgel at Roman who quickly caught it. “How many are we walking into?”

“No idea! Just be prepared to shoot any bastard in green!” Roman checked to see if his weapon was loaded and felt a wave of relief to see it was missing one shot in the mag, just how he left it. “This place is turning into a fucking mad house!”

Chapter Text

—Mistral: Spider Controlled Slums—

Roman’s lungs were on fire by the time he was two blocks away from Spider’s main hideout. The sound of staccato automatic gunshots and useless battle cries filled the air like a melody of blood, chaos, and smoke. 

“How many have Aura?” Tai asked as he caught up. The fucker barely seemed winded!

“Anyone that has blue and yellow shirts under those stupid green suits! Qrow, think you can–” Roman turned to where he thought the grumpy huntsman would be, but the man had vanished. “Where the fuck did he go!?”

“Uh, different route,” Tai said as he cracked his knuckles. “He’s going after the guys in the back.” Tai smiled innocently. “Wanna make a game out of this?”

“The fuck you mean ‘make a game outta this!?’ I’m gonna be fighting for my gods damned life out here!” 

Tai grinned as he prepared to sprint. “Whoever beats the fewest gangsters pays for the other’s tab at the bar!” And Tai dashed forward into the fray.

“OH FUCK THAT!” Roman sprinted forward and fired his cane hook at a scrawny guy with two SMGs—someone’s compensating for something—and he snagged the mobster by the neck, reeling him back like a caught fish. Roman yanked the cane aside and sent the gangster flying into a brick wall, his Aura shattering in a teal light. “AMETUERS!” 

As Roman turned to keep fighting, his jaw dropped as he watched Tai dodge, duck, and weave between the other mobsters, his hands up like a boxer. Behind him, four gangsters laid unconscious and unmoving as Tai slipped around one guy built like a brick shithouse and into his guard, making a series of quick jabs, two to the stomach and one to the jaw. The guy’s aura flickered gray before Tai rammed his shoulder into the larger gangster’s chest and shattered it. 

“The fuck’s a guy supposed to compete against that!” Roman ran forward and aimed Melodic Cudgel at a gangster operating a fucking minigun attached to a garish, neon green truck. He pulled the trigger and fired his signature “show stopper” explosive slugs and the truck flashed orange before exploding up into a fireball, the operator crashing against the pavement as his violet aura shattered. 

“That only counts as one!” Tai laughed as he threw one gangster at another. “Nine!”

“Fuck you! That counts as at least four!” Roman caught sight of a gangster with an RPG aimed at Tai. Roman dashed forward and hooked the weapon, dragging the weapon to aim at another van full of Parrot grunts just as the idiot pulled the trigger. Roman heard screams behind him but paid no mind as he whipped Melodic Cudgel back and cracked it across the gunman’s face. His target dropped to the floor like a sack of lead. Roman almost took an exhausted breath, the strain of all that running finally catching up to him, when he heard the sound of clanking.

“Duck and cover!” Tai yelled as he tackled Roman to the ground and behind the burning van as a hailstorm of bullets bombarded the vehicle. “Damn! Why do they have AKs!?”

“WHAT!?” Roman peeked out from behind the van and saw dozens of AK-130s crudely painted in neon green stomping towards the tavern. “FUCK! I HATE MISTRAL! DAMN BLACK MARKET!” He went through his cane to check how much ammo he had. Seven shots. “Can’t find a fucking blood tester, but you can buy Atlas military hardware!”

Tai put his hand to his ear. “Qrow! Any time now!”

“You had an earpiece this entire fucking time!?” Roman protested but stopped when he heard what sounded like clockwork ticking followed by the sound of a shotgun. He poked his head around the corner and saw the huntsman diving into the fray, cleaving his way through the robots with his sword before clicking some buttons as it transformed into a huge scythe. Qrow turned into a whirlwind of swings, a tornado launched metal limbs and broken weapons into the pavement and around the arena. Within seconds, the small army lay broken at his feet.

“HUNTSMEN! RETREAT!” 

Roman only heard screams, yells, and frantic driving as the remaining Parrots sped off away from the red-caped terror. Qrow let his scythe rest on his shoulder as he grinned back at Tai and Roman. “Thirty-seven. Looks like I win.” He strolled forward, holding his free hand out at Roman. “Not bad, kid.”

“I’ll say!” Tai laughed as he slapped Roman on the back. “That was some huntsmen-level crap you were pulling off! Thanks for not letting that rocket hit me, by the way. Looks like I owe you double time.”

Roman fought down a smile as he rubbed his shoulder. “I’ll be collecting that.” He started walking towards the tavern when he glanced at Qrow. “So. Mind telling me when you were gonna say that thing was gonna be a scythe?”

Qrow shrugged. “When it was convenient.”

“Right…” Roman kept walking, trying to ignore how close he would’ve been to dying were Qrow and Tai less focused on capturing him. He opened the door to the tavern and whistled loudly. Several guns pointed at him as he raised his hands in surrender. “Is that how you treat the bastard who saved all your asses?”

“Torch!” A dark-skinned woman with amber eyes and blonde hair nearly jumped over the counter. Her lavender dress was singed and she had soot marks all over her face. Honey Wine. “You dick. What took you so long?”

“Sorry, had a run-in with some new friends after I was following a lead on our mystery thief,” Roman shrugged. He glanced around the tavern, spotting a few dead Spiders including those brutes Brick and Mortar. While he didn’t exactly care for the two assholes, he knew their deaths only meant more work for him down the road, and he wasn’t looking forward to that. “Where’s Colours?” 

“Fuckin’ hell Roman,” Chameleon said as she limped over and leaned on one of the many bullet-ridden bar tables. Her lavender and purple Spider uniform was charred. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

“Every good showman does, Colours,” he smirked. “How’s the hand?”

“Hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ll be fine, this time.” Her hair flashed red and orange before turning back to brown. 

“Oh, come off it, you’ve got Aura, right? You’ll be fine!”

She flashed pink before punching Roman in the arm. “Dick.”

“Will you two stop flirting? We’ve got bodies to deal with,” Honey grumbled. “This is what I get for wanting to be a fucking singer in Mistral…”

“You’re a singer?” Qrow ducked under a broken beam as he returned to his perpetual slouch. “The mob really does employ everyone they can these days.”

“Eh, it’s the same as always, Qrow.” Tai grinned as he elbowed him. “I hear they even employ bakers on a knead-to-know basis!”

“Fuck off, Tai!” Qrow punched Tai’s arm hard enough for him to spark blue.

“Who the hell are these two?” Chameleon asked as her hand reached for a gun on her hip.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, Colours,” Roman said, catching the weapon. “They’re huntsmen, and the guys who bailed us out on this, alright?” He glanced at Tai and Qrow to see if they could be getting aggressive and…they looked bored. Gods, huntsmen are something else, eh? “They’re looking into the hospital heists and helped us out.”

“These Parrot guys seem like they’re becoming a huge problem,” Qrow said, crossing his arms. “That was a full-blown military attack with stolen Atlas weaponry. If you think you can keep huntsmen out of this conflict any longer, you’re delusional.” 

Honey and Chameleon sighed while the former turned to Roman. “You’re dealing with them. Boss’ll want to talk to you to explain yourself.”

Roman winced. “Right. She still in the safe house?”

Honey Wine’s “completely done with the shit” expression said it all.

“Don’t give me that sass, Honey. This is the third fucking fight I’ve had in two days,” Roman rolled his eyes at the woman who stormed past him. “Qrow, Tai, how are you two like dealing with the criminal underworld?”

Tai looked uncomfortable while Qrow merely shrugged. “Don’t like it, but it’s Mistral.”

“Good answer! Follow me.”

—Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Scott was having an increasingly harder time keeping his expression pleasant and serene as the party droned on. It wasn’t that he hated the atmosphere of Weiss’s birthday, he honestly couldn’t be happier about having something to distract him from the previous night’s revelation, but he was just bored . It would’ve been rude for him to sit on the sidelines and read his books while all the other kids his physical age were laughing and playing, so he kept trying to stay involved. The problem was just that his endurance was so shot from the weeks of constantly battling whatever tonics and tinctures his witch of a mother drained into his mouth. 

At first, he was fairly capable of keeping up with Weiss as she led an expedition through the bounce castle and the labyrinthian levels of corridors. The maze was nearly three stories tall! How the hell did they fit this thing inside? Weiss, being the brave little girl she was, easily traversed through the maze without any trouble, even getting a standing ovation from her grandfather and some other parents when she and Scott were the first to exit the maze. 

Then the problems started happening. 

Scott counted around fifty human children—minus Winter, Weiss, Miltia, Melanie, and himself, of course—all between the ages of two and fourteen, and not all were nearly as…intellectually developed as Weiss and he was. Children kept getting lost in the maze, and soon it turned into a Herculean effort to retrieve them as scores of rich parents panicked and made the problem infinitely worse by validating the fears of the other children. Some parents, the ones who seemed less rich and frosty, even tried to climb into the maze to retrieve their children themselves, but were all stopped by the fact they were simply too big for it.

That left the other children, mainly Scott since he was without his parents and many of the other adults thought he was some hired help to act as Weiss’s friend, to traverse the labyrinth and lead the lost children out of the dank and sweaty balloon prison. Scott didn’t quite care that people saw him that way, especially after he’d taken to introducing himself as Scott Ophiuchus rather than Scott Ishvaltar—no need to open that can of worms here now that he knew said can existed. 

It was one such occasion he found himself in as he pushed an overweight eight-year-old who was crying about “wanting his mommy” out of the exit while having a blue-haired two-year-old named Henry clutching Scott’s arm as he whimpered about being afraid of the dark. That expedition lasted forty minutes, most of it involving Scott desperately trying to stop either of the boys from bursting into tears or wetting themselves, much to his dismay. I’m getting so good at this, maybe I should start a charter for my services, he idly thought, grateful that he was breathing in the relatively fresh air. 

Scott stepped out of the maze as Henry ran to his parents and the eight-year-old sobbed into his mother’s dress, giving a curt nod to the parents as he quickly tried to put as much distance between him and the maze as possible lest he be “voluntold” to go on another expedition. His eyes drooped as he wiped the sweat from his brow, quickly striding to one of the punch bowls. 

“Scott! There you are!”

Scott forced himself not to sigh as he smiled at Weiss who skipped over to him. “Hey there, kinda got stuck doing sherpas through the maze.”

“Sherpa?”

Scott shrugged. “Think of it as someone who leads others through difficult terrain.” He flashed a tired grin. “I was thinking I should start charging for my services at this point.” 

Weiss’s eyes widened and sparkled as she hugged him. “You were being so kind and helpful! You’re heroic!”

“I stink, is what I am,” Scott dryly said. “And I’m dead tired.”

Weiss sniffed and recoiled back in disgust before gasping. “Y-you don’t–”

“Weiss, it’s fine,” Scott chuckled. “What I said is a fact. I’ve been hunting down lost children in there for three hours. I. Stink.” Scott sighed as he found an appropriately sized chair and sat down. “How have you been? After that first run, I haven’t really been able to keep up with you.”

Weiss huffed and turned angrily. “It’s not fair. I don’t know anyone here but you and Winter, and you went and left me!”

Wincing, Scott reached out and patted the girl on the shoulder. She’s still just a child. “I’m sorry, Weiss. I didn’t mean to leave you on your own, but if I didn’t start leading those kids out, well…” He glanced at the section of the room where the parents chatted and sipped on wine. He recognized almost none of them besides a younger Councilman Sleet but could see the entitlement in many of them, especially the mothers who were coddling their kids thrice his age or older after they got freaked out in the maze. “I think there may have been a riot.” 

Weiss still looked away, her arms crossed as she hummed angrily.

“Weiss…”

“I’m not talking to you,” she said, haughtily turning her head away. 

Scott sighed. Getting upset won’t help. Let’s go Logic. “How can I make it up to you?”

Weiss slowly turned her head to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t leave me alone…” she quietly whispered. “I…I don’t know anyone else.”

Scott shook his head as he quietly chuckled. “Okay, fair enough. Let me catch my breath and get something to drink.” He winced as he tried to stand, the dull throb on his back inflaming as his dress shirt stuck to his skin and peeled back, agitating the wounds left behind from Issac. 

“Are you okay?” Weiss had suddenly turned to him, all the childish aggression had evaporated as she watched him with clear fear.

“I'll be fine,” he said, putting on a smile and making a dramatic bow. “One of the other kids clawed my back because he was so scared, so I'm a little wounded from my ventures.”

Weiss pouted and placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re looking sick. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Scott sighed. “I’m just tired, Weiss, that’s all. I’ll stick with you from now on, but…don’t expect me to do anything too strenuous.”

“Stren-oo-us?”

“Difficult or tiring,” he rectified. 

Weiss looked sad before she hugged him tightly. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’re my friend. I don't want you sick and tired.” She sniffed again and recoiled back before Scott could hug her back. “My stinky friend.”

“To be fair, I did warn you,” he laughed, sliding his fingers through his damp hair. “And you’ll need to get used to nasty smells if you want to be a huntress.”

Weiss stuck her tongue out at him before pulling on his arm. “Come on! There’s a ball dance floor with music I want to check out!”

“As you wish.” Scott dipped his head and followed the exuberant girl. As they walked past the adults conversing with glasses of wine in their hands and ambient orchestral music in the background, Scott kept his ear open for what the other parents were talking about. Awareness is the key to any intel. This is basically the same thing as those movies when a detective goes undercover in a shady bar. I’m a regular noir protagonist! The thought brought a smile to his face until he caught various sneers from the other adults.

“Who is that ?” he heard one woman with darker skin and platinum silver hair say to a group of other women.

“I have no idea. Who does he think he is getting close to the Schnees?” The remark came from a blonde, pale woman with slanted scarlet eyes who glared at him like a hawk. Do they honestly not think I can’t hear them? “Did anyone catch his name?”

“My son called him Scott Ophiuchus ,” a rotund woman with black hair said. Scott recognized her as the mother of the eight-year-old from his final expedition. “Must be a Mistrali name, maybe Argusian.”

“A foreigner ,” the first woman seethed. “He must be after connections. Where are his parents? Does anyone know of an Ophiuchus?”

Scott winced internally. I mean, they aren’t wrong per se, but it’s for entirely different reasons! You try being the son of a family of psychopaths knowing that the world could end before you turn twenty! He tapped Weiss’s shoulder. “Hold on for a sec.”

The girl turned to him, bewildered. “You’re leaving again?”

“No,” he automatically said. “But I need to clear something up.” He jutted his thumb at the three women. “Those three are slandering my name.”

Weiss’s eyes widened then suddenly glared at the group before a rather mischievous smile crossed her face. “Then how about we talk with them? Together.”

Scott grinned. “Yes. After you, my lady.” The two of them walked side-by-side toward the three oblivious women before Weiss split off and watched from the side.

“ Ophiuchus . It’s not a name I’ve ever heard,” the blonde spat as she drained a glass of white wine, not even noticing the dark spot of spilled liquor on the bosom of her silver dress. “The nerve of him, parading around with the Schnee siblings like he’s a gift from the Brothers themselves. What an arrogant little–”

“Excuse me,” Scott said, clearing his throat. The blonde coughed as she sprayed wine all over the platinum-haired woman.“Oh dear me, do be careful, that’s bad for your health.”

While the Platinum scoffed in disgust, Rotund glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Really, it’s not what I want, at least not this time.” Scott straightened as he noticed Weiss keeping out of their line of sight. “I do believe I heard my name. Tell me, is there something you need of me, or have I already become the topic of gossip and slander?” He smiled, though his eyes were pointed as he watched each of their reactions. “But that would be ridiculous, would it not? I mean, picking a verbal spar with someone who is, what, between one-fifteen and one-twentieth your age?”

Rotund flared her nostrils, her pale face turning pink with anger. “How dare you! Are you calling us old, you inconsiderate ingrate?”

“Not at all, merely giving a range that could be accurate,” he said, keeping an even smile, though internally he was giggling at how easily he was able to get under this woman’s skin. “Now, since apparently I am so well known already despite being two years old, could you kindly tell me what grievances you have with me.”

Blonde stopped hacking as she glared at him, though Scott showed little fear in response to her posturing. The woman had nothing compared to the frosty gaze Sylah had, cold enough to even make Hell’s layer of Treachery seem like a summer’s day in the Sahara, nor to the oily malice of Issac’s wrathful glares. If Blonde wanted to be intimidating, the very least she could do was not seem like an aristocratic drunk, but that was a tad too late, especially since she had already snatched yet another glass of wine from a passing caterer. “ You ,” she hissed. “You’re nothing but an ant riding on the shoulders of giants. Why are you , someone not even from Atlas, even here when so many other people more deserving should be at the Schnees’ side?”

Scott raised an eyebrow with a bored look. “Careful now, envy is not a good look on anyone.” He ignored her protests as he continued. “As for why I’m here? I was invited, the same as any of you.”

Blonde growled and grabbed another glass, a champagne glass this time, and dunked the entire glass on Scott, a rather clumsy motion as her drunken body swayed and the stiletto she stood upon teetered as she bent down to his height, causing her to fall in the puddle of her own making. Scott took his hand and flicked the sticky alcohol off his face as the smell fell upon him like a tsunami. “Was that really necessary?”

“Help!” Blonde screamed. The orchestra stopped and several of the other adults had turned to watch the scene. Upon realizing this, she had a vicious glint in her eyes. “This feral child attacked me!” 

“What is the meaning of this!?” Jacques demanded as he pushed through the crowd with Willow in tow. He narrowed his eyes on Scott and the woman in front of him.

“Ah, Mister Jacques. Misses Willow.” Scott nodded his head at the two as he placed his hands behind his back and stood taller. “It’s a rather odd tale.”

“This boy attacked me!” Blonde shrieked louder.

Scott shook his head. “I have done nothing of the sort.” He turned to the Schnee patriarch. “You see, for the past three hours, I have been escorting lost children out of the labyrinth despite my wishing to spend the day with my friends instead, one being Weiss on her birthday. One such lost child was none other than this woman’s son,” he said, tilting his head at Rotund. “I had not received so much as a thank you for my efforts and, once I finally had the time but lacked the energy to continue spending time with Weiss, I overheard these three gossiping and slandering me.”

“Lies!” Blonde slurred as she struggled to get to her feet. 

“No, he’s not!” Weiss ducked out of the way of a few other guests and stood beside Scott. “I saw the whole thing! Daddy! They were being mean! They said he didn’t deserve to be my friend!”

Jacques said nothing but simply turned his glare at the blonde woman, who tried to shrink away. Then, he slicked back his black hair and huffed. “Gwendolyn. I knew that The Lunar Times loved their tabloid stories, but I didn’t think that extended to slandering toddlers. I'm not sure which I should be more disappointed in, the fact you and your friends decided to gossip about a child or that you lost an argument with one.”

A tabloid paper? Huh. Scott nodded. “So, when I politely came over to confront them, Miss Gwendolyn and her entourage argued with me before dunking champagne on my head. Miss Gwedolyn’s own drunkenness caused her to slip and fall.”

Jacques turned to Weiss who quickly nodded. “I saw the whole thing.”

He turned back to the three women. “Mister Ophiuchus is a trusted family friend, one that shouldn’t have to deal with your prattle,” he said. Scott didn't miss that he wasn't called Ishvaltar . Jacques Schnee, for all the problems and constant desire to prop himself up, was an intelligent man and likely knew of the political dangers of associating with the Ishvaltar family. Thankfully, Ophiuchus was an ornate enough Argusian name to sound like a last name, or perhaps that was the intent of his parents. “You are becoming more trouble today than I’m willing to put up with. Remove yourself and your friends from this event at once.”

Gwendolyn growled. “You can’t just do this, Jacques . When I tell the people—”

“ You will do nothing of the sort lest you wish to be buried in legal funds for the rest of time!” Jacques snapped. All of the adults had turned to pay attention to the argument as Weiss stepped behind Scott. In the corner of his eye, Scott could see Winter and Miltia quickly navigating the crowd to join them as Jacques became more impatient. “Know this, try to slander myself, my family, or Mister Ophiuchus, and the Lunar Times won’t be around much longer.”

The woman scoffed and stormed off with the rest of her posse while Jacques smiled arrogantly at having won. “Mister Ophiuchus, you have my thanks,” he said, still watching them leave. “I was trying to find a proper reason to get rid of those sycophants as soon as they walked in, and you all but handed one to me.”

“I didn’t realize they were such a problem,” Scott mumbled as he watched the three leave the room. He glanced back at Jacques and gave a polite nod. “I also didn’t think that I was so important to warrant such an action.”

“Please! You are a friend of the family, no need to be so modest!” Jacques laughed, but Scott noticed the strained, brittle smile on Willow’s face. Her eyes watched him solemnly. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. Weiss, do try not to wear him out too much.”

“Yes, Father,” Weiss curtseyed. “Come with me, Scott.” She grabbed Scott’s hand and led him away towards where Winter and Miltia were watching, a strange stiffness to her gait. 

“I can’t believe he did that,” Winter grumbled, her arms crossed. 

“I don’t get it, did he do something wrong?” Miltia stared at where the Schnee patriarch stood, now idly conversing with the other guests.

“I think she’s referring to the fact that Jacques used me as a political weapon against someone I assume he clashes with fairly often?” Scott hazarded, looking at Winter. 

Winter snorted— actually snorted—dismissively. “You were looking at his ex-fiancée.”

Scott’s eyes widened as he whirled his head back at the door. “Really? Holy shi–crap.”

“I didn’t even know Jacques had an ex-fiancée,” Miltia whispered, leaning in closer.

Winter shrugged. “It’s not brought up very often. Celebrity marriages rarely make headlines these days, but Jacques and Gwendolyn? That was a rapier hornet’s nest from what I heard.” She moved over to stand next to Weiss, rubbing the girl’s shoulder to calm her down.

“We…know Daddy doesn’t love Mommy,” Weiss whispered as she leaned into her sister. “They don’t act like families on TV.”

Scott sighed. “That seems to be the norm for us.”

Miltia hummed, crossing her arms in agitation. 

“So, how’d it end?” Scott asked.

Winter smirked coyly at him. “And here I thought you looked into my family’s history.”

Scott shrugged. “I neglected searching ‘Jacques Gelé ’ rather than Schnee. I never said I was perfect, and there’s a lot more I need to focus on, it seems.”

Winter smiled fondly at him before tilting her head towards the balcony. “This way. It’ll be easier to talk about when there are fewer people.” 

She led the four outside and breathed a sigh of the cool air. Atlas was still cold, but after all the running around in that sweaty dungeon, Scott was more than happy to be somewhere cooler. Miltia seemed less enthused as she took off her coat and wrapped it around Scott despite her own shivering and clattering teeth. “I’ve got Aura to stop me from getting sick, but you don’t have that.” She grinned, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful, you little brat.”

“Love you, too, Mil,” Scott said as he playfully rolled his eyes and leaned against her. 

Winter and Weiss giggled as the former leaned back on the railing while Weiss tightened her coat around her. “So, Jacques has an ex-fiancée, one just as scheming and conniving as he is.” She sighed. “I think it’s easy to tell that our parents have…a bit of an age gap.”

“I heard ‘bout that,” Miltia said. “Don’t know how bad it is.”

“Ten years,” Winter answered. “Almost as wide of an age gap as Scott’s most recent pairing in Vale.” She frowned as she watched him.

“Hey, I never said I was up for that either,” Scott said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Blame my power-hungry father and soulless mother.” 

Winter snorted. “Truly, you know exactly how Weiss and I feel.”

Scott felt Miltia’s hand tense. 

“But, Jacques’ first marriage ended poorly as well,” Winter continued. “From what I heard, Jacques was always trying to find some way to get a leg up on the competition, to make himself richer and more powerful. Gwendolyn was always trying to dig up dirt on people to publish the next big story, so when she found out he was going to leave her in order to marry Mother…”

“She made a huge stink of it with her tabloid,” Scott concluded.

Winter nodded. “She wasn’t enough for him, and the mouth-watering prospect of being in the richest family in the world? How could he ignore that?” She sighed before looking out over Atlas in the distance. “Then he wormed his way out of being an advisor to the SDC to instead be the CEO, taking the title away from Mother…”

“Winter…” Weiss sounded so pitiful as she hugged her sister’s side.

The elder Schnee winced as she knelt down to return the embrace. “Sorry, Weiss.”

Scott turned his gaze back to the host of people inside, all seemingly forgetting about whom this day was for—the sad little girl trapped in this icy tower—in exchange for the glittering lights, money, and extravagance. It reminded him of the infatuation people had with Vegas back on Earth—he never understood the appeal—though, instead of gambling for wealth, the parents at this party were gambling for favors and blackmail. It all left a bad taste in his mouth and he frowned. “Vulture culture.”

“What’s that?” Miltia asked.

Scott sighed, shaking his head and internally cursing as he realized he let another thing from Earth slip. “It’s…a song I remember finding a while back. This whole thing just reminded me of it.” He turned back to the group. “Basically, it talks about how people will use whatever they can to claw to the top, throwing aside anyone who gets in their way and picking away at the remains.”

Winter frowned. “That’s a dark way of looking at the world.”

Scott shrugged. “It’s just a song.” He turned back to the crowd inside, the frown deepening on his face. “I don’t think it’s indicative of the whole world, but…it does feel accurate sometimes.”

The group fell silent, huddling together in the cold. 

Chapter Text

—Mistral: Spider Hideout—

“Are you fucking insane?” Lil’ Miss Malachite growled from behind her desk. She was glaring daggers at Roman as he led the two huntsmen inside the chamber. “Huntsmen. HUNTSMEN!”

“Yeah, that’s what we are,” Qrow rolled his eyes as he leaned against a shelf, casually showing off the massive sword behind him. “And you are?”

“I’m Lil’ Miss Gonna-Skin-You-Alive if you take that tone with me again,” Lil’ Miss seethed. “Huntsman or not, you’re still human, and there are ways to deal with you folk.”

“Easy now, Boss,” Roman said, immediately shooting his hands up in surrender as soon as her glare shifted to him. “Look, I’m not exactly happy about working with these assholes myself, ‘kay? But they aren’t here to root out our operations–”

“Not the fucking point, Torchwick!” Lil’ Miss snapped as she suddenly rose from her desk. “The point is that they now know where we operate–”

“If I may, Miss Malachite?” Tai stepped forward with an easy smile. “We’re from Vale and we know that trying to dismantle the criminal underworld here isn’t something feasible by two huntsmen.” He quickly elbowed Qrow before the man could say anything. “We’re here for one reason only: find our medical thief and bring him to justice.”

The Boss just rolled her eyes. “ Justice . I don’t care if he’s brought to justice. All I care ‘bout is that sonovabitch being dead or out of the way.”

“Yea, yea, save your big bad mobster speeches for someone else,” Qrow scoffed. Then, he smiled with a glint in his eye. “Oh, by the way, we’ve known about your hideout for months at this point. You’re not exactly stealthy, Spidey.”

Lil’ Miss Malachite glared harder and her hand reached down under her desk. Roman’s eyes widened and he jumped out between his boss and the two fucking idiots. “Time out! Hold on now, Boss. Asshat here likes to antagonize everyone he comes across,” Roman said as he stomped as hard as he could on Qrow’s foot, but even with his aura enhancing his strength, the huntsman didn’t even fucking flinch. Stupid bullshit huntsman training. “Point is, they’ve got shit that we don’t: manpower and equipment. This thing is getting batshit insane.”

“And if you don’t work with us,” Tai said with a smile that sent shivers down Roman’s back, “well, the Mistral Council has been thinking of asking Atlas to get involved with this whole thing.”

“Robots, mechs, airships, Specialists ,” Qrow started listing off, putting on a particularly mocking tone for the last one. “I think you get the picture.” 

“So, either you’re with us, or Atlas combs through every part of Mistral and sends the spiders, parrots, rats, and lizards scuttling into the wind,” Tai shrugged. “I mean, it’s your choice.”

Roman took a few steps back to put as much distance between him and the Boss as possible. She looked like she was going to go full murder-bitch mode any second now what with her hand still reaching for the shotgun under her desk and the molten glare that could make Vacuo look like Solitas in the dead of fucking winter! “Roman!” she yelled, her gaze suddenly shifting to him and causing him to stop, like the very soles of his shoes had melted to the floor. “These pricks are your problem. Their fuckups are your fuckups, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

“And if they fail to bring this asshole in?” She snapped her fingers and eight other guys crowded into the saferoom, each with SMGs, shotguns, or the asshole with a fucking bazooka of all things! “Funnel-Web still loves to play with her food. I’m sure she and her assistant can open their schedule for you any time.”

“Will do, ma’am.” He tried to flash a confident smile as he made his way to the exit, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the fear laced into it. “I’m not plannin’ on failing anyway. Red wouldn’t let me live it down.”

“Just do your fucking job, Torchwick.” 

With that, the guards shoved them out of the tavern and back onto the street where the other schmuck-tier gangsters were sweeping up the glass, blood, and bullet shells. Roman breathed in the cool air before yelling, trying to hit Qrow as hard as he could with his cane, but the huntsman blocked it easily with his sword. “ARE YOU FUCKING MAD!? I know it takes a certain level of insanity to hunt Grimm for a fucking living, but SERIOUSLY!? ARE YOU TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME!?”

Tai stepped forward. “Hey, calm down–”

“Shut the FUCK up, Tats!” Roman growled at the blonde huntsman. “Do you seriously not have anything between your fucking ears? This isn’t just about getting rid of a Mistrali problem anymore! You’ve put a huge fucking target on my back!” He glared back at Qrow. “Why do you need to antagonize everyone around you!?”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Shuddup, Roman. You do it all the time.”

“That’s ‘cause I have a little thing called fucking CHARISMA, you birdbrained asshole!” he seethed more. “I don’t know how you huntsmen types do your jobs out in the wild, but we normal people can’t get by with just muscle, luck, and random fucking bullshit!” He pointed his cane back at the tavern. “That bitch she was talking about? Funnel-Web? She used to be the executioner of the underworld and went into retirement! But the sadistic bitch still toys with people the Boss wants to ‘disappear!’”

“And you ever met her before?” Qrow asked, raising his eyebrow with a bored look.

“‘Course not. I actually have a semblance of sanity around here!” Roman took a huge breath in to calm himself down. “All I know is that, before Lil’ Miss and Funnel-Web showed up, Mistral had nine criminal families. Spider was barely a gang at that point.” He narrowed his eyes at Qrow and Tai. “Now there’s four, and I’ve been hearing rumors she’s come outta retirement to deal with Parrot while I’m runnin’ ‘round tracking this thief down!”

“Wow, you’re actually afraid of something?” Tai asked, grinning like he finally had some dirt to punch Roman down with, but the thief wasn’t going to let him.

“ You’d be stupid not to be afraid of her,” he responded flatly. “Word is on the street that she killed Headmaster Percy Verdante.”

Qrow laughed. “That old man died of a heart attack. He was in his seventies! Everyone knows that.”

Roman quietly shook his head. “A headmaster who has a semblance that keeps healing himself suddenly dies of a heart attack?” He sighed. “Fuck it, I’m not paid to be a conspiracy theorist. You two may not take her seriously, but I sure fucking do.” Roman shakily lit a cigar and started walking. “Let’s just get back to Haven. You said you’ve got shit to run DNA tests on that jacket?”

Qrow stalked forward with a complicated look on his face, one that Roman couldn’t place. “We do. Lionheart pulled some strings with our new friend in Atlas. Gonna want to run some tests on our fake police officer, too.”

Roman breathed out a cloud of smoke as he felt the nicotine rush through his veins and distract him from the new crosshair on his heart. “Let’s get going.”

“Somehow, I feel I shouldn’t be surprised about how this operation went down,” Lionheart sighed as he steepled his fingers behind his desk, “and yet here we are. Two injured, two dead at the hospital, not including the thirty-eight injured and seventeen killed in that gang shootout.” He glared at Roman. “You’re turning out to be more trouble than we wanted.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Roman growled. “You asked me to show them what I found and everything else came down at once! I’ve never had such shit luck before!”

Qrow coughed loudly behind Roman as the thief whirled around to turn his ire upon the huntsman. “And you weren’t helpful! Couldn’t go two steps without this asshole breathing down my neck!”

“You’re a thief,” Qrow shrugged. “Asking me to trust you is stupid.”

Roman stepped forward against Qrow when Tai gripped his shoulder tightly. “That’s enough from both of you. We’re here to stop a criminal, not get at each other’s necks.”

Lionheart sighed again. “Mister Torchwick, was there any reason you may know as to why this officer tried to attack you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because he figured we were getting close to something and he was paid off?” Roman shrugged. “I’m not exactly the guy who bribes the police force in Spider. I’m just a bloody bodyguard and enforcer!”

Qrow leaned forward as he ignored Roman’s outrage. “Know something we don’t?”

Lionheart nodded before standing from his desk, a file in his hand that he tossed onto the coffee table in the room. “His name was Colt Burnside, been with the police for seven years, but he used to be a night guard before his tenure in Mistral.”

“Wonderful, an officer who used to get his kicks as a private guard, what’s fucking new?” Roman asked as he shook Tai’s hand off and moved to get a closer look at the file. 

“Well, his former employer was what caught my eye,” Lionheart said as he opened the folder and passed a copy to each of the men. “Before working in Mistral, Mister Burnside lived in Atlas before being employed in Vale with Merlot Industries, specifically the Mountain Glenn facility.”

“Shit, and the guy survived?” Qrow asked as Roman and Tai quietly looked over their copies.”

“Indeed, I thought this could have been some sort of PTSD-induced psychosis, but the more Ironwood and I dug into it?” He shook his head. “It seems like the majority of Merlot Industries’ employees survived the fall of Mountain Glenn.” Lionheart sat down on one of his beige couches and gestured for the three men to sit. “I contacted our friends in Vale and Atlas, and I must say, Ironwood and Ozpin have been generous.” He had a twinkle in his eye. “Apparently, most if not all of the employees received a severance package weeks before Mountain Glenn, ending with all of them leaving the primary facility housed there.”

“Well that’s fucking shady,” Roman said as he went to light a cigar before Lionheart plucked it out of his hand. “Hey, what the–”

“Not in my school,” he said firmly. 

“Tch. Fine.” Roman rolled his eyes. “So, what, we think this whole stealing medical tech could be related to Mountain Fucking Glenn? That was nearly a decade ago!”

“I hate to agree, but I’m not following, Leo,” Tai grumbled as he tossed his copy back on the table. “Please tell me we don’t have to go to Mountain Glenn.”

Lionheart laughed, a rich sound that was somehow able to put Roman somewhat at ease. A surprising thing for sure, considering the threat he was now under. “No, of course not. Ozpin wouldn’t want to risk sending you out there anyway, Tai, not with you having another daughter on the way.”

“What the–he told you that!?” Tai asked. “Damn, and it was meant to be a surprise!”

“Oh, surprised I was, Tai, know that,” Lionheart smiled as he straightened his vest, “but you know how loose-lipped Ozpin is with other people’s matters. I dare say he revels in bragging about his star students.” The headmaster’s face fell grim. “Even if one has left our cause.”

“Don’t get me started,” Qrow growled. “Ray’s just a selfish bitch and a coward.”

Roman glanced at the three as he was trying to figure out what the fuck kinda subtext these guys were talking about before they suddenly remembered he was there.

Lionheart cleared his throat. “Right, back to the case then. When we discovered the connection to Mountain, Ozpin asked one of his staff to look into the situation for us.”

“Let me guess, Bart?” Qrow asked.

“Got it in one,” Lionheart nodded. “Doctor Oobleck is a rare breed, being both a huntsman and a historian, allowing him to be one of only a handful who can accurately document what happened in the disaster without getting himself injured.”

Roman groaned as his impatience got the better of him. “So, what are we going to do now? We’re kinda on a time limit and this history shit? Sorry to say it, but I wasn’t exactly the best student in school.” He rolled his eyes. “Kinda hard to focus in your classes with an empty stomach.”

Lionheart frowned and his eyes were full of so much sympathy that Roman just wanted to clock the guy across his fucking face with Melodic Cudgel. “We wait. Bart needs time to investigate the primary facility and Ironwood is sending a handful of Specialists to find the employees who went to live in Atlas and Mantle.” Lionheart stroked his beard. “As for why we are focused on this ‘history shit’ as you’ve put it, Merlot Industries had several projects they were researching, the primary ones being gene therapy based on the repairing properties of Aura and—”

“Prosthetics,” Qrow growled as he tossed his file on the desk and kicked his feet up. “Was there some sorta super soldier program he was workin’ on? Something that could make our robo-ninja?”

“I don’t know.” Lionheart scowled. “Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if General Hawthorne and Admiral Magnolia tried to do something during the Faunus Rights Revolution.” He took a deep breath in. “Brothers know I have to deal with problems from my position.”

“You okay, Leo?” Qrow asked.

Roman scoffed. “He’s a faunus with power in the most fucking racist kingdom. What the fuck do you think?” He crossed his arms and leaned back.

Lionheart sighed. “Mister Torchwick, while crass, is correct. I’m having to deal with more than I bargained for.” He frowned and the confident disposition he wore dimmed. “I’ve been headmaster for one year and the council has been trudging false charges to get rid of me.” He laughed bitterly. “When I aimed to become Mistral’s best huntsman, I was expecting to fight Beringals and Apathies, not bureaucrats and apathy .” 

Roman laughed sarcastically. “Well, finally something I can agree with.” He pretended to raise a toast to the group. “To humans being the worst.”

Lionheart turned those damn sympathetic eyes back to Roman before readopting that facade. “To people eternally having a stick up their ass.”

“Ha! Tell that to Grumpy, here,” Roman nodded at Qrow. “You act like you’re fighting the end of the world.”

The three other men shared a look for the briefest moment before they all started laughing, but it was enough that Roman felt a chill creep down his spine.

— Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Winter watched from the top of the stairs as the last of the guests finally exited the foyer and left the manor in a much-needed silence. It wasn’t that Winter was overloaded with the noises and children and the twelve boys who tried to court her, though those certainly compounded her annoyance, but more that they were able to get through an entire day without Jacques causing too much of a problem and Mother not reaching for the bottle, mainly due to her pregnancy—a crisis-free day. Well, mostly crisis-free, she thought as she recalled the ridiculous drama that Gwendolyn stirred up and Scott’s very apparent exhaustion. 

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 10:00 PM. Weiss had gone to sleep not too long ago, hence why the party was winding down, but she hadn’t seen Scott since his philosophical discussion. He must still be grappling with what I told him about his family . 

She sighed and turned to leave.

“Winter.” 

A quick survey of the room showed that Jacques was approaching her. She curtseyed. “Father. How can I help?” She bit back her frustration. 

Jacques gave a small nod of approval at her apparent obedience. “Mister Ishvaltar was having to deal with a lot of trouble today.” His eyes narrowed. “This deal with his family is incredibly important for the SDC’s future, and that means keeping their heir happy. So, tell me, why was he playing the fool during Weiss’s party?”

Winter blinked. “Father?”

“I mean to say, why was he being ordered around by those less of social standing than him?”

Winter was at a loss for words for a moment when she remembered something. “Scott mentioned to me that Mistral is…”

“A cesspool of villainy, yes, I’m well aware,” Jacques dismissed curtly. 

“Right, and because of that, he was told by his parents to hide who he was,” she lied through her teeth. “He’s not officially known in Mistral and because of his bad health…”

“A target,” Jacques said, the aggression easing away. “So, this was an elaborate plan to keep him safe? He volunteered?”

“Yes, Father.”

Jacques was silent for a while before a sly smirk crossed his face. “I suppose I’m impressed. Pretending to be a hired friend for Weiss to keep him by her side and brush away any allegations of his family’s history.” He chuckled. “Yes, truly he could be a good candidate for Weiss’s fiancé if he has that level of awareness.” His eyes flicked her Winter’s. “Or yours should you wish it. Though, you may want to wait a while before you make anything official. I wouldn’t want you to face allegations of grooming .”

Winter felt bile bubble up her throat. “Yes, Father.”

He turned away and started walking down the hall. “Make sure he’s kept satisfied and healthy. If the Ishvaltars break their deal with us because of you or Weiss angering their heir, the punishment won’t be lenient.”

Winter stood in silence as she let the waves of nausea roll over her until her stomach subsided. Sure, eventually Scott would marry someone, but she knew that woman—or man, she didn’t judge—would have to be someone he genuinely loved and not some arrangement for personal power. And I’m married to a dream, she smiled faintly. 

Her mood dipped as she again tried to place where Scott had been after their discussion of his “vulture culture,” something she was already filing Jacques under. She headed off toward the wing where she, Weiss, Scott, and his cousins stayed in with the hope that he was in his room. 

“And Miltia didn’t come to talk to me after the party,” she thought aloud. The girl was, well, just like Scott had described her: rough around the edges and fiercely protective of the boy, to the point where Winter started comparing their relationship to the one she and Weiss had. The red twin had a sharp tongue and wasn't afraid to use it even against some of the richer families present today. A laugh threatened to escape Winter’s lips as she recalled poor, poor Rizel and Ana try to insult her admittedly flamboyant outfit only to be systematically dismantled as she tore into each and every one of their clothing choices. Don't mess with a Mistrali elite when it comes to style.

At the same time, Winter felt envy spark in her heart, wishing she could be half as combative as Scott’s cousin. Jacques would never have let her act that way.

Winter halted before Scott’s door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Enter!”

Winter opened the door to see the boy sitting on the bed, legs crossed with a massive book in his lap. He wasn’t even looking up at the door as he was writing notes in the margins. “Doing some late-night reading?” Winter asked.

Only then did Scott lift his head. “Oh! Winter. Uh, sorry, kinda lost track of the time…” He glanced at a clock on the wall and his grey-blue eyes widened. “ Really lost track of time. It’s already past ten?”

“When did you start?” Winter asked as she smiled and sat on the bed next to him.

“Oh, you know, almost two-ish hours ago?” He scrunched his face in thought. “I had to take a shower after that woman threw champagne on me. Honestly, that’s not appropriate against adults! But a child?” He shook his head. “Combine the sticky alcohol with several hours worth of sweat and a lack of sleep, a shower was well warranted.”

“I can imagine.” Winter went silent for a while, awkwardly unable to figure out what she wanted to say next. “So, what book were you reading?” she finally said. 

He smirked as he put a bookmark between the pages and closed it. “ The SDC Encyclopedia for Dust Application, Volume 3. You know,” he shrugged, “light reading.”

“Right now?”

He took in a deep breath. “Well, I was curious as to how different Dust elements operate in the world, both in civilian and huntsmen applications.” He shrugged again. “I gave Weiss a book on mechashift weaponry, and Dust is part of how mechashift works. So, I started looking into how it could be used as ammo and other things…kinda went down a rabbit hole.”

Winter blinked. “Rabbit hole?”

Scott froze. “Uh, right, it’s an idiom that means I kept digging for more and more information.” He opened the book to one of the pages. “Like here. Dust can be used to alter the states of metals, infusing steel with fire, electricity, or ice, but most go with fire.” He frowned. “But using steel with those infusions can, without Aura to protect it, cause metal fatigue from the constant heating and cooling.”

“So, not a problem for huntsmen, but problematic for civilians?”

“Yes and no.” He pointed to a line of text. “According to this, Aura just slows the degradation of the steel down, not stopping it entirely. Eventually, the blade will need to be replaced or reforged entirely.” He leaned back to look at Winter. “And that included the fact that Aura makes us heat resistant , not invulnerable.”

Winter raised her eyebrow for him to continue.

“Okay, say you’re fighting a dangerous criminal with a semblance that allows him or her to…eh, I don’t know, convert Aura into high thermal energy?” He furrowed his brow as he tried to piece something together in his head. Winter noticed that the boy was quite animated when he was learning or trying to solve a problem, and that made her even more excited to hear what he had to say. “If that criminal grabs your saber and heats it, you could burn your own Aura to prevent damage to your sword, but it could also be a waste of energy since the criminal’s semblance can overpower your Aura and snap your weapon in half from the heat alone.”

“Then, you think using a metal weapon is foolish?” She couldn’t see where he was going.

“Not at all.” He closed the book and faced her. “It’s…a game. Give and take. Most huntsman weapons from the past used steel, iron, and bronze, but these days, people are moving to more complex materials. Titanium alloy is something people have been using lately after Atlas found a way to more easily manufacture it.” He shrugged. “I mean, you could use something like osmium since it has a really high melting point, but it’s also brittle and super heavy. You could use a wooden spear and hope your Aura picks up the slack. Or, you could use Dust formed into a sword blade, having a material easily able to conduct your Aura and use elemental properties without metal fatigue, but you can’t change out the elements as easily, and if the blade breaks?” He made an explosion sound effect. 

“Alright,” Winter grinned as she rose to the challenge. “If you were to go about designing my saber, what would you do?”

Scott tapped his chin in thought for a bit. “Your semblance is one of the most versatile abilities out there, so having a material that can lean into that…” His eyes widened and he jumped off the bed and opened his suitcase before rummaging around for something. “Aha! Here it is!” He turned and came back to the bed. “There was this one material I read about in that Aura textbook, something that was really difficult to make because of the nature of the material.” He slammed the book on the bed with a dull thud, the pages open to a section titled Aura Alloys. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard this before,” Winter whispered.

“Well, it’s kinda archaic and most don’t use it much these days, so I don’t blame you,” Scott said as he traced the pages. “According to Professor Polendina, Aura Alloy was used by warrior kings and guardians before our modern-day Huntsmen and Huntresses were codified. Let’s see. ‘Created by expert blacksmiths with Aura unlocked, Aura Alloy is the perfect fusion of metal and Aura in symbiotic resonation. Early on, this was done in the form of Aura Bronze, later replaced with Aura Iron and finally Aura Steel, but the system remains the same for each. With a fragment of the blacksmith’s Aura tied directly to the material, the metal becomes a conduit for Aura and Semblances. In the hands of a trained expert in Aura, an Aura Alloy weapon can self-repair as long as the user pours Aura into the weapon and has ‘attuned’ with the material, if one were to use archaic terms. This works as long as the material does not have extreme damage or missing large sections of mass.”

“Attune?” Winter scoffed. “That sounds like magic nonsense. There’s no way that’s how it works.”

A series of complicated and unreadable expressions flashed across Scott’s face before he answered. “That may be true, but I think it’s a little different in what he’s talking about.” He held out his hand. “Can I see your hand for a moment?”

Winter sighed but conceded, placing her much larger hand in the boy’s pudgy one.

“If you were to get cut here,” he said as he traced his nail across her palm, “you can use your Aura to heal yourself, right?” He waited for Winter to nod. “It’s natural, but if you focus on the injured site and flood Aura around it, the injury will heal faster, right?”

“That is how Aura works, Scott,” Winter chuckled.

“Exactly!” he said as he pointed at her, a large grin splitting his face in two. “But, people already heal over time. All living organisms can do that! But metal? It rusts, dulls, chips, and breaks. No amount of time heals metal.” He raised a finger. “Except Aura Alloys.”

Winter leaned back as she thought over what he was saying and frowned. “Are…are you saying that Aura Alloys are…alive?”

Scot blinked. “Uh, no, not exactly.” He frowned. “I guess I explained it a little wrong.” He tapped his chin and tilted his head. “Maybe it’s like this. When a person loses their hand, a prosthetic can replace it, right?”

“That’s generally how it goes,” Winter nodded.

“But, there’s a time when the person has to get used to the new limb and acclimate to how it works, right?”

She nodded again. 

“So, Aura Alloy is…kinda like that. You’re not magicking it better but…I guess you’ve tricked your body into thinking your weapon is a part of you?” He sifted his fingers through his hair. “And once that happens, you can focus your Aura on the damaged sites of your saber and…convert the Aura into the necessary repairs for general wear and tear?” He snapped his fingers. “Memory metal! It’s like that, like when you have a worn-out spring and apply heat to make it coil back together, but on a much grander scale.”

Winter thought about it for a bit, but the concept was still making her brain hurt. “How…Why do you research all this?”

Scott blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Winter scooched further onto the bed as she tried to sort her thoughts, “you said you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to be a huntsman, yet that’s all you seem to research in your free time.” She shot her eyes to the boy and quickly held her hands up. “And that’s not a bad thing! I’m really really grateful to have someone to talk to about…well, my dreams, but the way you go about it…” She glanced at the two books on the bed and spied another book about Grimm falling out of his suitcase. 

He sighed. “It seems a little obsessive, I guess. Childish, even.”

Winter flinched at how bitter that last statement sounded. “I wouldn’t call it that, more…focused.” Her eyes scanned through the seemingly hundreds of sticky notes poking out of the books. “Really focused. It’s like you're preparing for something.”

Scott looked at the floor for a long time. “Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if you knew the world was going to end? Not like in a few days, but years. You know exactly what the threat is and have an idea how to stop it, but no one will believe you if you tell them. What do you do?” He turned back to look at Winter and she felt her muscles stiffen at the grave glint in his eyes.

“I guess…prepare?” Her eyes widened. “Is that what you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “I just…the world is filled with so much darkness.” He cringed. “That sounds melodramatic, even for me. But, like, look at Mistral. The city is overrun with gangs and syndicates at each others’ throats, businesses ban an entire demographic of people from even entering their shops, housing is limited and demand is rising, population growth is skyrocketing, and food prices have doubled in the last ten years…” He looked so tired, the excitement from before melting away to reveal the thin and weary boy beneath. “My family…have done some bad things. People are suffering , Winter, and that’s just one kingdom. Look at the disparity between Atlas and Mantle!”

Scott sighed. “It’s…bad. Really really bad, Winter. Remnant is on a collision course to self-destruction because of the eternal ouroboros of suffering.” 

Winter blinked. “Ouroboros?”

He snorted. “Sorry, I kinda forgot that’s not a… well-known thing. It’s a symbol—the snake that eats its own tail, representing the cycle of…whatever a given person wants, I guess.” 

“And why do you know that?” Winter asked with a faux-accusatory tone. 

Scott just rolled his eyes. “Have you seen my middle name? I’m literally called ‘Snake-Bearer’ in old Argusian. Kinda have to know the serpent allegories to stay on brand.” He smirked at her. “You’d know something about that, Miss Winter Snow.” 

If Winter had been drinking something, she would’ve spat it out. “W-what!? Shut up! I didn’t ask for my whole identity to be around the cold!”

“As long as your favorite maiden in ‘The Four Seasons’ isn’t the Winter Maiden…” he drifted off as Winter guiltily looked away. “You’re kidding. Winter!”

“What!? I think the idea of having ice powers is cool, okay!” she yelled, her face burning with embarrassment. “I could trap people in ice or make fortresses and barricades for my allies! Build temporary structures to shelter civilians from the elements!” She wilted with each counter-argument as Scott’s eyebrow raised higher and higher. She sighed. “Sometimes I hate you…”

“Yea, yea, I know,” he rolled his eyes, but he stayed quiet for a bit. “You’re not used to being teased, are you?”

Winter sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I don’t really have friends outside you, and have you met my parents?” She sighed. “I think you and Grandpa are the only ones who actually do tease me like that.” She fiddled with her thumbs before she turned back and glared at Scott. “You evaded the question.”

He just laughed and leaned against Winter. “Guess you saw through it. Got a little sidetracked.” He shrugged. “I guess, as annoying as it is to say it this way, hurt people hurt people.” Scott sighed. “And, with all that negativity hanging around…”

“Grimm are soon to follow.”

Scott was quiet for a while again until he slowly laid down on the bed. “I’m not in a position where I can just…learn to fight. But if I use this ,” he said as he tapped his head, “and think ahead…maybe I can help people like you in a different way. Maybe not as a hero but as a…guide? Someone who can warn you of problems and get you not to be so selfless.” He turned his head and grinned at Winter. “You always need the guy in the chair, after all.” Then he yawned.

“I guess I’ve kept you up too long…again,” Winter sighed as she stood and made her way to the door.

“Ah, forget about it, I like talking with you anyway.” He yawned again. “This is just exhaustion finally catching up to me. Not your fault.”

She smiled faintly, returning to the boy and hugging him gently. “Good night, Scott.”

He returned it. “Good night, Winter.”

Chapter Text

—Haven Academy—

Roman had his feet propped up on a table as he idly bounced a ball across the room and ground his teeth in annoyance. Haven’s guest rooms were nice, a helluva lot better than any place he’d stayed in before with the fancy red and bronze decor, but for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t do anything! Lionheart made it abundantly clear that, while he was willing to put Roman up for the time being to keep him out of the line of fire from Parrot and the robo-fucks, he would not tolerate the thief roaming the academy grounds and potentially pick-pocketing the students and staff.

“Bloody ungrateful,” he grumbled as he bounced the ball again. “I thought this place was a school! I could teach these ideal idiots how to keep a hold on their wallets, but no! I’ve gotta keep my ass inside this fuckin’—”

The door swung open as Roman threw the ball again, causing it to bounce off the door’s edge, off the desk Roman’s feet were on, and straight into the one who opened the door’s face: Qrow. “Gods damn it!” he yelled as he held his nose. “The fuck are you doing?”

Roman shrugged as he grinned at the huntsman’s misfortune. “What can I say, ya shoulda knocked.” Roman kicked his feet off the table and settled behind it. “So, we got anything to do now, Lil’ Birdy?”

Qrow scowled at him before taking a deep breath in. “No.”

“Oh for fuck’s—Do you know how long we’ve been waiting here?” Roman demanded as he got to his feet. “Four. Fucking. Days. Our trail’s gone dry unless you were able to pull any DNA from that fucking jacket?” He waited—hoped—for Qrow to answer, but the huntsman’s silence said it all. “Ha! Typical. First fucking time I stuck my neck out for someone in years, and it signed my execution.” He held his arms up. “Bravo! Bravo! My greatest work yet! The Tragedy of Roman Torchwick! He died as he lived!” All his bravado evaporated and his voice shrank to barely above a whisper. “A loser.”

The two men stood in silence for a while until Qrow tossed something at Roman, the latter easily catching it—Melodic Cudgel. 

“You’re panicking,” Qrow said softly. “Working yourself up and imagining the worst outcome since you’ve got nothing else to think about.”

“Wow! I never noticed! Thanks for the fucking lecture, jackass ,” Roman sneered as he twirled Melodic Cudgel. “Not like I have anything else to do around here but think about how the Boss has got me by the balls here!”

Qrow raised an eyebrow before sighing. 

Roman leaned to his side to look out the open door. “Where’s the horn dog?”

Qrow snorted. “Tai’s at the CCST talking with Summer and Yang. Probably going to be there for the rest of the day, especially since he’s gonna be monitoring our comms and police radios for anything to give us more intel.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “That idiot can work the CCST?”

The huntsman winced. “He’s got an escort at the very least.”

“Then why the fuck did you send him there!? Wouldn’t it be better for you to do it?” Roman rolled his eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it since we hate each others’ guts, but you’re definitely the brains of your little operation.” He glared at Qrow. “But not by much.”

Qrow just shrugged with a laugh. “I wasn't team leader. More of a ‘go with the flow’ kinda guy. Summer's the leader type.” He laughed louder. “And did that piss off Rae to no end…” 

Roman watched as a series of expressions, ranging from anger to disappointment, twisted on the man's face, but he kept silent. Not like Roman needed or wanted to dig into this asshole's life. He had enough problems of his own.

“Anyway, not why I came here at all,” Qrow said as he recomposed himself and leaned against the door. “You’re freaking out, and I'm gonna take your mind off it for a bit.”

Roman looked him up and down. “I don't swing that way, asshole.”

The other man choked on air for a bit and coughed into his hand. “I wouldn't tap that ass in a million years, so don't get your hopes up,” he finally said. “ No , I meant getting your arrogant ass in the ring. Sparring. Sweat a little.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “And we'd be allowed to do that?”

“We're in a huntsman academy, the fuck do you think?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don't know, the fact that I'm not a huntsman and the fact that I'm the same age as some of these students makes it seem a little fucking weird for me, alright?”

Qrow sighed. “Just suit up and get your ass to Training Room #7. I got it reserved for the afternoon.” 

He stormed off, muttering about “ungrateful, arrogant kids” while Roman pondered for a second. “Well, not like I have anything fucking better to do.”

A few minutes later, Roman walked down the halls in his newly dry-cleaned jacket—that Tai paid for—and bowler hat—which he stole from a high-end store in the upper sections of town when he snuck out on the first night, got caught by Qrow who then paid for the hat—noticed he was being tailed by a student. Oh, and he knew he was a student since they had the absolute gall to wear boring black and grey uniforms with black and grey plaid. Plaid! Oh, and he thought Tai was bad, but no, the academy representing the country with a culture based on expression and art chose fucking black and grey!

Anyway, he was being followed by a student dressed in his awful fucking uniform as Roman was on his way to meet Qrow. For a split second, he thought the guy figured out he was with Spider and he quickly checked his jacket to make sure he wasn't showing that tacky fucking tattoo anywhere. Nope. A quick glance over the shoulder aaaand, yup, that walking fashion violation was still following him. From the looks he stole over his shoulder, there was one, nope, two people, just one kept hiding behind that wall of muscle that almost put Shoma to shame. Almost. One guy and one gal, both seemingly unarmed. 

Roman halted in place and scoffed. “If you’re gonna follow someone, at least be somewhat subtle about it!” He suddenly turned to face the two as he clocked in their looks. The guy was fucking massive! At least over two meters tall, that fucker, with dark skin, sapphire blue eyes, and a buzz cut with black hair. The girl at his side was much shorter and had vibrant green hair tied in a single braid, garnet red eyes, and what looked like a hard lime green and fire red shell on her hands? Oh. Faunus. Come to think of it, I can only count the number of shops without “No Faunus” signs in Mistral on one hand. “A Goliath in tap shoes could be stealthier! Now, if you’ve got some problem with me, come out and say it to my face instead of this half-assed attempt to sneak up on me.”

That was the wrong thing to say as, in barely a second, the girl was in front of him with wide, excited eyes. “You’re heading to training room seven, right!?”

“Back up! Back up!” He shoved her away. “Yes, I am , and you’re stalin’ me. Why?”

“Because! Qrow Branwen is there!” she squealed with delight. Ugh, more morons? “ The Qrow Branwen in Haven ! And you’re heading there with your weapon,” she nodded at the cane in Roman’s hand, “meaning you’re gonna train against him!”

“Excuse my partner,” the guy sighed. “She gets excitable about things.”

“What? Is that bird brain a fucking celebrity?” Roman asked.

“You don’t know !?” The girl was in his face again. “Qrow Branwen is one of the best huntsmen in Vale! His team is legendary for what they pulled off in only a few years! Team STRQ single-handedly stopped a Grimmtide in Lower Carin three years ago! I knew about them before I came to Mistral! How do you not know him!?”

“Easy Ivy, easy,” the guy said, gently pulling the girl back. “Again, sorry about her.” He offered his free hand. “Farrow Vaccaro and this is Ivy Altham. We’re third years here.”

Roman narrowed his eyes for a moment, checking for any traps or hidden weapons on the man before he felt satisfied to return the gesture. “Roman Torchwick. Not a student, mind you.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Ivy pushed past her partner. “I mean, this is a huntsmen academy.” Her eyes flashed with a pointed viciousness. “Not trying to be a lady killer, are you? Trust me, doing something like that around here will get you killed or castrated within ten minutes.”

“Oh for the love of—why does everyone think I’m here to get laid?” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m not that fucking desperate, so lay the fuck off.”

She raised her eyebrow as she looked him over. “I mean…you kinda seem thirsty? Dehydrated? At least trying WAY too hard—ow!”

“Enough,” Farrow said as he took his hand away from pulling the girl’s braid. “There was something you wanted to ask him, right?”

She blinked. “Oh! Yes! Romeo–”

“Not my name,” he glared.

“Romero?”

“No–”

“Romulus!”

“No–”

“Rohaan?”

“No!”

“Rowan!”

Roman threw his hands up. “You know what? Fuck it. Close enough. Get. On. With. It!”

She giggled. “ Roman ,” she said. Oh, that bitch. “Can we watch you spar with Qrow? I’ve wanted to see him in action for years!”

Roman’s eye twitched. I’m not nearly sober enough for this. Damn, Lionheart! I need my cigars and a glass of fucking sherry! “You know what? I don’t fucking care, and I don’t think you’ll take no for an answer.” He waited to see if she’d respond but didn’t. “My point exactly. Don’t get in the way and don’t cause a fuss and step back, will ya?” he added when she inched closer. “This just got dry-cleaned, and I don’t need you mucking it up!”

The girl exploded with excitement. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! This is the best fucking day ever!”

And my worst fucking nightmare.

Entering the training room with Migraine #1 and #2, Roman saw that Qrow was already set up in the center of the ring with that giant sword resting on his shoulder. The man grinned and rolled his red eyes at Roman. “Picked up some stragglers, huh?”

“More like they stuck to the bottom of my shoe–”

“Oh. My. GODS! He IS here!” Ivy dashed forward to a confused Qrow who was leaning back. “I can’t believe the Qrow Branwen is here!”

“Alright, back up, back up!” Qrow pushed her back as he shot a look at Roman. “How much did you pay her?”

“You think I’m liquid right now?” Roman asked with a flourish of his cane.

Qrow raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Alright, what’s your name, kid?”

Immediately, Ivy’s excited attitude turned icy. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty!”

“Your flamboyancy doesn’t help things, Ivy,” Farrow explained as he turned to Qrow. “We’re third years, and Ivy’s been excited to meet you ever since your team graduated. You’re basically her heroes.”

“Ah, right,” Qrow said as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

Roman crossed his arms and smirked. Maybe it was a good idea to nab these two. A free show to torment that shabby asshole. “Alright, you said you wanted to spar with me, right?”

Qrow nodded. “Get your Aura hooked up to the computer. I want to test your fighting abilities so I know what you can and can’t do out there.”

“Oooo, is this like some sorta apprenticeship?” Ivy asked as she tried to enter the ring before her partner pulled her back. “He doesn’t look like a huntsman.”

“No–”

“I guess you can call it that,” Qrow shrugged. “Roman here ain’t an actual huntsman, but he’s gonna be working with Tai and me with our investigation.”

“Oooo, and what are ya investigating?” she asked.

“Ives…” Farrow sighed. “They’re probably dealing with the recent gang violence here, and if it’s something more, we should be the ones to know about it. We’re still students.”

Ivy sulked for a moment before she suddenly turned to Roman. “How old are you?”

“None of your damn business–”

“Nineteen,” Qrow smirked.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Ivy yelled. “How come this washed-up, lady-killer–”

“Now hold on–”

“—gets to fight criminals AND be with badass huntsmen like Qrow and Tai, but not actual huntresses or huntsmen in training!?” She turned to Qrow. “That’s not fair!”

“Ivy!” Farrow yelled and she went dead silent. “You’re getting in the way of their training and acting like a child. Stop.”

She pouted for a moment before sighing. “Fine…”

Farrow turned back to Roman and Qrow before bowing his head slightly. “I’m really sorry about her.”

Qrow waved him off. “Don’t mention it. I knew girls like her back at Beacon, too.” He placed his hand on the handle of his giant sword and grinned lazily. “So, Roman, ready to get this show on the road?”

Roman twirled his cane as his Aura level appeared on the screen above just below Qrow’s. “I fucking swear if you pull that scythe shit on me, I will haunt your ass after I die.”

The huntsman laughed. “How’s this? Sword and gun only. Wouldn’t want ya to be pushed too far. I know you’re a novice–”

Before Qrow could finish, Roman was already moving, firing the hook of his cane first in a gamble to snag the other’s leg. But Qrow was faster, not even moving but just lifting his foot as the hook skittered across the floor under him. Qrow’s sword unfurled and he dove forward. Roman rolled to his right and clicked the button to reel back his hook, but he found himself exposed as Qrow came down with an overhead strike. The massive blade gouged out a huge chunk of Roman’s Aura as the thief flashed orange.

“Fuck!” Roman cried out as he spun out under Qrow and kicked out the huntsman’s legs, his Aura sparking just from the impact. He glanced at his Aura level and—sixty-three percent!? “What the fuck are you made of!?”

Qrow grinned as he waited for the hook to fully reel itself back, hoisting his sword onto his shoulder. “One hundred percent pure badassery, kid. Just so ya know, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me.”

Great! Fucking fantastic! He’s even acting like an asshole again!  

Roman snarled as he flipped the cane in his hand and fired two shots at Qrow—ice and ice. The veteran huntsman didn’t even try to dodge as he simply held the massive sword across his body like a shield and let the ice dust splatter across his sword. “You’re gonna have to do better than–”

Roman fired a third shot, a Burn Dust round, that exploded on Qrow’s sword and vaporized the ice into a fog covering the arena. Can’t fight him head-on, gotta mislead. He started running again, perpendicular to where he last saw Qrow—

The fog suddenly whipped away as a red arc cut through the mist and straight into Roman’s chest, knocking him off his feet. Melodic Cudgel clattered against the floor as he crashed on his back, his Aura flickering dimly. Qrow casually walked forward, idly swinging his sword back and forth. “And that’s game.”

“The fuck was that?” Roman groaned as he tried to sit up. He looked up and saw that Qrow was offering his hand to help him up, but Roman knocked it away. “A semblance?”

The huntsman laughed again. “Nah, Aura Slash. Bit of an advanced technique, but I think I got my point across.”

“And that is?” Roman growled as he dusted himself off and grabbed his cane.

“You’re good, kid, but still an amateur when it comes to fighting,” Qrow shrugged. “Not that it’s a bad thing. You’ve only fought goon-level trash before, right?”

Roman slowly nodded. “Parrot made a mistake picking a fight with you.” He glanced at the Aura Meters and saw that Qrow’s was at…ninety-four, probably from that Aura Slash since Roman didn’t even get a proper fucking hit on the guy, whereas Roman’s sat at eighteen percent. “Gods…I’m a fucking deadbeat.”

“You’re not,” Qrow said softly as he placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder. “You’ve never had a fight against a huntsman, and for good reason. I just needed to knock ya down a peg, get that ego in check.” He poked Roman in the forehead. “You’ve got the basics down, deflect, dodge, even use Dust combos to your advantage, but it’s stiff. Your reactions aren’t fast enough. You run your mouth too much which distracts ya, I counted six times you took your eyes off me, not including when you put that fog up.”

“I fucking get it!” Roman growled as he threw off the man’s hand. “What do you want with me?”

“It’s not what I want,” Qrow said. “It’s what I’m giving you: a chance.”

Roman narrowed his eyes.

Qrow shrugged. “There are other ways of becoming huntsmen outside of the academies, and one of those ways is through apprenticeships. Think of this as a trial run while we do our shit in Mistral. And, if ya want to learn more after, I’ll take you on.” 

Roman snorted. “Please, like I’d ever willingly tag along with you and Horn-Dog–” he stopped as he saw Qrow’s piercing gaze. “What?”

“Just think about it, alright?” Qrow pushed past him. “I’ve gotta talk to your gal-pal here now before she breaks through the Hardlight barrier and ambushes me with questions.” 

Roman just watched in silence as the huntsman waltzed over to the excitable girl and the stoic giant—are all giants just naturally quiet?—as they all talked animatedly about the fight. What’s your angle on this, Qrow?

—Atlas-Vale Transit—

“ This is your captain speaking. We’ve just reached ten thousand meters in altitude and are expecting an on-time arrival in Vale. You are free to move about the cabin. Enjoy your flight. ”

Scott leaned back in his seat with an exhausted sigh. Sure, it was basically a vacation for him to be in Atlas with Winter and Weiss, but man could those two run him ragged. After the party day, he spent the last six days being dragged around Atlas by the two and Klein. Sure, Miltia was there to help him out whenever his body started to exhaust itself—it wasn’t like he could get much in the way of exercise when most of his time was spent trying to hold in any amount of food and water in his system—but even she had her limits acting as his chaperone. Miltia outright refused to go with him and the Schnee girls when Winter suggested going to a museum on famous huntsmen from Atlas. History, evidently, was not his cousin’s strong suit. 

And Melanie? She just kept going down to Atlas with one of the Schnee’s staff and a bodyguard to do clothes shopping for the entire remainder of the trip. Scott glanced at the girl who slept soundly against the window, draped in a mink coat. PETA would be on her ass in an instant, but animal rights in Atlas aren’t nearly as developed as they were back on Earth. Also not like PETA was that good of an organization before…

Miltia sat opposite him, glaring at her scroll until she turned it off with a violent sigh.

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly so as not to wake Melanie. He knew the dangers of accidentally interrupting the girl’s sleep. A frown came to his face as he recalled just how agitated and quick to anger she’d become in the last year. And I was trying to be nice . 

Miltia’s shoulders sagged as she leaned back in her seat. “No. I tried to get you that…toy,” she flicked her eyes to him and Scott nodded in understanding. Blood Tester . “And…well, Atlas doesn’t work the same way Mistral does.” She grumbled as she pulled her knees into her chest. “You need a license to buy that stuff, and a foreign ten-year-old can’t get it.” Scott saw her eyes sparkle with frustrated tears. “I fucking failed again .”

Scott pushed himself out of his seat and settled into the one next to Miltia, lifting the armrest between them as he leaned against her. “You’re trying your best, Mil. I knew this would take a while to deal with ever since Roman told us about the…issue in Mistral. We just need to be patient.” 

She shuddered as she sucked in a harsh breath. “How can you be so fucking calm? You’re being poisoned and beaten, Scott!” She glared at him with tears streaming down her face, but he knew the anger wasn’t directed at him. “At this rate, you’re gonna get killed!”

“I…don’t think so,” he said as he hugged the girl. “The more often I can come up with an excuse to visit Winter and Weiss, maybe even Trivia if things go well there, the less I’m going through my…‘training.’” He squeezed her more. “I am angry, Mil, furious even. I’m just a lot better at hiding it than you.”

“Because if you don’t, your parents get even worse,” she whispered before shuddering again. “And now, you’re going to be in Vale with another girl I don’t know anything about while your parents and hers are plotting some shady shit and…and…” She drags him into an embrace of her own. “I’m not going to be there to help.”

Scott’s eyes widened as he pulled back to look at his cousin. “Why?”

Miltia took a deep breath. “The Vanilles are…work with a different gang in Vale, the Xiongs,” she explained softly as she stroked his hair, likely just to soothe herself by how much her hand was shaking. “Mom and Spider can’t be near them or we start another gang war, and the Xiongs control almost all of Vale…”

Scott nodded, seeing where this was going. “Where will you be?”

“In a Spider safehouse with guards,” she said as she squeezed him harder. “I’ll…I’ll try to find a blood tester in Vale, but from what I was reading online…it'll be hard. It’s not like I have money to bribe a hospital or hire someone to steal one for me…”

Scott nodded. “And I don’t want you to become a target. I refuse to let you be hurt just for helping me.”

She smiled sadly. “Gods, why did you have to be born into this fucked up family. You’re gonna make some girl or guy really happy later in life, y’know?” 

The two stayed silent for a while in their embrace as Scott ran through various plans in his head. His objective would remain the same—befriend Trivia and gain an ally in Vale with the hope that he could nudge her away from becoming the murder-happy psychopath Neopolitan. The question of how he would do that was still in the air, but he had time. He frowned in thought and at his past self. Sure, he knew some things about the world of Remnant and RWBY , but his old friend who pointed him to the show knew more. She’d read the mangas and novels and every bit of supplemental material, while he forgot to watch the Red and White trailers before watching the show. And now I’m trapped here and I don’t know enough of what I’m getting into. 

He shelved the thought for the time being and directed his attention back to his cousin. “Did you enjoy Atlas, minus everything else?” he asked. “I know you and Winter got off on the wrong foot…”

Miltia smiled as she ruffled his hair. “She’s fine. Just pissed me off what she told you.”

Scott pouted. “I would’ve learned about it eventually. She was just worried about me.”

“Yea, yea, I know,” she giggled. “She’s cute. A bit nerdy and serious and…really really wanting to be a Specialist.” Miltia sighed. “How did you keep up with everything? You went to a library, three museums, and several equipment shops for huntresses…you even went clothes shopping with her! How did you keep up?”

Scott chuckled. “I enjoyed them as well, so it didn’t feel like a chore.”

“Even waiting in a shop for Winter and Weiss to try on clothes for three hours as they asked your opinions and hounded you for compliments?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Scott blinked. Was that how that seemed? “I will admit I was…bored for most of that, but I had my scroll and my Dust textbook in my bag, so I could read through those while I waited.” He frowned as he tried to think back to that day. Yes, Weiss was the one who kept asking how she looked, but Winter? She was asking his opinion on how easily he thought whatever outfit she wore would work for being a huntress. It never felt like they were fishing for compliments. “It was what they wanted to do, and I thought it would’ve been rude to complain.”

“Mhm, not because you’re in love with the snowy princesses?” she asked with a teasing twinkle in her eye. 

Scott’s eyes widened. “No! What are you talking about, Mil? They’re my friends! And Winter is six years older than me!” He scowled when Miltia started giggling. “Not funny. You know my opinion on dating anyone.”

“I know, I know,” she said, still giggling. “You just act so much older that sometimes I feel like you would fall for someone already. You’re a regular silver-tongued prince, y’know.”

Scott’s expression fell. “I know. I’m…not normal, Miltia. I’m sure someone else in my position would’ve…fallen apart. I’m—”

“Just the way you should be,” she said as she pulled him into a hug again. “A little champion that’s compassionate, curious, and really fucking smart.”

But is any of that the case? he thought. There never was a Scott Ishvaltar before. Fuck, I have memories that shouldn’t exist, knowledge about the world that only could be possible for me to figure out if I asked Jinn! No one was there for Winter or Weiss or Miltia or will be for Trivia! I just shouldn’t…

“Mil…”

“Hm?” She tilted her head at him, her green eyes sparkling.

Scott opened his mouth, but the words never came to him. Instead, he leaned into her. “You really are the best cousin someone could ever want,” he whispered.

She snorted. “You know it, Scotty. Don’t you ever forget it.” She pulled him into her embrace once more and closed her eyes. “Love you, Scotty.”

Scott smiled sadly. “Love you too, Miltia.”

Chapter Text

—Vale: Airport—

Vale was a lot warmer this time of year than Atlas was, being that the city was firmly in the tides of spring rather than the ebbing, icy fingers of winter in the northern city. The Vale Airport was bustling with mostly commercial skyships, bullheads, and some heavy military transports designed to survive long-haul transits across Grimm-infested lands. They reminded Scott of the Dust transport Weiss would—could—take when she tried to reunite with her team, but they were much older, seeing that they used turbines instead of Dust Jets like the Mantas did. 

As Scott, Miltia, and Melanie exited the Ishvaltar family skyship, Scott’s stomach dropped as he saw his parents waiting for him in silence and a handful of purple uniformed guards with spider tattoos in plain view. Miltia whispered an apology to him as she joined her sister next to the Spider affiliates and was ushered into a limousine, leaving Scott to stand alongside his parents.

“Were you successful?” Issac asked in a low tone, not even looking at Scott.

The boy nodded. “More so than expected. I helped give Mister Schnee a reason to evict his ex-fiancé from the party as well, so he appears to be at least interested in maintaining connections.” Internally, Scott’s whole body coiled with anxiety just by standing next to his abusers, but he kept his voice even and calm for the entire conversation. For the time being, his goals coincided with what Issac’s were, even if they wanted vastly different things out of it, and he knew that Issac would see through any lies he told. “Winter and Weiss are eager for me to return to Atlas.”

“Good,” Issac said with a tense smile. “Very good.” After a silence, he spoke again. “We wait for the Vanille’s personal vehicle to retrieve us.” He scowled. “Late, as usual.”

“How were your business meetings?” Scott tentatively asked. “If I may ask.”

“You may,” Sylah said. “Parrot proves to be more trouble than expected. It’s prudent that you and your cousins were not in Mistral recently. My sister’s establishment was attacked by the brutes and only barely came out unscathed.”

Scott’s eyes widened as he immediately turned to look down the road where Miltia and Melanie had driven. “Is she alright?”

“She would not be in her position if she were so easily dispatched,” Sylah responded. “Your concerns are misplaced. Do you wish to receive punishment?”

In an instant, Scott’s throat seized, and his jaw grew tight. His heart thundered in his ears. “No, Mother. I was only expressing concern about how it would affect business. Aunt Malachite is more than capable of protecting herself.”

His mother turned to him, her blue eyes searching his face for deceit before nodding. “You are wise to be worried, but again, it’s misplaced. Spider’s most recent enforcer has been very effective at gaining allies for this war Parrot has been committing. East Dragon, Mouse, and soon the Xiong Syndicate in Vale will be aiding one another against them.”

Scott frowned. “If we have so many allies, why hasn’t Parrot been wiped out?”

Issac glared at him.

Scott raised his hands in surrender. “I only mean to ask this because Mother said they were a recent upstart. Miltia and Melanie tell me precious little of what’s been happening, so I am very outdated with it.”

Sylah raised her hand to stop Issac before he spoke. “He speaks his mind and wishes to know more. That is what we’ve been training him for, dear. It’s to be expected he questions why we haven’t squashed this bug beneath our heels yet,” she said as she subsequently ground her foot into the tarmac. “Parrot has been one of the primary syndicates of Mistral for some time now, but when your Aunt and I carved out Spider’s name in the blood of the old guard, Parrot crawled into the sewers to survive.” Her eyes turned deadly fierce, a rare time where genuine rage etched itself into her features. “No matter how many times we tried to smoke them out, they survived, and now they have come back with a vengeance.”

“They’ve been backed by someone with access to Atlas military tech,” Issac continued, his aggression easing slightly after Sylah had explained. “Parrot is no longer some rowdy upstart, but a national problem. Enough of an issue that Vale huntsmen have been brought in to deal with them. Which is–”

“Bad for business,” Scott concluded.

Issac nodded as a cruel smile formed. “Yes. You learn well and fast. That’s good.” Then his expression turned dark. “But your empathy is a weakness. Your concern is a weakness. It is not the Ishvaltar way. Cut it out of your heart while it still beats before someone uses it to rip your heart out instead. Do I make myself clear?”

Scott forced himself not to gulp as he saw a black vehicle approaching. “Yes, sir.”

The car ride to the Vanille Estate was uneventful as Sylah and Issac didn’t speak, leaving Scott to ponder more on the new intel his parents had freely given him. Huntsmen from Vale are being sent to Mistral. It must be Lionheart requesting further backup on the situation, but I never realized it was getting that bad. He frowned in thought as he mentally chastised himself for how wasteful he had been in Atlas. Yes, building the groundwork for a close friendship with Winter and Weiss was paramount for his escape efforts, but everything he was learning just showed how little he really knew about the world. He was so focused on Atlas and the future that he forgot to pay attention to the world around him. Could team STRQ be the ones who went to Mistral? Doubtful. Raven has probably disappeared at this point, so why would Summer, Tai, or Qrow leave to go on some adventure instead of staying together in Patch with Yang? I mean, if Weiss and I are two, Yang should be around the same age as well.

It would be too much of a coincidence that Ozpin would send his personal enforcers to Mistral for a gang war. None of this really seemed like it could be connected to Salem, but then wasn’t that the point? Salem keeps herself in the shadows—for what reason, Scott still hadn’t figured out—and manipulates the world like a chessboard. Keeping Mistral divided like that would cause more negative emotions, put more pressure on Lionheart, and make him more isolated, being that he’s a Faunus leader in the most racist country in the world…

No, it made too much sense that she would be involved. But how? Who was on her council that could cause havoc in this way? Did she already have Watts? Maybe, but his anger is directed solely at Atlas, not Mistral. Hazel could be on her team now, but wanton violence just didn’t feel like his MO. Tyrian? Sure, he would love to be in a gang war and tearing people apart for fun, but would he have the ability to fund Parrot with Atlas military hardware? Doubtful.

So, there must be someone else at play, he thought. He blinked before slowly shaking his head. Unfortunately, I just don’t have enough information about Salem or who would be working with her to even come close to formulating a hypothesis. Hopefully, whoever was dispatched to Mistral can figure it out.

That left Scott with the other, more pressing concern—Trivia Vanille. 

Scott had reviewed what he knew about the girl in his notes before heading to Atlas, but that was still not much. Heterochromia, while rare, doesn’t seem like it would be connected to why she became a serial killer, and her muteness, while difficult to get around, was a relatively small hurdle. After all, he did have a textbook on how to learn Vytalian Sign Language in his suitcase and he had been practicing ever since he got the book. Sure, it had taken a while to mostly learn it, but that was a price he was willing to pay. Thankfully, his child brain absorbed the new language like it was candy. Little blessings.

Getting Trivia on his side would be a huge boon just based on how ridiculously overpowered her semblance was, but also, the opportunity to make her life better? Well, he’d already made a promise to see Miltia have a happy life, as was the case he was striding with Winter and Weiss, so what was one more person? Now, if I could just get to the Glass Unicorn, I could try and find a way to get Cinder out of there without her having to kill anyone. How would I do that? I’ll have to figure it out later.

“We’re here,” Issac said sternly, shaking Scott out of his thoughts. 

Stepping outside, Scott saw the gated mansion of the Vanille and immediately compared it to the classic style of Victorian England. Tall, slanted roofs with boxy windows and Roman columns propping the facade and balcony all came together in a singular thought for Scott, yep, that’s a mansion alright. Maybe he was just used to these giant buildings, or it just felt so monumentally unimpressive compared to the Schnee’s house, or his continued feelings about how wasteful these structures were. Last he read, Vale had a population nearing forty million people, with eight percent of those living there being orphans, either living on the street or in packed orphanages. It was just baffling. Yet, I doubt Trivia will be as interested in my societal commentary as Winter is. Okay, I’m gonna wing it again.

Scott let his thoughts wander and feet carry him inside, being greeted with dark red floors—cherry wood, he suspected—with white or cream walls and dozens of pictures hung up of the family: a man with dark hair and brown eyes, a woman with lighter brown hair and brown eyes, and a girl sat between them. The girl had two brown pigtails and brown eyes, but she looked deeply unhappy in the picture. 

Again, Scott shoved the treacherous thoughts back, already clambering to tell him she was a lost cause. If Trivia’s a lost cause, that means Miltia is too. 

“She’s a fucking psycho!” Scott tensed as he heard Harvey’s voice and he quickly scanned the room to ensure the doppelganger wasn’t there. He held his breath, waiting for the little bastard to make an appearance or another snide comment, but nothing came. Slowly, he let his breath go and straightened his jacket before the Vanilles came down the stairs.

“Sylah!” the woman called, the same one Scott saw in the painting, coming down the stairs in a white and caramel brown dress. “It has been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Sylah nodded. “Carmel. There hasn’t been much reason to interact after we left Spider.” 

“Oh, must everything be about business?” Carmel asked. “I seem to remember us being close friends before at Lady Brownings.”

 “I seem to remember a roommate who kept stealing my notes on the poisons I was developing instead of focusing on her own graduation project despite being four years older than me,” Sylah recalled smoothly.

Oh. Great. Fantastic. Another assassin. 

The woman laughed as she approached Sylah and drew her into a hug. “It really has been too long.” She turned to Issac. “Issac, you are being faithful to my friend, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of otherwise,” Issac said stiffly. “And where is Jim?”

Sylah huffed. “Working, as usual . Can’t even be here for our guests' arrival since he and Junior are having to work something out.”

“Seems like the whole world is on fire these days,” Issac growled. “Anyone stealing medical equipment from hospitals? Atlas military hardware?”

Carmel blinked. “No. Just some upstarts calling themselves the Dock Boys selling fent on Junior’s territory. People are dying, and the Xiongs aren’t happy about it.”

“They shouldn’t,” Issac said. “But enough of that.” He pushed Scott forward. “Our son.”

Scott bowed his head with practiced ease. “Scott Ophiuchus Ishvaltar. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but please bring me to Trivia already. You’re freaking me out!

“Oh, a polite boy indeed,” Carmel said with a hint of disdain. “You’re here to meet Trivia, correct?”

“I am,” he nodded as he glanced around to see if he’d see the girl. “Where is she?”

“Likely in her room,” she said, turning to look up the stairs. “TRIVIA! We have guests!”

Scott waited as he heard hurried footsteps rush around upstairs until he saw the same short, brown-haired girl in a frilly, pink princess dress from the painting almost run down the stairs until she was beside her mother, completely out of breath. Scott also noticed that she had brown eyes. Didn’t Neo have one brown and one pink eye? Or was that something with her semblance?

“Issac, Sylah, this is my daughter,” Carmel said as she pushed the girl forward. She curtseyed but remained completely silent. “You…know of her troubles.”

Trivia’s shoulders shrank as she glanced at Scott’s parents, then her eyes widened curiously when she saw Scott. The boy made a subtle smile and nodded to her so as not to alert his parents to his kindness. 

“Well, now that introductions are finished,” Carmel said, moving to another room, “I’m sure we have much to catch up on, Sylah. Trivia, be a good girl and watch Ishvaltar’s son in your room. I’m sure he’s tired from his flight.”

As the adults left, Scott stayed quiet until it was just him and the girl awkwardly standing. “Uh, so,” he said as he grabbed his luggage, “is there a room for me to place these?”

Trivia slowly nodded, an expression of inquisitiveness and apprehension on her face.

Scott smiled. “Well, lead the way, then. Not like I know your home.”

The girl tilted her head as she watched him before sighing silently and turning to go back up the stairs. Scott winced as he followed. Obviously, that was not the right thing to say. Gods, how am I supposed to do this? Traveling up the stairs, Scott did notice something about the girl beyond her quietness. She’s the same age as Miltia and Melanie and older than Winter, but she’s still so short! He also saw that she kept rubbing her right eye every few steps.

“Um, I don’t mean to pry, but is your eye okay?” Scott asked as he reached the top of the stairs. Trivia froze in place and slowly turned to watch him with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. Scott placed his luggage down and raised his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but it just…seems like your eye is irritated. You keep rubbing it like something is in it, and I was…worried.”

The girl narrowed her eyes in suspicion before sighing silently again and nodding toward a door. Scott followed the motion with his eyes. “Is this the room I’m staying?”

She nodded. 

Scott smiled and bowed his head. “Thank you for showing me.” He half walked and half dragged his luggage to the room, opening the door, when he saw Trivia still standing there, watching. “Did you want to come in? I know our parents will be talking about boring stuff, so I don’t mind.”

Trivia blinked and seemed apprehensive before shaking her head and backing away. 

Scott felt his smile fall as he nodded sadly. “Well, if you ever want to hang out, you know where I am. I’m just going to be reading for the time being after I unpack.” He bowed his head politely again. “It was nice meeting you.”

Trivia just nodded slightly and left.

As the door closed, Scott sighed. This is going to be a lot harder than I expected.

It was late at night in Vale, but Scott was used to being up at this time anyway. Mistral was ten hours ahead of Vale, so even if the clock said it was three in the morning, Scott would’ve been up. Traveling sucked, but that wasn’t an excuse to waste his time idly sleeping away. 

He sat on a low windowsill dressed in his, ugh, maroon pajamas and with the two heavy Aura and Dust textbooks, one in his lap, the other propped up against the window for him to read and make reference to easily. While he had pretty much learned everything about Aura he could, Dust and Remnant’s bizarre metallurgy were taking longer for him to crack. He flipped a page on the Dust textbook in his lap.

While Aura Alloys are some of the most versatile metals for huntsmen, most people in the modern generation have opted for more standardized materials in Dust Infused weapons. The reason for this is not out of the material being better; Dust Infusions generally are more susceptible to wear and tear compared to Aura Alloys, but because the modern Huntsman doesn’t always require materials with that level of durability. Due to the Industrial Revolution—

Scott paused for a moment when he saw that. “I guess it makes sense Remnant would also call it that. Industrial and revolution aren’t Earth-exclusive words…” He kept reading.

—the ability to manufacture more complex machinery has vastly increased, allowing huntsmen to further design or commission their own weapons with alternative forms suitable for various combat scenarios. Aura Alloys are simply too difficult to produce on a mass scale since they must be painstakingly created by either the huntsman crafting the weapon or a highly skilled blacksmith with an unlocked Aura. Huntsmen can’t always wait around for such high-grade materials to be produced, and not all blacksmiths are skilled enough to repair or maintain such a material, so Hunters instead opt for more elemental properties or sheer weight.

“So it’s an industrial versus artisan problem,” Scott mumbled as he tilted his head in thought, recalling a similar conversation he had with Winter before.  “Maybe I could learn how to blacksmith. If things go really bad and I need to make an escape, having some form of income would be helpful…” Scott wrote on a sticky note to remind him to get a book on weapon-smithing, specifically on the older, traditional styles. “But none of these books mention industrial ceramics. I wonder why—”

In the quiet of the night, Scott heard the knob of his door turn and he marked the page he was on, closed the books, and pressed himself behind the coffee-colored curtains. Some of the other curtains were drawn open, letting the silver moonlight flood the room and giving him enough light to see. Not for the first time, he lamented the fact he wasn’t born a Faunus. Having an extrasensory edge like better night vision, smell, or hearing would’ve been more than useful for the coming war with Salem, enough so that he would almost be willing to put up with the discrimination for it. But that small edge would’ve cost him his friendship with Winter and Weiss, not because the two girls were racist—far from it from the number of times Winter complained to him about the snooty girls she met in Atlas or General Hawthorne’s daughter—but because Jacques definitely would’ve been.

The door opened and he saw two girls beyond the threshold. One had faded pink hair and a floofy pink dress while the other had brown hair and a pink night gown. The pink-haired one dashed into the room without a sound, leaping from the bed onto the table and even jumping to hang from the crystal chandelier. The other girl stood frozen at the doorway, even as Pink kept beckoning the other inside. 

Does she have her semblance already? Scott thought as he watched the fearful Trivia. Considering the pink-haired girl looked exactly like Trivia but didn’t make any sound, it seemed like it was the case, but he couldn’t be sure. It’s like they’re playing a game.

Pink dropped down from the chandelier and crossed her arms with an annoyed look on her face. She was staring at Trivia, whose eyes widened as she fervently shook her head. Eventually, Pink huffed and padded across the room and led the other girl out, leaving the door open. 

Scott slowly inched his way out of his hiding spot and landed softly on the floor, deciding to figure out what was happening. He poked his head out from behind the door and saw a head of pink fair skipping down the stairs into the withdrawing room. He came down the stairs at an agonizing crawl pace due to his short legs and his need to stay quiet and came to the open door of the room. It seemed fairly similar to his mansion’s room: walls of books, an empty fireplace at one end, a coffee table in the center, and several imposing leather chairs and couches scattered about the room. Idly, Scott wondered if the books were just like the ones back home in his withdrawing room—gold-leafed and uncut only for appearances but never read. Such a waste . 

Trivia hopped from seat to couch in an almost dance-like fashion as she chased after the ever-out-of-reach Pink. She seemed happy, the first time Scott had seen her with a genuine smile on her face and…mismatched eyes. Is that her semblance? He recalled the girl constantly rubbing her eye. No. Dry eye. She must be wearing contacts all the time. Scott hated wearing contacts back on Earth. He always opted for glasses because he hated carrying around a bottle of eye drops after one time the cap broke when it was in his pocket and drenched his phone and pants in the saline. 

He refocused back on Trivia as she leapt off the back of a couch after Pink and crashed into a bookshelf, her leg clipping a heavily carved, wooden stand for a glass vase in the process. The vase wobbled and, before Scott knew what he was thinking, he was already running forward. He jumped and slid forward on his back and caught the vase before it shattered against the floor, but the stand tipped and crashed to the floor with a loud clatter.

Scott stayed on the ground, breathing hard as a victorious smile came to his face. He glanced at the wooden stand to see if there was any damage, but there was nothing from what he could tell. He started chuckling to himself until he remembered the girl on the ground next to him. She leaned against the shelf with a quiet wince, rubbing her head when she froze upon seeing him.

Scott smiled weakly. “Hey, again—”

“TRIVIA!” The sound of hurried footsteps echoed throughout the house.

The girl seemed panicked as she glanced around the room, and Scott took notice.

“Go. Hide,” he said quietly as he flicked his head to the couches, seeing the low-hanging cloth to the ground. There should be enough room for her to hide under them and keep her out of trouble. “I’ll take care of this.”

Trivia seemed apprehensive but quickly moved and hid under the couch moments before Jim and Carmel Vanille entered the room. “Trivia!” Jim yelled. “Gods damn it, where are you!”

“She’s not here,” Scott said as he got to his feet. “It’s just me.”

The man looked exactly like he did in the painting minus the suit, wearing clothes Scott thought Scrooge would’ve worn instead of a man connected to not one but two of the largest criminal empires on the planet. Both he and his wife seemed flabbergasted by Scott’s appearance. “W-What are you doing here?” the man demanded but quickly seemed to be losing steam.

Scott shrugged, still holding the vase. “I woke up not too long ago and couldn't get back to sleep. Mistral is several hours ahead, and I haven’t gotten used to the time difference. So, I came down to find something to read.” He nodded at the nearest shelf and saw a thick book on folk stories from Vale nearby where Trivia had crashed. Perfect . “I was trying to pull this book here from the shelf when my grip slipped and I bumped the pedestal here,” he said, tapping the wood carving with his foot. “But, I caught the vase it was holding, and it doesn’t look to be damaged. It just made a lot of noise.”

Jim stood dumbfounded as Carmel immediately sprung into action with worry. “Are you alright?”

Scott nodded. “I’m fine, just a little excited from all the noise. I’m really sorry for disturbing you both.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m just happy you’re not hurt,” she said, but there was fear in her eyes. Well, she knows Sylah. She probably is just afraid that she’d do something to her.

“At least he explains himself unlike our stupid…” Jim stopped himself as he huffed. “Thank you for not breaking anything, but don’t wander the house alone at night.” He picked the pedestal up and righted it before placing the vase back on it. “Which book were you trying to read?”

“This one,” Scott said as he pointed to the folk storybook. 

Jim crouched down and pulled the book from the shelf and pushed it into Scott’s tiny arms with a scowl. “You can read it, but don’t make any noise like that again.” He stormed out of the room with Carmel following him and quietly bidding Scott a good night. 

Scott waited for a couple of minutes until he was satisfied and moved to close the door to the drawing room. “Alright, it’s safe to come out now.”

Trivia poked her head out from under the couch, eyeing her surroundings warily, before fully pulling herself out of the hidey-hole. After she got to her feet and dusted off her nightgown, she looked at Scott and mouthed the word “why,” arching her eyebrow in confusion. 

Scott shrugged. “Why not? They obviously were going to be upset at you, so I decided to take the heat for it, and it worked, didn’t it?”

Trivia nodded. She tried to open her mouth a few times, before scrunching her face in frustration, pointing at her open mouth, and making an “X” with her arms.

“You can’t speak, right?” Scott asked, and she nodded, her shoulders shrinking in on themselves. Must be a pain point in the family, especially with that vitriol-filled comment her dad said. “That’s fine, well not fine since it obviously bothers you, but I don’t mind it.” He smiled. “Do you know sign language?”

The girl blinked in confusion and slowly shook her head. A shock of anger jolted through Scott’s body. Fucking useless parents. Couldn’t you have at least tried to teach her that? That way she could have some form of communication! Scott swallowed his fury and put on a compassionate smile. “I have pen and paper in my room. Can you read and write?”

Trivia nodded, a little more happily that time.

“Great! We can do that for now,” Scott said. “I also have this book on Vytalian Sign Language since I’d heard about you being mute and I’d at least thought you’d know some, but…” Scott sighed. “No matter. How about we can learn it together? How does that sound?”

She tilted her head in confusion and had several expressions across her face.

Scott carefully watched as he tried to decode what she was trying to say. “What is it? It’s like…a way of speaking but not using your voice. You use your hands instead.” Scott gave an example as he made several motions while saying their meaning out loud. “Where. Is. The. Library? It’s like that. Not everyone knows it, but I’m willing to put in the effort for it. And hey, even if others don’t know it,” he smiled, “I can translate, speak for the both of us. How’s that sound?”

She blinked before nodding excitedly and smiling again, the same happy smile she had when she was playing with Pink earlier. I’ll ask about that later. Don’t want her to feel cornered. Scott smiled back as he made eye contact with the girl, again seeing the single pale-pink eye. “By the way, feel free not to wear the contact when we’re alone,” he said. “That’s what was bothering you yesterday right? Itchy?”

Trivia’s eyes widened as she immediately reached to cover her eye. 

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Scott said, holding his hands in a placating motion. “I really don’t mind. It’s just heterochromia, nothing bad.”

She tilted her head in confusion.

“Uh, right…heterochromia is…it’s when someone has two different colored eyes,” he explained. “It doesn’t mean anything bad. Some cats get it, too, which can make them deaf, but the same isn’t with humans and Faunus.”

Trivia blinked before slowly putting her hands above her head into what Scott figured were fake ears. Scott mimicked the motion himself. “Meow.”

The girl started laughing silently, a rather breathy sound, and Scott let the tension in his body extinguish as he came to a conclusion: Trivia is just another lonely girl who needs a friend. And I can certainly do that.

Chapter Text

—Atlas: Schnee Manor—

Things were quieter in Schnee Manor after Scott and his cousins departed from the icy kingdom, but that only made Winter sulk even more at how boring everything had become after those three left. Ever since he pointed it out, Winter had begun to agree more and more at just how ridiculous Schnee Manor was. Every unnecessary step to go from her room to the gym or to the private classroom—since Jacques thought it was a privilege to have private tutors for this period of her life instead of attending a school like everyone else—or to the dining hall to sit at one end of an eight-meter long table with Weiss while Jacques sat at the opposite end with Mom like some movie villain. All of it compounded the loneliness and isolation of this ever-frozen kingdom.

“Thinking about him again?”

Winter shook herself from her thoughts as she felt Weiss slide up next to her on the couch. Winter had been reading the mechashift book Scott gave Weiss, not just because she wanted to learn everything at the same rate as that boy, but also because Weiss just…wasn’t the target audience for this kind of text. Sure, it was a thoughtful gift, and Weiss was more than excited when she opened the package in her room with just Winter and Scott present, but Scott could’ve gone with something Weiss could use now instead of in a few years. As much as her sister was a prodigy in her own right, Winter knew that all of this material would go right over the girl’s head.

So, that left Winter to read it—which she was going to do anyway—carefully dissecting each paragraph so she wouldn’t miss anything nor misinterpret what was being said, because she undoubtedly would have to explain it to Weiss in more suitable terms for a toddler…

How does he understand it? Winter puzzled. I know he’s smart, but I’m having a hard time figuring some of these complicated mechanisms out, and he’s gone through several other books that are at this level or higher!

Winter sighed as she turned back to her sister. “Yes, I am. I’m trying to figure out how he understands any of this as easily as he does.” She frowned in thought. “I’m not getting anywhere with this.” 

Weiss tilted her head. “Maybe it’sa minstrel thing.”

“Mistral.”

“Yeah, that!” Her eyes brightened. “Isn’t that place compet–compyta–”

“Competitive.”

“Yes!”

That was a potential reason for his strange knack at learning, though it could also just be that he wasn’t nearly as good with physical activity. During his last stay, Winter made sure to take their time when exploring Atlas, even convincing him that Winter and Weiss needed to do clothes shopping when the real reason was just how exhausted he looked. Staying at those fancy shops meant that they were given the full treatment of private services, such as refreshments and a comfortable place to rest. While Winter never really liked clothes shopping, it was certainly… warming hearing someone else compliment her attire, even if he was more trying to help her gauge how well each outfit would perform in huntress work. And he was patient. Well, he’s always been fairly patient anyway, but Jacques would’ve blown a fuse if we stayed for twenty minutes and not the three hours Weiss, Miltia, and I all took.

“Competitive and that he’s cooped up inside so often,” Winter mused as she marked the page and closed it. “And now he’s been whisked away to Vale for another meeting with someone else…”

Winter felt a tug on her sleeve and turned to see Weiss’s concerned eyes. “Something wrong?” the little girl asked.

Winter frowned again. “I just worry his parents are pushing him too far.”

Ding!

The two sisters looked at each other before the older one scrambled to find her scroll and retrieve it, before smiling. “And speaking of which…”

Scott: Morning, you two. Still getting used to the timezone difference in Vale, but my flight went well and things are going smoothly so far.

Scott: How have you and your sister been, Winter?

Winter’s eyes glittered excitedly as she tapped away on the scroll.

WinterS: Boring, but better now that we know you’ve had a safe trip.

WinterS: How has Vale been?

And how is this new girl you’ve been sent to court, she thought.

Scott: Haven’t really done much here, but it’s certainly spring. Not a speck of ice in sight.

Scott : As much as I love visiting you and Weiss, Atlas is not really a premium vacation spot if you’re too frail to partake in winter sports.

Winter snorted as Weiss popped under her arm to read the texts as well before she started giggling, too. Then, Weiss awkwardly tapped away on the screen.

WinterS: HiyA Sdott!!!!

Winter started giggling more as Weiss laughed, the two watching the three dots on the screen signifying the boy on the other end was typing. Typing for a long while, too.

Scott: I’m assuming that was Weiss?

WinterS: You’d be correct 😆

Scott: Thought so, you’re too much of a perfectionist to send something that's misspelled, Winter.

Scott: Also, hi Weiss! Hope you’re having a wonderful day.

Winter choked on air for a moment before typing out a message of her own.

WinterS: I’m not a perfectionist! I just don’t like failing.

Scott: Winter. The last day I was there, you were doing exercises to control your Aura for three hours, then got upset that you lost your concentration since you were trying to do it for four hours. That’s called being a perfectionist.

Winter’s ears and cheeks burned as she recalled the memory. Meditation wasn’t something that came to her easily, so she kept forcing herself to do it and feel her Aura flow throughout her body. After learning those exercises from, surprise surprise, Scott’s textbook, she had been trying to focus on controlling her Aura to a degree similar to those in their later years at Atlas Prep, people who were seven or eight years older than her…

She blinked then sighed. “He has a point…” That didn’t make her embarrassment any better. Scott was the only person in the whole world who had the audacity to call her out on something like that, treating her like a normal child and not a Schnee. It was comforting.

WinterS: Perhaps I was pushing myself too hard.

Scott: Eh, it’s fine. I know you worry about me because of my lackluster health, but that also means it’s fair game for me to worry about you and Weiss.

Scott: Just because you’re going to be a world-class huntress doesn’t mean a civie like me won’t fear for your safety. I don’t want to hear anything about you getting sick or hurt from pushing yourself too hard.

WinterS: And you won’t. I promise. ☺️

Really, sometimes, talking with the child literally a quarter her age made Winter feel like she was talking to a parent. Sure, Scott could be highly intelligent about things he had no right being in—their whole first conversation about wasted space came to mind—but he still acted like a kid at others. Winter never really got the appeal with all the movies he talked about or how he animatedly deconstructed the one movie he watched with her and Miltia after Weiss went to sleep: Heroes of the Cosmos. At first, the movie seemed to be about alien abduction, but it slowly turned into a story about a rather awkward man and his ragtag group of alien friends—including a cybernetically modified possum—saving some distant alien planet from being destroyed but an angry blue alien with some glowing space rock in a hammer. The lone human of the group even had a singing section where he used a snarling alien rat as a microphone while he sang some upbeat tune about love.

Movies were confusing.

WinterS: You mentioned before leaving that you were meeting someone else in Vale?

Scott: Trivia, yeah.

Winter frowned again as she tried to think what to type next. Weiss had squirmed out of her reach and was on the floor of their common room with a coloring book, leaving the former to have more time to figure out what to say. Weiss loved talking with Scott, but a conversationalist through text she was not. The fact that Scott could type as quickly as he did was astounding.

WinterS: What’s she like?

Scott: Shy and quiet. Well, quiet by default I should say.

Scott: I think I mentioned she was mute before, right?

WinterS: You did.

Scott: Right. She has a lot to say but so few ways of saying it. Parents never taught her sign language, so she’s learning it with me.

Winter’s eyes widened.

WinterS: What!? Why wouldn’t they?

Scott: I’m not sure myself, but I don’t like it. 

Scott : Trivia herself is very curious and bubbling with energy. Honestly, I’m having a hard time keeping up with her. The only reason I’m even able to talk with you now is because she’s in private lessons right now.

WinterS: Wouldn’t Miltia and Melanie be able to take some of the attention away?

Scott: They’re not here with me. Something came up, so they’re staying elsewhere for now. I think my parents prefer it this way so that Trivia would attach to me more with the potential of being her husband later.

Scott: It’s even worse for her since I’m pretty sure Trivia’s parents are embarrassed by her? Again, the fact that Issac said she was “damaged” doesn’t speak well. 

Scott: Her parents even force her to wear colored contacts to hide the fact she has Heterochromia! Like, what the fuck!?

Winter choked at the boy’s sudden use of an expletive, but after meeting Miltia and Melanie, she should’ve have been surprised. It was also really endearing to her that he was getting so worked up about such a messed-up situation, but also worrying. Sure, she made him promise not to ditch her before, but that didn’t do enough to quell her worries. She didn’t want to lose her only friend to someone else so far away…

WinterS: That’s awful. Also, heterochromia?

Scott: She has different colored eyes. One is kind of a chocolate brown the other is a light pink, kinda like strawberry ice cream.

WinterS: That’s not even that bad! I think that’s actually a pleasant combo.

Scott: Some people are just so judgmental.

Scott: Anyway, I did want to ask you something.

Winter raised her eyebrow with interest.

WinterS: Oh? What might that be?

Scott: Would you perhaps like to learn sign language with me? I’d like to have more than one person to bounce of with this whole thing. Miltia’s already agreed, but Melanie’s being all blah about it.

Scott: Plus, I thought that it could be helpful for you as a Specialist.

WinterS: Really? How’s that?

Scott: Think about it. Some missions require radio silence and stealth, making communication difficult. Now, you could use military hand signs, but those can only go so far. But an entire language that you can create custom hand signals for your team?

WinterS: That does sound useful, but…

WinterS: Is this just some ploy for you to make me befriend someone else?

Scott: Ah, yea, sorta. You saw through me pretty fast.

Winter wanted to sulk for a moment because again, it felt like he was trying to push her away to someone else, but she knew intellectually it was only because Scott wanted her to have a greater arsenal of friends and skills. Winter would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the most sociable of people, and while she was polite with Miltia during her stay, she was quite certain that were it not for Scott, the two wouldn’t have spoken to each other in the first place. But how Scott was going about it, it seemed like he was trying ot make her hang out with people her own age and not…him.

WinterS: Is there a reason for that?

Scott: Beyond having another person to call a friend? Slightly. 

Scott: Trivia seems to have her Aura unlocked, maybe even her semblance as well. 

WinterS: Seriously? What is it?

Scott: I think she can make illusions, quite convincing ones at that. Her private tutor formerly worked at Signal Combat School, so she’s trying to help Trivia learn basic Aura control and master her semblance.

Scott: But right now? I think she’s teaching history. 

Winter winced.

WinterS: Nothing on the Great War and relating to, well…

That night still flashed through her head sometimes. Scott had always been so much more mature about things than anyone else his age should be, but seeing him fall apart at the seams and then put on a happy demeanor for Weiss all of the following day…Part of her wondered if the boy had intentionally antagonized Gwendolyn just to blow off some steam, in a way to make himself feel better, but he’d also used his middle name alone when he introduced himself to anyone like Ishvaltar was a banner of shame.

Just another strange thing about him, but one that Winter didn’t really dislike. A more immature child wouldn’t have understood the schemes their fathers had been creating so easily, nor have been able to sidestep them entirely. A more immature child wouldn’t have taken such an interest in her dreams, and wouldn't have helped her in achieving those dreams as well. A more immature child wouldn’t have taken the news of his family’s legacy as harshly and tragically as he did…

Winter shook her head and refocused on the conversation.

WinterS: Anyway, how do you think illusions will help?

Scott’s icon had the bouncing three dots next to it for a long time.

Scott: So many ways. Illusions work best on people, but how they work on Grimm is something we would have to test. Regardless, the possibilities are really only limited to her imagination, and she’s certainly brimming with creativity. She even says her parents call her Semblance “Over-Active Imagination,” but who cares about them? Honestly, her ability could be a huge support aspect to a huntress team that is on par with yours in versatility. You know, jack of all trades, master of none, but better than a master of one.

Winter had to keep her eyes from jumping out of her skull. Sure, she knew how ridiculous the Schnee Glyphs were, not that other people with Glyph-type semblances were worse, but with how many different ways she could combine her glyphs with Dust for unique interactions, it was hard not to think she had been blessed with the ability. Other Glyph Sembalnces only had two or three things they could do, but the Schnees could make dozens of different glyphs with enough practice. And to think Scott was considering the illusion-based semblance’s potential was on par with hers was…well, very high praise.

WinterS: Do you think she’d become a huntress?

Scott: I’m not sure. I haven't broached the subject with her yet. Not everyone is as passionate about that career as you or I.

WinterS: Fair, but do you think she'd do well?

Scott: Possibly. She's quite small, but very agile. She'd make a good career of being a professional dancer as well if she wanted to.

Scott: Honestly, I think becoming her friend will do her a lot of good, even if I'm not in Vale all the time. 

WinterS: You were for me.

Winter froze as she realized what she typed out and immediately went through five different shades of red, at least . Why would I say something like that? Winter, you stupid dolt!

Scott : I'm happy you think that highly of me, but you don't give yourself enough credit, Winter. You're tough and stubborn, and that makes you a cut above the rest.

Scott: I have to go now. Seems like Trivia's lesson is ending. Talk to you ASAP. 

WinterS: I look forward to it.

Winter turned off her scroll, walked to her room, ignored the comments from some of the staff about how red she looked, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it until her voice was hoarse.

—Vale: Vanille Estate—

Scott had just enough time to pack his scroll away and pretend he'd been reading a book when Trivia burst into the room with a wild smile and standing tall, a far cry from the skittish and likely depressed girl he met the day prior. He even took notice that she wasn't wearing her contacts. Good. Somehow, I earned enough trust in one day for her to feel comfortable with me . However, taking a metaphorical bullet for her the previous night probably helped. And here I am, playing white knight as a fucking toddler. What’s next, cats and dogs living together?

“Hey, Trivia. Lessons over?”

The girl nodded so hard he worried that she'd knock her head off. She quickly grabbed a chair, notepad, and pencil that Scott had lent her and scribbled away. She kept moving away from Scott whenever he tried to see what she was writing, even if she'd show him what she was thinking at the end anyway. It was interesting to see how she wrote down her thoughts. As chaotic, sarcastic, flirty, and brusque as she acted in the show—the last one mostly after Roman’s death the first time around—Trivia was meticulous when it came to writing. Scott dared to admit that she had nicer handwriting than he did—and wasn’t that embarrassing for him to admit, with all the years of applied practice and a few months of retraining he had. The girl’s letters looked like they came off a printing press! No spelling mistakes, no wonky letter sizing, and spectacular grammar!

Though I guess it makes sense if this is one of the few ways she can communicate normally. Unlike a normal person who could repeat themselves when they spoke, Trivia would have to recopy whatever she wrote if a word was misspelled or misplaced. And that takes time.

Eventually, the girl held the notepad in front of her, examining it as she bobbed her head back and forth with a smile before turning it around and handing it to him.

The lessons were fine. Miss Aurelia is a nice lady, but she keeps making me learn boring things. I don’t care about how Vale was made hundreds of years ago. It’s ancient history! I don’t want to learn maths because that’s just boring and infuriating. I want to dance and play, but Mommy and Daddy get upset at me when I do any of that. 

Scott looked up from the notepad and saw the girl watching him expectantly with a smile. “I’ll agree with you that maths aren’t…my best subject.” He shuddered when he remembered all his attempts to learn coding over the past year or the two times he had to retake calculus in University. “But history can be really fun once you start to piece things together and see how it all relates to now.”

Trivia tilted her head and made a motion with her hands—one of the few words that she’d learned of sign language from the previous night, where they talked (as best they could) from three in the morning all the way until dawn. Why?

“Well, think of it like this,” Scott said, handing her back the notepad and sitting on his knees facing her. “What type of dance do you enjoy doing?”

She scribbled some more on the pad and handed it back to him.

Ballet. I like other dances, too, but Daddy says some are for the stupid people.

Scott blinked. “You mean like, disco, breakdancing, and the like?”

She nodded before adding another one to the list. 

There’s this one dance where the ladies have big flowing dresses that swish and swish back and forth, and they click these wooden things in their hands to the music. I like that one a lot, but I really like any dancing.

That kinda sounds like flamenco, but I doubt that’s its name here. “Because you can ‘talk’ without actually talking?” Scott hazarded a guess, to which Trivia nodded excitedly. “That makes sense. I’m…kinda in the opposite court. I’m too…ill to really do anything too physically demanding, not unless you want me wheezing on the floor.” He forced a laugh at that but stopped when he saw Trivia’s serious expression. “Something wrong?”

She snatched the pad back before quickly shoving it back in his chest.

YOU HAVEN’T DANCED BEFORE!?!?!

Scott laughed nervously again. “N-no, I haven’t. I’ve always been more of a book guy and….” Well, I can’t say no one offered to teach me. I’m sure Weiss or Winter would’ve, but we lacked the time.

He was sure most boys his age would’ve paled and whined about dancing; in fact, Scott was one such boy before. He recalled a time when his mother forced him to take dance lessons when he was nine or ten, and how he refused to talk to her after coming home from them. Gods, I was a brat back then. But that was years ago. He was different now, reading complex science, engineering, and coding books—ugh, coding—now more than actual stories like he did in the past. When was the last time he actually read fiction? He couldn’t remember. 

“A-anyway, what I was trying to say was, history can help you learn how dance changed over time depending on cultural drift and evolution—and I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” Scott asked when Trivia’s eyes were spinning and her head bobbed listlessly back and forth. He sighed. “Okay, I’ll table that topic for now, but I did want to ask about something else.”

That got her attention as Trivia sat up and tilted her head in a questioning manner. “Last night, there was another girl you were playing with. Who was that?”

Trivia went deathly still, and Scott knew he stepped on a landmine. He held his hands up in surrender. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I was just curious.”

She slowly grabbed the notepad and began writing.

Promise you won’t tell anyone?

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said as he made the motion on his chest. Trivia nodded, looking a little more relieved but still nervous.

Her name’s Neo. Mommy says she’s an imaginary friend, but I don’t think so. I told you she says I have an overactive imagination, so she probably thinks it’s that. They don’t like Neo. They say she’s a bad friend for making me get in trouble.

Scott nodded thoughtfully. So, does that make Neo a manifested aspect of her Semblance, a fractured personality from Dissociative Identity Disorder, or a combination of the two? Regardless of the reason, he had to tread lightly around it. Insult Neo, and Trivia could become defensive, but if Neo is getting her in trouble all the time, well, that means she’s under more undue stress. And closer to falling down a dark path.

Scott smiled gently as he spoke. “But you have fun with Neo, right?” Trivia nodded. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Kids do stupid things all the time and don’t realize how bad they can be before it happens.” Scott chuckled and cringed as he remembered the time he and his brother on Earth dug up a boulder on a camping trip and decided to drop it to see how big of a dent it would make in the dirt. The problem was that Scott’s old self didn’t move his foot out of the way and had a nasty trip to the emergency room with two broken toes. Even I was a stupid kid at one point. “Point is, friends evolve and change over time. Does she tell you to do bad things?”

Trivia tilted her head and frowned. She shrugged.

Okay, not super helpful. Scott tapped his chin as he thought of what to say. “I…guess I have one, too,” he said slowly, and Trivia leaned forward in interest. “I wouldn’t call him my friend, though. His name is Harvey and he’s…well, quite frankly an ass—jerk. A real piece of work,” he nodded firmly. Can’t believe I’m using my trauma-induced hallucination to relate to Trivia and Neo, but that’s all I’ve got. “We don’t play. He’s more interested in making my day worse whenever he shows up.”

Trivia looked concerned and signed “why?” for him.

“I don’t know. Point is, when he tells me to do something, I don’t listen because I know it’ll be bad.” He smiled weakly at the girl. “You’re smart, Trivia. I know you are. But I don’t want you to get into more trouble just because Neo told you to do something.” He sighed. “I can already tell your parents suck, no need to give them more ammo for it.”

When the girl looked upset, Scott winced. I’m really not doing this too well. She’s still young and is all cooped up, so of course, she’ll lash out every now and then. Scott was actually starting to wonder how Trivia ended up nearly as stable as she was. Even with her seemingly codependent relationship with Roman, she still held her own.

“I’m…not really good at this, sorry,” he sighed as he rubbed his temples. “Miltia tells me I talk too much sometimes, especially for how old I am.” He laughed harshly. “Spending too much in my own head and agonizing on the right thing to say.”

He felt a slight bump on his should and looked up to see Trivia poking him with a curious expression. She put the notepad face down on the table and got to her feet, waving him over. Scott shrugged and got to his feet. He knew he was still growing, but it felt weird that he was shorter than the girl who would be canonically the shortest person on either the heroes’ or villains’ side, and Trivia was still short! Miltia was leagues taller than her, maybe by twenty-five centimeters, and Winter was already taller than Trivia despite being two years younger. Hopefully, I’ll get some height in me later. Hell, I can’t even remember a guy shorter than the women of RWBY.

Scott returned his attention to the girl in front of him, who held her arms up and guided his hands to rest on her shoulders. Barely. “Are you going to teach me how to dance?” She smiled and nodded once. “Then, forgive me if I step on your toes, I’m not good at this.” She laughed silently before watching him expectantly with an arched eyebrow. Scott blinked before he smiled weakly. “You want me to give a beat?” She nodded. “Okay, three-four time or four-four?”

Trivia put a hand to her chin before she held up one finger.

“Three-four it is.” He took a deep breath. “Here we go. One, two, three.”

Trivia stepped with the beat he repeated, guiding him in a simple waltz, though it had some more spins and flair to it than Scott thought was necessary for such a dance routine, but he took it in stride. They swayed and twirled and even ended with a dip, though Trivia was the one dipping Scott at the end. The dance was…fun. Surprisingly so, and Scott didn’t even feel out of breath but more relaxed. Trivia, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement, a Cheshire grin on her face.

“You don’t get to practice this with a lot of people, do you?” Scott asked her after she pulled him up from the dip. Probably going to be the only time she’d be able to dip someone with how tall she’ll be later.

Trivia shook her head and skipped to the table to grab the notepad.

Mommy and Daddy don’t care for it. Neo’s the only one who does.

Aaaand, she had to hit him in the heart with that one . Scott sighed. “Then, how about this? We teach each other.” She tilted her head for him to continue. “I’m good with book stuff,” he explained, gesturing to his open suitcase with five textbooks—including a history textbook Winter provided him in Atlas, “and I enjoy that kind of thing, where you don’t.” She pouted but nodded her agreement. “But, I know nothing about dancing, whereas you know a great deal more.” Her eyes widened. “So, how about I help you with your studies and, in turn, you can teach me how to dance?”

Trivia’s eyes sparkled, then she froze, then frowned. She grabbed the notepad.

What about when you’re in Mistral?

Indeed. “You have a scroll, right?” She nodded. “I have one I keep hidden from my parents. They can be just as awful as yours.” Trivia scowled, but nodded again. “So, we can try and do video calls where you show me how to do something and correct me when I’m messing up.” He shrugged. “It’s not a perfect solution—”

She suddenly grabbed him and squeezed, spinning the two around before putting him down again. Trivia nodded her head frantically.

Scott chuckled and couldn’t—nor tried to—stop the smile coming to his face. “Then we have our terms.”

Trivia tilted her head in thought, then held her finger up to stop him and wrote something on the notepad.

I’ll teach you how to do hair and makeup, too!

Scott cringed, remembering the times he had to brave similar activities with his cousins. “Can I ask why?”

I always wanted a little brother to do this with. Can you?

He really didn’t want to, but at the same time, Scott wasn’t cruel. Perhaps learning such things could be helpful down the road with Weiss and Miltia, too. It wasn’t like he was in any position to train with a weapon, and his hands were itching to do something new. “Fine,” he sighed, “but in turn, I want you to do something as well.”

What is it?

Scott smiled. “Have you ever considered becoming a huntress?”

—Mistral: Haven Academy—

Roman lay in a crumpled heap on the floor of Training Room #7, trying his best not to throw up his lunch. Qrow had warned him not to eat before a spar, but that bastard didn’t need to use it as an opportunity to teach him why that was a bad idea! “And he called it fucking ‘tough love,’” he moaned. 

“‘Cause it is,” Qrow said. Great, he was fucking listening! “Maybe next time, you'll listen to my advice instead of snarking back. I am a part time teacher at Signal Academy back in Vale, and I’ve been called the Wretch Bitch for a reason.”

“Bloody fuckwad,” Roman cursed as he pulled himself to his feet. 

They hadn’t had anything to do for the last two weeks, and Qrow had been doing everything he could to make this free time a living hell for him, all the while he was giving updates to the Boss about the situation. Honey Wine, Chameleon, hell, even Shoma said that the streets were quiet these last couple of weeks. Roman guessed that the sudden appearance of foreign huntsmen being sent to deal with this problem is making the gangs act squeaky clean, not to draw trouble. Even Parrot hadn’t been up to trouble that entire time. 

“The fuck is the point of you throwing me around like this?”

Qrow finished drinking from a bottle of water and glanced at him. “Need to know you can handle yourself out there. We might not be fighting just gangsters. Grimm and even rogue huntsmen could be involved.”

Roman scoffed. “Didn’t peg you as a guy who cared about my fucking safety.”

Qrow sighed, tossed another cold water bottle at Roman, who caught and happily started drinking it, and sat on a bench. “‘Cause I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are. You’ve got some people you’re trying to protect, and I respect that.”

“And here I thought you were just trying to get back at me for all the jokes.”

Qrow laughed. “Won’t lie, that was part of it.”

The two were quiet for a while as they cooled off from the spar, but mostly for Roman to get the taste of vomit, beer, and eggs out of his mouth. Was it a bad idea to drink beer in the morning? Probably, but he needed it to calm his nerves, and alcohol was easier to hide than cigar smoke.

“It wasn’t fair,” Qrow said after a bit.

“What? You kicking my ass?”

The huntsman rolled his eyes. “Not that. That was meant to be unfair,” he laughed. “Nah. You not getting into Beacon.” Roman froze when he said that. “I’m serious. I know you haven’t trained much since you tried getting in, but you’re around the same level as Beacon initiates.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like it…”

“If you think you’d be able to beat a huntsman with loads more experience, you’re huffing some WILD shit,” Qrow chuckled. “I’m being hard on ya, but that’s all.”

Roman felt his hand tighten around the bottle he held. “Doesn’t mean shit anymore. I never got in, remember? Never going to since my record’s all tainted.”

“Which is why I said it’s unfair,” Qrow mumbled.

Roman narrowed his eyes at the man as anger threatened to boil over.

“Point is, it was bullshit they didn’t let you in since I got in,” Qrow said. He glared at a wall as he cracked his knuckles and clicked his rings together. 

“Oh, come the fuck on, like I’d believe that—”

“I was born in a bandit tribe,” he said coldly, his hand slowly reaching for his flask, but he held back. He slid his eyes over to Roman’s. “Killed my first person when I was twelve, when another kid tried to steal my sister and my food during the winter months. Broke the guy’s leg and let him freeze to death out in the cold while Raven and I huddled together in a makeshift shelter.” He waited for Roman to say anything, but…how the fuck was he supposed to react to that? “Rae and I went on raids after that. Killed militia men, but at least we never targeted defenseless women and children, even if Romanov, the, uh, chief at the time, would’ve preferred to have more ‘play things.’”

“Then, how…”

“How did Raven and I get into Beacon?” Qrow took a deep breath. “Ran into a town later that had a huntress beat us off.” He smiled at that. “Made the tribe realize we needed to fight huntsman and huntresses, and Raven and I were about seventeen…”

“So, you went.” Roman ground his teeth. “And you hid your past and got in. Your point?”

“Nope.”

“What?”

Qrow shrugged. “That huntress was a friend of the current headmaster. She recognized us instantly, blew our cover, but Ozpin thought he could get us out of the tribe’s mentality.” He laughed again. “And man, did that huntress leave an impression. She was our old Combat Instructor.” He smiled, staring at the ceiling. “That old hag’s probably retiring soon.”

Roman shook with rage and white-knuckled his cane. “Then why?”

“I don’t know.” The man sounded so…defeated. “Why did I get offered a chance to make something better for myself when you got shafted? Maybe I could wave it off with some bullshit ‘it was your destiny’ line, but we’re cynical bastards. We don’t need nor want that.” He sighed. “Point is, maybe I can be some chance for you to get your head out of Spider’s ass.”

Roman took a breath to steady himself. “No.”

“What?”

“I know what I’ve gotten myself into, and it’s a shit deal,” he nodded. “But Red and the kid? If I up and disappear, no one’s gonna help them.”

“We could–”

“NO!” Roman slammed his hand on the bench and jumped to his feet. “You can’t! You’re just a huntsman in another fucking country, and if those fuckers catch wind that people are on their tail, the kid’s gonna fucking die!” Roman took several harsh breaths. “Just…leave it.”

Qrow steadied his eyes on him and let out his breath. “Fine. Just don’t get in over your head. I do have allies who can help you, Red, and the kid get out if need be.”

Roman stayed quiet. “I’ll think about—”

Taiyang burst into the room, out of breath. “There’s–there’s been an attack!” 

“What!?” Roman and Qrow were already moving. “Where?”

“They…they attacked Citadel,” Tai said, his face pale. “Citadel Academy.”

Chapter Text

—Mistal: Citadel Academy—

Roman panted hard as he tried to keep pace with the other huntsmen and huntresses. Qrow and Tai were beside him, but apparently, the problem at Citadel was so bad that several of the older teams and Lionheart himself were sprinting to the academy. It made sense, Citadel was a combat school for kids between twelve and sixteen! Who the fuck would mess with kids like that!? Roman felt his scroll ring, and he grabbed it.

“ Roman !” Chameleon yelled, forcing the man to pull away from it. “ Boss knows what happened. Spiders and Dragons inbound to keep the civilians out of the way! ”

“Why the fuck would you guys even do that?”

“ Seriously!? Even the mafia needs huntsmen and huntresses alive, and we keep kids out of the line of fire! ” Chameleon sounded furious. “ Boss and Jade Dragon put out a ten million lien bounty on the asshole who did this. ”

Fuck . “Thanks for the heads up, Colours.” Roman clicked it off and caught up to Tai, Qrow, and Lionheart. “Mafia’s keeping people away from the school, stoppin’ people from panicking so you can deal with whatever this is!”

“How fucking generous of them!” Qrow yelled. “Leo! What’re we walking into?”

“I don’t know!” the headmaster yelled so loudly that all students and active huntsmen could hear him. “Unmarked Skyships descended on the school and unloaded containers and Black Ops personnel! Students! You have permission to engage, but only as a last resort! Prioritize getting the children out! Everyone else! Target all hostiles! Miss Altham! Mister Vaccaro! With me!” As everyone ran off to root out the hostiles, Ivy and Farrow—still in their uniforms—joined up with Roman and Lionheart. “Right, Roman, you’re joining up with them.”

“The fuck? Why? Shouldn’t it be better if I stick with Tai and Qrow? I actually know how they fight, and I’m not a student!”

“You also get smacked around the arena against me!” Qrow called back as he and Tai ran off. “Can’t have you dying yet, so stick with those two and work on evacs while we hunt these bastards down!”

Before Roman could argue more, a massive multi-elemental explosion ripped through the air and nearly knocked him and several other students off their feet. It looked like it came from what used to be a warehouse at the far end of the school.

“They hit the Dust supply!” Ivy screamed as she jumped up next to Roman, a pair of bladed yo-yos in her hands, glowing yellow, red, and blue. “Farrow! Roman! With me!” And she was off running.

Farrow was quick behind her, lugging a massive battleaxe and a pair of gauntlets with purple and brown crystals on them. Roman chanced after, checking his cane to make sure it was loaded. “Where’s the rest of your team!?”

“In Vale!” Farrow yelled. “Lali’s mom is in hospice, and Slate went with her since they’re dating!” His axe started whirring and glowing cyan.

Roman cursed under his breath as he sprinted, hearing screaming children and his eyes stinging from the caustic smoke caused by the rampant dust reaction. He heard a furious scream as Ivy dove forward, her Yo-Yos spitting fire, lightning, and ice in all directions as she spun them wildly. The girl launched one of them at something behind a wall, and she dragged out a giant, ten-meter-tall black robot with a green and white Grimm mask on the chest, glaring at the girl with one singular green eye. The damn thing had shoulder-mounted rockets and its back and right arm were covered in glowing green spikes!

The FUCK did I walk into!?

“GRIMM!” Ivy screamed as she cocked back her fist and slammed it into the Grimm-Bot’s arm, blasting off chunks of metal and spraying black and green ooze across the ground and wall. “Why is it green!?”

“Look out!” Roman yelled as he fired Melodic Cudgel’s hook at the girl and yanked her back before a wave of those green crystals erupted from the concrete. The spikes then exploded into a green mist that stung Roman’s eyes more.

“Thanks for the save!” Ivy grinned. “Any idea what we’re fighting?”

Farrow transformed his battleaxe into a shoulder-mounted rifle with a coil around the barrel. “Geist. Possession type. Even if you break the body parts, it’ll–”

The Grimm shrieked and jammed the black and green mass into the ground, tearing out a huge amalgamation of concrete and metal pipes as those same green spikes sprouted from the new arm.

“Do that…” Farrow sighed.

“That bitch!” Ivy growled. “Right, I’ll keep it still and keep smashing parts. Farrow! You take out—”

The Geist-Bot aimed the rocket salvos at the three and unleashed four projectiles that screamed across the battlefield. Roman dove out of the way, but Ivy and Farrow stood strong as the latter activated his gauntlet and smashed the ground. A wall of stone burst out of the concrete and tanked the blast before crumbling into pieces.

“RUDE! Let me finish explaining here!” Ivy yelled at the hunking giant like it was an annoyance, meanwhile, Roman was doing his best not to shit himself! “Farrow! Take out it’s armaments and those fucking cameras! Roman!”

“The fuck you want me to do!?” he yelled back.

She grinned as she flopped her long braid off her shoulder. “You’ve got a hook! You’re dragging the Geist out of the robot, and Farrow will vaporize the bastard!” 

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!?” he screamed. “I’m not a bloody huntsman!”

“Nope! You’re an honorary huntsman and member of Team Quicksilver!” she laughed. “Get ready to fight…NOW!”

Farrow and Ivy were quick on their feet, the girl charging forward as she hooked her Yo-Yos around the remaining metal arm while Farrow dashed to the side and fired a heavy slug at the shoulder-mounted armaments. Roman gritted his teeth and flashed between pieces of cover.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck—”

A wave of green spikes erupted from the earth, forcing him to skid to a halt.

“FUCK!” He jumped back just before the spikes exploded, showering dirt and ash on Roman. “NOT THE JACKET, ASSHOLE!” Roman aimed his cane at the behemoth and launched three Burn-Dust flares at the mech’s rocket salvo, causing a chain reaction of explosions as it detonated the remaining rockets in their tubes and several of the green crystals. The Grimm bellowed in agony as the mech stumbled around. “TAKE IT UP WITH MY LAWYER, JACKASS!”

“Roman! Duck!”

The thief hit the deck as quickly as he could, and the concrete arm swung over him. Ivy was whipped around, and her weapons were entangled around it. The girl cried out as she slammed into the ground, her aura flashing a lime color, then crashing into Roman as the two were launched through a wall. 

“Fuck!” Roman coughed.

Ivy coughed as she fanned away the dust and crumbled concrete. “I told you to duck!”

“I did fucking duck!” Roman yelled as he shoved her off and reloaded his weapon. “You lost your Yo-Yos, got anything—”

She reached into a small box on her back and withdrew two more with an award-winning smile. “I’ve got eight of these. I’m good to keep going!” She jumped to her feet and dashed off.

“How are you so excited!?” Roman jumped out of the crater and saw Farrow clashing with the remaining metal arm with his massive battleaxe. Ivy was diving for the legs of the beast, wrapping them up in the wire of her weapons like a bola. Roman gritted his teeth again and aimed for the shoulder joint of the mech’s arm, firing four shots in a row at the mech and severing the arm. “Aim for the joints!”

The Geist screamed again and manifested its other arm. It tried to plunge its arm into the ground, but Roman quickly flipped his cane and fired the hook at it. At the same time, Ivy flipped over the concrete bludgeon and threw one of her Yo-Yos at it. Roman and Ivy pulled the Geist’s arm taut.

“Farrow! Now!” Ivy yelled. 

Farrow roared and cleaved his axe through the Geist’s arm. The mech stumbled and fell back, screaming in pain. Roman clicked his cane, reeled back the hook, and charged forward. “FUCK YOU STUPID BITCH!” He jumped on the robot and snagged the mask on the chest with his cane. “Farrow! Heads up!” Roman planted his feet hard on the metal and yanked as hard as he could, pouring Aura into his muscles. The Grimm squirmed and screamed as it was ripped out of the body it possessed and flung high into the air. 

Roman saw Farrow’s axe transform into its gun form. A single shot tore through the Geist’s mask as it collapsed to the ground before disintegrating into a black mist.

“Thank fuck,” Roman said, collapsing to one knee as pain shot through his leg. That hit I took must’ve fractured my leg. Fuck, and this is what I wanted to do before becoming a thief!?

“That could’ve gone a hell of a lot better!” Ivy yelled as she ran up to Roman. “How are you doing, hotstuff?”

“Might have a fuckin’ broken leg, but I’ll manage,” he hissed between shut teeth as he propped himself up on his cane. “You wouldn’t happen to have a healing semblance, would ya?”

Ivy laughed as she slapped him on the back. “Wish I did, Torch. Can you still fight?”

“I’ll have to.” 

Farrow trotted over. “We’ve still got hostiles in the school, and who knows how many more of those mutant Grimm are out there.”

“Fucking great! Not only are we dealing with organized hitmen, but also jolly green Grimm! What a fuckin’ day to be alive!” Roman reloaded Melodic Cudgel as he narrowed his eyes on the school. “Let’s get going.”

The three ran—hobbled in Roman’s case—to the west main building, belching smoke and fire from the north-east corner. Ivy ran with her scroll up to her ear. “Update from Lionheart! Armored targets inside the building are holding kids hostage! We’ve got three injured Citadel teachers!”

Roman’s jaw tightened as fear drove a spike in his heart. “How many kids?”

Ivy’s red eyes sparked with igneous fury. “Sixty are still inside.”

Farrow transformed his weapon back into its axe mode. “And what did Lionheart tell us to do?”

Ivy stopped in her tracks and faced them. “If they try to fight, we’ve been given the go-ahead to kill.”

Roman had to pick his jaw off the floor. “You can’t be fuckin’ serious…”

An explosion shook the building as more yellow lightning sparked in the sky.

Ivy tutted with her tongue. “Hurry! Now!”

Farrow ran off after her, but Roman found himself frozen in his tracks. What the fuck are you doing, huh? You’re not a hero, Roman! You’re a failure! A loser . Just do what you’ve always done an run away! “But they need help.” Who cares? What was it you said? ‘The world spins and people treat each other like shit?’ “Shut. The fuck. Up.” You’re a street rat. You don’t need to help them at all! What have these assholes done for you?  

Roman couldn’t even hear the roaring of the fires around him, nor the gunshots and sounds of combat. All he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears. “Maybe I should give up…”

“So you’d do nothing!?”

A flash of red crossed Roman’s vision, just the color and nothing else. Fuck. How could I look the kid or Red in the eyes if I didn’t help these kids out? “Guess my reputation is just gonna be shit from now on. Fuck me!” 

Roman ran forward, winced each time his left leg hit the ground, his teeth grinding to distract him from the pain.

“I don’t think you’re a bad guy. You’ve got people you’re trying to protect, and I respect that.”

“And those weird fucks are doing the same thing! FUCK YOU, QROW!”

Roman charged into the burning building, his lungs filling with smoke that, for once, didn’t contain nicotine, and he coughed out the hot, tainted air. “Ives! Farrow! Where the fuck are you two!?” He kept an ear out for the two hunters, but heard something else.

“Help! In here!”

The kids. Roman tore through empty rooms. “Keep yelling!”

“Here!”

“Over here!”

“Help us!”

Three!? Fuck me! He came to a closed classroom with a sliding door and burning debris in front of it. “Stand fucking back from the door! Now!” He heard the three kids yelp, and one yell they were clear as he loaded an ice dust shot and fired it at the debris. The fire immediately frosted over in a burst of steam, and Roman wasted no time using his cane to yank the still-smoldering and freezer-burned wood and metal out of the way. He tried to open the door, but it just fell apart in his hands, showing him the three children on the other side. 

Two girls and one boy, probably not older than thirteen, the latter clearly putting on a brave face for the other two. Brave kid. “Right! You three, follow me! I’m gettin’ ya the fuck outta here, eh?” 

The children scrambled over broken tables, chairs, and desks to get to him, when Roman saw a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. “DOWN!” Roman’s body moved without him thinking, using the hook to yank up a piece of broken concrete as several bullets ricocheted off. The three kids screamed as they held their heads down, and Roman’s blood surged with rage. 

“Who the fuck shoots at kids!?” he yelled after the bullets stopped flying. He turned to the children. “Stay in cover. I’ll deal with these assholes, got it?” He got hesitant nods and whimpers, but what else could he fucking say? Gotta make this fast.

Roman unhooked his cane and flipped it to its gun mode, and fired two shots at the shooters. He saw three black and silver masses duck behind chunks of concrete and rebar from the floor above.. Now! He ran forward, continuing to fire at the armored targets, and jumped over the cover they took, hooking one of the attackers by his neck and throwing him into the second one. The two figures cried out in pain as they crashed, but Roman didn’t let up. He surged for the last one and cracked him on the side of his head, hooking him by the back of his neck and yanked the fucker’s face down into Roman’s good knee. 

The attacker’s aura flashed yellow before he collapsed in a broken heap when Roman turned back to the other two, who were trying to stand back up, when Roman fired an Ice Dust flare at their guns, coating them in frost. Roman roared as he ran forward and cracked Melodic Cudgel over and over, making music to Roman’s ears. When the two attackers finally stopped moving once their Auras shattered in red and blue, Roman finally came back to his senses.

“Kids! We gotta get outta here, now—”

One of the armored personnel gurgled something behind his helmet. “Glory to evolution!” Roman heard a click and saw the man holding a grenade in his hands.

“Fuck–” 

The explosion sent Roman flying backwards into a broken wall, his Aura shattering on the impact. He screamed as he felt something pierce his left shoulder. He turned to see a thirty-centimeter piece of rebar sticking out. “FUCK! GODS!” He bit back his anger. “Kids! Are you alright!?”

He heard the shuffling of feet and debris and saw them run up to him, all speaking at once, and without Roman being able to tell what they said. “Hey! HEY! Stop! You know the layout of your school, eh?” He watched them nod. “Gonna need you all to make a break for it outta this hellhole.”

“But what about you?” the boy asked.

“I’ll be fine, got it?” Roman tried to smile, but even he could feel the blood pooling in his mouth. “Get outta here first! Now!”

He watched as the kids all scrambled off, and Roman felt both relief and fury. “Gods. Stuck my neck out for someone again, and this time I’m gonna be actually burned alive!” He looked up at the burning ceiling. “If there are any gods out there listening, I’m just gonna say this. FUCK ALL OF YOU!”

Roman got no response, ‘cause of course he wouldn’t. All his life, he’d been given the worst fucking luck. Well, that’s not exactly true. He smiled as he thought of the times he’d spent in the last few months. Red was definitely a highlight, and so was the kid with his quick comebacks. The fact that Qrow even bothered to train with him and Ivy, and Farrow, while annoying, he could say they weren’t the worst people he’d met. Same with Shoma, Colours, and Honey. And now I’m gonna die. Funny, I finally get to a point where I’m starting to enjoy life, and it just ends. Must’ve rolled a snake eyes.

“TORCH!” 

Roman barely had enough strength to keep his eyes open as he saw an obnoxious green running towards him. “Hey, Ives! Just hangin’ around, y’know?”

“Fuck!” she yelled way too close for Roman’s comfort. “I’m getting you outta here.”

“My hero,” Roman groaned as she wrapped her Yo-Yo string around the rebar in his back. She tugged on it with all her strength and severed the metal, causing Roman to slump forward. The girl, despite being twenty centimeters shorter than Roman, hoisted him into a fireman’s carry and ignored his groans as the metal dug into his shoulder. She dashed through the burning wreckage and even punched through a wall in her way as smoky sunlight greeted the two of them.

Ivy kept running and dragged him to the several ambulances that were available. Even then, Roman didn’t think it was going to be worth it, not with all the hospitals in such disarray.

“Shit!” Roman tilted his head back and saw Qrow and Tai running up. “The hell happened to you?”

Roman laughed, but it came out strained and bloody. “Be a hero, they said. Tanked a grenade to the face for some kids. You’re fucking welcome.”

Qrow looked furious, but refused to look Roman in the eyes. “Atlas and Argus are sending us medical supplies. EMTs will patch you up as best they can, so hold out ‘till Jimmy Irondick gets here.”

Roman snorted and slumped back. “Will do boss…will do…”

—Vale: Spider Safe House—

Miltia sat in front of a TV with her scroll in her hands, her entire body tense as she kept nervously texting while the news report kept blabbering on. Scott had texted her an hour ago to turn on the TV and said that Winter was the one who told him about the catastrophe in Mistral. Apparently, he was watching it with Trivia and Winter was texting him at the same time.

Meanwhile, Melanie had retreated to her designated room and left Miltia on her own with just a pair of silent guards at the door. She hadn’t gotten any response from Mom or Roman about what the fuck was happening on their side. Just dead silence.

MM: have your parents told you anything else

UG: Nothing. W and T haven’t heard anything more, but WS said that the Atlas Military is deploying relief efforts. Even the SDC is moving in with backup medical tech.

Miltia sighed and nodded to herself. Scott still refuses to change his name in her contacts for their safety, but he also only refers to his friends with the first letter in their first names for their safety as well. She would’ve called him out for being paranoid, but he had cause for it.

MM: im fucking terrified

UG : I know, but you need to calm your mind. People are going to be spewing negativity across the world right now, and that brings Grimm. 

MM: this is just as bad as mountain glenn

UG: Were you alive when that happened? 

MM: yea but I was like your age

MM: barely remember it

All she remembered about the incident was seeing Mom scared for the first time in Miltia’s life. It was like the world was crashing down around them right before their eyes, and now it was happening again in their own backyard.

UG: At least we’re safe. I hate feeling so useless, but there’s not much we can do.

MM : yea

Miltia dragged her knees into her chest, digging her nails into her skin. So many people were hurt. So much blood spilled for seemingly no reason. And the mafia isn’t much different. We just do it for money.  

It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

—Vale: Vanille Estate—

Scott sat on Trivia’s bed with her huddled up beside him as he squinted past the onslaught of pink paint and watched the TV. He felt like the girl was warming up to him more after he agreed to learn how to dance with her—and that was four days ago—but this tragedy really hammered home how utterly alone Trivia was. While he was constantly texting back and forth with Miltia and Winter, getting updates both on the Atlas and SDC side of things and what scant information Miltia was getting from the mafia, Trivia didn’t even pull out her scroll to text anyone. She literally had no one else to talk to and vent her fears and anxieties.

This was what brought them to the present situation: Trivia Vanille, a potential future serial killer—not if Scott had anything to say about it—clutching to his arm in tears and writing on a notepad questions like “Is the world going to end?”, “Are we going to die?”, and “Is Vale next?” It reminded Scott so much of news reports of manmade disasters back on Earth, with people panicking about the Red Scare or 9/11 in America or the Blitz in England during WWII, waiting with bated breath for the second shoe to drop. Of course, he wasn’t alive for any of those events, but the impact of those times sent ripples into the future, where people hated others even more for being different.

Scott shook his head to get out of those bad memories. I need to stay calm as well. Miltia is worried about Roman and her Mom, and Trivia is so terrified that she dragged me in here still in her nightgown. 

He gritted his teeth at that. Neither his nor Trivia’s parents were in the house, leaving to go on a “business” venture after the attack happened. Yet another failure of these stupid parents, both of them.

Scott felt Trivia clutch his arm tighter and rest her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Triv. Winter said the Atlas military and the SDC are going in with relief efforts, and I think Vale will do the same as well.” Probably, since Ozma won’t let the academies fall without a massive fight.

She shuffled next to him and wrote on her notepad, “ Why would anyone do this?”

Scott sighed as he racked his brain for an explanation for her. He knew the real reason, that being the whole thing stank of Salem’s interference, but he couldn’t exactly tell her that because…why would she believe him? Besides, this sort of event never came up in the show. He couldn’t even remember a Citadel Academy… I guess I know the reason why now. Unless I changed something unknowingly.

“Some people…are bitter or just angry at the world,” he said slowly. “People can fight for many reasons, both good and bad.” He turned to face her. “An assassin is trained to kill people for money, sometimes glory, but that’s not viewed as a good thing, right?” She nodded adamantly, much to Scott’s relief. “But a huntress also learns to fight, and she fights to protect people from Grimm and things that go bump in the night.” Again, she nodded. “This…I don’t know why they attacked, but it’s to make people afraid. Make you afraid.”

She signed “Why?” at him. 

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. People can do awful things for almost no reason. We probably won’t know unless the Mistrali Police or Atlas Military dig up a manifesto or something…” She tilted her head in confusion. “It’s a book or list for the attackers’ motives, almost never being good. Violence isn’t always the right answer,” he explained, “but some people think it’s the only answer.”

Trivia signed, “That doesn’t make any sense,” and Scott sighed tiredly. “Yeah, it doesn’t. I…can’t really explain it since I don’t agree with them, Triv.” She nodded but looked a little happier with the nickname. “Hunters help people, so attacking a school for them…it’s beyond evil.” The irony was not lost on him that he was talking to someone who caused Beacon to fall in another time.

Trivia won’t be like that. I know it.

Scott lifted his eyes back to the screen and tried to pay attention to Lisa Lavender—surprising as it was that she was a news anchor that long ago—continuing to explain the events.

“The events of today are as shocking and alarming as anyone could expect an attack of this scale to be. Mistral reports have said this was an orchestrated attack by an unknown group, the only thing anyone has mentioned about this shadow cabal is the final words each captured terrorist says before killing themselves,” she said with a cold and even tone, but Scott could see the worry in her eyes. “‘Glory to Evolution.’ What this means is unknown at the time, but—Wait.” She put her hand to her ear, likely listening to more information. “I’m getting a new report that Headmaster Leonardo Lionheart and several upper-year teams from Haven Academy have staunchly put down the assault alongside several hunters in the area.”

She waited with her hair to her ear. “ All the students are accounted for! I repeat, there were no children lost in the battle, but several remain in critical condition. We are now going live to an onsite press release. ”

Scott let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the screen swapped to Headmaster Lionheart in front of half a dozen microphones. He certainly looked younger and vibrant, but also tired and covered in soot, and his clothes were disheveled and singed. Did he go into the attack himself? Man, what the hell made Leo into such a coward when RWBY and JNPR encountered him?

“ We still do not know who is responsible for this attack, but we have suspicions that this travesty ,” he said, his voice full of anger and his eyes blazing, “was orchestrated by the very same people who have been robbing our hospitals dry. Mistral has placed the investigation under my supervision from now on, and I plan on working with our allies in Atlas and Vale to uncover whoever made this attack before they strike again. ”

The reporters all talked at once until Lionheart quieted them and pointed at one. “There are eyewitness accounts that say Grimm were involved in the attack. Can you elaborate?”

“There were, but the Grimm were not under the control of the men and women who attacked. They were all deployed in separate areas to slow down our response, but they obviously miscalculated the quality of Haven’s students and even some of our citizens!”

Scott grinned. Well, he’s posturing and politicking to calm people down. He’s good at it .

“ Can you explain what you mean by that?”

Lionheart grinned fiercely. “ Of course! A man jumped in to aid one of my teams: Ivy Altham and Farrow Vaccaro. They were stuck fighting a Geist when this brave lad jumped in to aid them, and, afterwards, rushed inside the burning compound and fought off attackers as he escorted three children out!”

“ And where is this man now?” a reporter asked.

“ Injured, very much so, but he’s being taken care of. From what I heard from the students he saved, he all but threw himself on a grenade to stop it from hurting them! The kid is a damn hero and a shining example of what Mistral is made of!”

“And who is this man?” another reporter asked.

Lionheart smiled. “Roman. Roman Torchwick .”

Scott’s brain fizzled, and he stopped paying attention. He’d done enough thinking for the day.

—Vale: Spider Hideout—

“ROMAN!?” Miltia screamed.

The two guards behind her glanced at each other in confusion as the girl started rambling about the man as they stepped outside and closed the door. It had been a long day.