Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"They burned the last of the dragon names into the stone of forgotten cities, thinking that would be enough."

They thought if they let the dust settle long enough, the fire wouldn't come back. That if they buried the bones deep, and salted the myths, and rewrote the songs, the world would forget what real power looked like.

But legends don't die.

They wait.

In the old corners.
In the blood.
In the bones of children born too close to something divine.

Remnant had forgotten the dragons.

It remembered the Grimm.
It remembered Salem.
It remembered war.

But it did not remember wrath.

Not until a child appeared in the skies above Vale.
Wreathed in fire.
Clawed.
Eyes like the heart of a volcano.

Her name was Natsumi Dragneel.

Born of ice and vampire blood, but remade by fire.
Adopted by one of Beacon's most powerful Huntresses. one of the most skilled mages
Trained in shadows.
Feared in whispers.

Some called her an accident.
Others, a prophecy.
But she was neither.

She was a reminder.

That fire could still walk.

That dragons were never truly gone.

That the bloodline of ingeel—the dragon of pride—still pulsed beneath the skin of the girl who liked jerky, hated eels, and could tear a mech in half when pissed off.

But fire alone does not save the world.

And the one thing Remnant never learned?

Fire always draws attention.

From the things that remember the end.
From the things that lived through it.
From the ones who were waiting for her to light the world again.

And some?

Want to see if she burns it down.

The mission was supposed to be simple.
Solo recon. In and out.
Track a strange heat signature in the southern forest. Report back. Nothing more.

But Beacon never told the truth about the forests.
Not about what waited in them.

Glynda B. Goodwitch was seventeen at the time.
Alone.
First-year.
Teamless—not by lack of skill, but by accident.
A scar still healing.
One she didn't talk about.

She walked beneath the blackened trees, her scroll out, tracking the heat trails that twisted through the air like serpents. At least… that's what she'd started doing. The signal had gone dead an hour ago. The wind howled through the branches like a wounded god.
And the temperature? Rising.

Something was burning nearby.

Then she saw it—a red glow in the distance.

Her body locked. Not from fear exactly… but from instinct.
The feeling that something ancient and wild was watching her.
Judging her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and moved forward.

The forest opened like a wound.
And in the center of it—ash, smoke, glass-fused dirt—

A smoldering crater.

Melted trees twisted outward like claw marks.
The heat still shimmered above the soil.

And in the very center, curled like a discarded ember—

A girl.

No older than eight.

Naked. Bloodied.
Hair a mess of crimson and soot-streaked pink.
Red irises glowing faintly under the rising moon.

A scarf, scaled like dragonhide, swayed in the breeze—moving as if it breathed on its own.

In her mouth?

A rabbit.

Half-eaten.

The child didn't speak. She didn't cry. She growled—a low, warning sound like a cornered wolf. Glynda froze. Her grip on her staff loosened. She slowly, gently lowered it. "It's okay," she said softly. Her voice cracked slightly—because she meant it. Because this child wasn't just scared. She was in pain. The kind Glynda still carried in her own chest.

The child said nothing.

But she didn't run.

That was something. And then Glynda saw the wound— A deep, wet gash across her side. Bleeding freely.

Not the rabbit's blood. Hers. Glynda's breath hitched. She took a slow step forward. Eyes soft. Voice gentler.

"You're hurt."

A beat.

"I can help."

The girl growled again. Quieter this time. "You'll lie. Humans lie." It hit Glynda like a blade in the ribs. "I'm not lying." The child bared her teeth. A strange fang curved over her lip—unlike anything Glynda had seen. Not vampire. Not faunus.

Something older.

"How can I trust you… human?"

Glynda hesitated. She had no great answer.
No speech. Only this:

She knelt.

Met the child's eyes—green to red. And held out her hand. she thought this was a dumb thing to do. hell what else could she do?

"My name is Glynda. I'm a student." The child trembled.
Her stomach growled. " crap" she thought

She didn't want to say yes.
Didn't want to need this stranger.

But her instincts said she could.

"Are you hungry?"

The girl hesitated.

Then nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

Glynda smiled.

"Well... lunch is almost here." Slowly, the girl crawled from the crater. Out of the hole she had made her home.

Out of the ashes.

And for the first time in what must've been weeks—

She felt safe.

this interaction changed the world forever.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a snack run.

Just a late-night craving for cookies and caffeine. Nothing more.

Ruby Rose, 15, hood up and scroll screen glowing, pushed open the door to the corner store. Headphones in. World tuned out. She beelined for the magazine rack near the register and practically squealed:

"Oooooh! S&M Scopes released the new RTX hyper-focus emitter!"

Behind her, Vale hummed with its usual rhythm—airships overhead, neon on concrete, crowds just thin enough to feel safe.

For now.

Ding.

The bell rang again.

Ruby barely noticed the subtle shift in temperature. A quiet heat rising in the room. She figured the shop owner turned on the heater. Early fall chill and all.

She was wrong.

A girl had entered.

Tall—six-three, maybe taller in boots. Red hair streaked with pink. Golden eyes that glowed, not reflected. Her Beacon hoodie stretched across her shoulders like it didn't belong to the academy's uniform code anymore. A long scarf swayed with her steps—scaled, tattered, and humming faintly with magic.

Natsumi E. Dragneel.
(Some called her Goodwitch. It depended on her mood.)

She didn't say a word. She walked straight to the Dust section at the back—hands in pockets, chewing jerky like it owed her rent.

She was counting inventory.
She always counted.

Ding.

Seven men entered.

Slick shoes. Red sunglasses. Suits that screamed criminal fashion budget.

At the front of the pack?

Roman Torchwick.

He grinned at the old shop owner, brushing ash from his sleeve. his cigar smoke puffed as she spoke

"Now, now, no need for alarms—we're not here for the Lien."

He gestured to his men.

"Grab the Dust."

They moved fast.
But not fast enough.

One grunt turned to grab a fire crystal rack—
Only to stop when he saw Natsumi eating one.
Like it was rock candy.

He blinked.

"...The hell are you doing?"

She looked up.

Didn't answer.

Just bit harder into the raw Fire Dust, crunching it like ice.

"Hey! Put that down—"

CRASH.

He hit the wall before the sentence finished.

Another thug got too close to Ruby—

Got launched across the room by a burst of Rose-powered recoil.

The fight exploded fast. Crescent Rose hissed through the air.
Goons flew. Glass shattered.

Roman turned just in time to see his men crumpling. wondering who also sent his man flying. His eyes locked onto the girl with the scarf. he felt like he needed a alot of good luck to get out of there alive.

His smirk faltered.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

"Dragneel?!"

He ran.

Of course he ran.

He'd fought her once.
He remembered.

He tossed a Lightning Dust crystal behind him. It cracked, sparked—
The blast sent Natsumi skidding back, her growl turning into a fear-sharp snarl.

She hated lightning.

Her hands trembled.
But she didn't chase. (TOTALLY NOT BECAUSE SHE HAS A FEAR OF LIGHTNING!)

She smelled something.

Her mother.

Ruby bolted after Roman, leaping onto the ladder behind the shop.

Natsumi stayed long enough to check the store owner's pulse—still alive, still breathing. Then she followed. But slowly.

Carefully.. Like she was avoiding something.

Oh no.

She froze at the rooftop.

Glynda Goodwitch was already there.

Her mother's arms folded . if looks could kill. yeah...natsu would be dead, gaze steeled, magic humming at her fingertips.

Roman's escape ship lifted into the sky behind her—Dust crates stacked, engines roaring.

Glynda fired.
Magic arced like a blade through the air—countered instantly.

Someone was shielding him.

Spamming spells. Blocking everything.

Natsumi ducked behind the older Huntress like a dog hiding from a scolding. Ruby saw this a little confused but ignored it.

Ruby landed beside them, panting, starry-eyed.

"Are you a Huntress?!"

Glynda turned.
Glared.

Not at Roman.
At them.

Especially her daughter.

"We are going to the police station."

She pointed at Ruby.

"You. And you."

Her voice dropped a register.

"Especially you."

Natsumi gave the most awkward, guilty half-smile in the world.

Tail not visible yet.

But if it were?

It'd be between her legs.

It was not the worst night of Natsumi's life.

But it was definitely making the list.

She sat in the holding area—one leg bouncing, scarf twitching slightly around her neck, still warm from adrenaline and embarrassment.

Across the bench, Ruby Rose was vibrating with excitement.

"I can't believe I actually fought criminals!"
"With my weapon!"
"And she—" Ruby jabbed a thumb at Natsumi, "ate Dust. Like, literally ate it."
"You're amazing!"

Natsumi grunted. "I'm grounded."

"You still threw a guy through a shelf!"

Natsumi buried her face in her scarf. yes it was cool BUT SHE wanted to tell the girl to shut up !

The interrogation room wasn't soundproof. Which meant both girls could clearly hear the voice of Glynda Goodwitch, currently tearing into a poor, unsuspecting sergeant. "

She's a Beacon student, not a fugitive!"
"She acted in self-defense—again."
"Yes, she has a record. It's called saving your city, you ungrateful twit!"

Ruby leaned sideways toward her.

"Sooo… does she, like, yell like that a lot?"

"Only when I deserve it."

"Do you deserve it?" a small smirk on natsumis face

"...Every time."

Ten minutes later

The door opened with a click and a sigh.

Glynda stood framed in the doorway, glasses sharp, cloak even sharper.

She pointed at Ruby.

"You."

Ruby shot up like she'd been summoned by an angry goddess.

"Y-Yes?"

Glynda crossed her arms.

"You disobeyed public protocol, intervened in an armed robbery, and brandished a lethal weapon without license."

"...Yes ma'am."

"You're lucky the only thing I'm assigning you is an interview."

Ruby blinked. "Interview?"

"Beacon entrance exam."...even natsumi was a little confused

Ruby's mouth fell open.

"Wait… really?!"

Glynda sighed. Ozpin walked in cookies in hand.

" i got this Miss Goodwitch. I see you have" he looked at Natsu with a shit eating smirk " work to do"

a sigh left her nose " thank you headmaster" Glynda looked into the soul of ruby ask if she was telling her she has her eye on her

then she turned to Natsumi.

Didn't say a word.
Just narrowed her eyes.

The scarf on Natsumi's neck went stiff, like it was trying to crawl behind her.

"...Hi, Mom."

Glynda's eyebrow twitched.

"Car. Now."

Outside – Beacon Transport Vehicle

The two rode in silence. glynda was upset thinking of how to punish the girl. but she looked at the review mirror seeing her in the back

Natsumi was about to puke. so she sat in the back groaning in pain almost as if she was begging for death. Glynda told her

" i will take the fast route home" Natsumi was thankful. But she looked at her mom. a look telling her

"Didn't mean you were off the hook."

Ruby stood awkwardly in the hallway after Glynda and the dragon girl disappeared through the doors.

The silence hit harder than the fight had.

The holding cell door clicked shut behind her. The last cop who cared went back to his scroll. And Ruby was just… standing there.

Alone.

Until the soft tap of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She turned.

A man in green walked toward her. Calm. Pale. Mismatched eyes behind round spectacles. Holding a white box that smelled faintly of—

"...Are those cookies?"

Ozpin offered the box.

"Would you like one?"

"Uh—yes?"
Wait, no—should I be polite?
"I mean—thank you!"

He handed her a warm, fresh-baked cookie.

Then gestured for her to walk with him.

They sat down in one of the interview rooms—only this time, no one had their weapon drawn.

Ozpin folded his hands neatly on the table, scroll glowing beside him with footage of the convenience store incident paused mid-brawl. Ruby saw herself frozen mid-flip. A blur of red and a look of pure chaos on her face.

She cringed.

"You've never had formal combat training," Ozpin said calmly.

Ruby nodded, mouth full of cookie.

"You wield a high-powered custom-built scythe-rifle. With no license."

She winced. "I built it myself. I… may not have read the registration fine print…"

Ozpin tapped the scroll once.

"You charged an armed robbery without backup."

Ruby's shoulders sank.

"Yeah…"

Ozpin leaned back in his chair.

Paused.

Then said:

"That was very reckless."

"...I know."

"Also very brave."

Her head snapped up.

"Wait—what?"

He smiled gently.

"Bravery is not the absence of fear, Miss Rose. It is the choice to act despite it. You showed potential. Not just as a fighter—but as someone who cares deeply about doing the right thing."

Ruby flushed red.

"So I'm… not in trouble?"

"Not officially."

He closed the scroll.

"I would like to offer you a chance to take Beacon Academy's entrance evaluation. Early."

Her mouth dropped open.

"Are you serious?!"

"Very."

"Like—a real Huntress?!"

"Potentially."

"With a locker and missions and everything?!"

"We'll start with the interview."

She practically vibrated in her seat.

Ozpin stood, smiling faintly.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Miss Rose."

She bolted up from her chair, nearly knocking it over.

"YES SIR! I mean—yes. Sir. Thank you!"

As she half-skipped out the door, he took one final glance at the paused footage.

Natsumi stood frozen mid-strike. Her scarf twisted, her fang bared, and her eyes glowing with something very old and very tired.

Ozpin's smile faded.

"And now the board shifts…"

He closed the file marked:

"Natsumi Goodwitch (Dragneel). Status: Stable. For now."

The apartment lights were dim.
The kettle was steaming.
And Natsumi was pacing the living room like a caged animal in her own home.

"I held back."

"I know."

"I could've melted his stupid sunglasses into his skull, and I didn't!"

"Yes."

"I only threw, like, two people. Maybe three."

"Mm-hmm."

Glynda stirred her tea with the kind of patience that only a Huntress-mother with a dragon for a daughter could develop.

Natsumi turned sharply.

"So why am I in trouble?!"

Glynda sipped her tea.

"You're not."

That stopped her cold.

"...What?"

Glynda looked up.

"You're not in trouble."

"You're in a... consequence window."

Natsumi narrowed her eyes. "That's just a pretty word for punishment."

"No, it's a window of opportunity to prove you're learning."

She stood slowly, walked over, and placed a hand on Natsumi's shoulder. The scarf shifted, curling softly around Glynda's wrist in a rare show of affection.

"You held back tonight. That matters to me more than anything else that happened."

Natsumi blinked, tail twitching (if it had existed yet).

"...You're serious?"

"Deadly."

"So I'm... not grounded?"

Glynda smiled. "Not in the traditional sense."

Natsumi grinned wide.

Glynda's smile sharpened.

"But if anything like that happens again—unsanctioned fight, public mess, unauthorized Dust ingestion in front of civilians—"

She leaned in.

"I will personally strap you to a four-hour roller coaster with three loops and no exit platform."

Natsumi went pale.

The color drained from her face like someone had yanked out her soul through her fang.

"You wouldn't."

"I know every ride in Vale."

"You're a monster."

"I'm your mother."

Natsumi groaned and flopped backward onto the couch like death itself had claimed her.

"You fight dirty."

Glynda returned to her tea.

"You breathe fire. I fight smart."

Silence.

Then, from the couch:

"...Was it still kinda cool though?"

Glynda's voice, softer now:

"It was very cool."

Pause.

"But never again."

Chapter Text

Location: Beacon Academy Rooftop
Time: Morning – Initiation Day

The wind smelled like fire and dust.

It always did on days like this.

Natsumi sat cross-legged on the highest corner of the Beacon rooftop, her scarf fluttering in the wind like it had a heartbeat. Below, hundreds of first-year students gathered at the cliffs, preparing for the annual drop. Excitement, nerves, fear—it all soaked the air like steam off a hot forge.

She didn't care about them.

Not today.

Today wasn't their fight. It was hers.

Her tail (not yet visible, but twitching in spirit) curled tight with anticipation. Behind her, soft footsteps.

A familiar pair.

"You're early," Glynda said, stepping beside her. Natsumi didn't look up. Just leaned slightly into the gloved hand that settled gently on her head.

"Didn't sleep."

"Nervous?"

"No."

"Liar."

Natsumi cracked a fang-flashing smirk. She wasn't nervous.
She was FIRE UP.

Fourth year trying to get in.

Three years of failed hits.
Three years of standing across from Ozpin, trying to land one strike.
Three years of pain, pride, pressure.

But today?

"He's gonna blink," she whispered.
"And when he does, I'm going to put him in the ground."

Glynda chuckled softly and continued stroking her hair, careful not to agitate the scar near her shoulder—the old one. The one from the last time she'd almost made it.

"Remember," Glynda said softly, "you don't need to beat him."

"I know. Just one hit."

"And if you lose?"

Natsumi tilted her head, eyes burning gold.

"I wont" pride and confidence oozed out of young girl

Glynda smiled. proud to see her little girl still not ever changing when it comes to her confidence

"That's my girl."

BOOM

.a explosion happen on the distance making the two girls jump. Natsumi turned her head and tilted . and confused.

"mom is that a bad or good omen?"

Glynda sighed. her eyebrow twitched

" that's paperwork that's what that is" annoyed , this year was ALREADY turning out great.

Ruby Rose adjusted her hood nervously a little soot on it still. as she and Jaune Arc stepped through the massive amphitheater gates and into what looked more like a sports arena than a school event.

Her eyes went eyes went wide.

"Whoa…"

Banners.

Crowds.

Flags.

The entire stadium along the cliff edge was packed—not just with new students, but second-, third-, even fourth-years, cheering like they'd bet their Aura on the outcome.

Popcorn littered the floor like Dust residue.
Still more rained from the upper bleachers as students screamed.

Jaune scanned the chaos, gripping his still-too-shiny sword and awkwardly holding his shield like he was expecting a food fight.

"Are all these people here to… take the test?"

Ruby sho6ok her head slowly.

"I don't think so…"

A gust of wind lifted one of the overhead banners.
It shimmered with glittering orange foil:

"LET'S GO NATSUMI!"
"FOURTH TIME'S THE FLAME!"
"BURN HIM ONCE FOR US!"

Ruby's jaw dropped.

"Wait! That's the girl who was eating Dust at the store when it got robbed!"

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe this is for her… trying to get into the school?"

A massive foam claw floated past them.

Someone in the upper stands was waving it with both hands like a sports fanatic.

"Burn his cane off this year, Natsumi!"
—Velvet, proudly wearing a custom red tee that read "Flame DRAGON Fan Club – Est. Year 1"

Beside her, Coco shouted loud enough to shake the lights:

"Get 'im, dragon girl!"

Jaune leaned toward Ruby, voice low.

"...Should we be worried?"

Before Ruby could answer, a voice exploded through the chaos:

"RUUUUUUBYYYYY!"

She turned—just in time to see Yang waving frantically from the bleachers near the center.

"HEY! I SAVED YOU A SPOT!"

Ruby turned to Jaune.

"I'm gonna go sit with my sister!"

"Yeah… I'll, uh… find somewhere to stand…"

Ruby made her way through the crowd.
Someone shoved a cheap vinyl flag into her hands as she passed. It read:

"GO FLAME BRAIN!"

She let it drop, slightly horrified.

Yang pulled her in close the second she sat down, sensing the tension in her little sister's shoulders.

"Big crowd. Not your thing, huh?"

Ruby mumbled, "Nope…"

Yang held her tighter. Protective. Warm.

"It's for the girl I told you about," Ruby added quietly.

Yang tilted her head. "Still weird, though. This is way more than usual…"

Suddenly, the roar softened.

The upperclassmen quieted.
The younger students turned toward the center of the platform.

Ozpin stepped up to the podium.
Glynda Goodwitch followed behind, clipboard in hand.

The senior students weren't looking at them.

They were looking above them.

Waiting.

Waiting to see where Natsumi would strike this time.

Ozpin adjusted his microphone with the ease of a man who'd done this a hundred times before. His coffee steamed gently in his other hand. he could FEEL the aplha predator watching him from the vents. also feeling her leave . he was thinking she was changing locations to pounch on him

"You stand on the precipice of greatness."

The students listened—sort of.

The new ones nodded nervously.

The veterans?

They didn't even blink.

They were watching the ceiling.

A vent above the platform shifted.

Creeeeak.

The tension rippled through the crowd like a wave.

Ruby felt it instantly.

"Did… did something just move?"

Yang was also confused

"Oh, yeah it sounds like nails on metal .2."

Ozpin didn't look up.

"You are about to begin a journey that will shape your future…"

Another metallic thud.

The vent cover bent outward slightly.

The entire amphitheater held its breath.

A second-year in the front row whispered like a prayer:

"Come on, flame brain. Make it this time…"

Ozpin took a calm sip of his coffee.

"...If you're going to pounce," he said—quietly, to the air—
"do try not to be so loud about it."

BANG.

The vent exploded open.

A red blur shot downward.

"RAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Natsumi, scarf trailing behind her like a flaming banner, dropped from the sky fist-first, aiming for the back of the Headmaster's head.

Her eyes were glowing.

Her war cry was feral.

The crowd screamed in anticipation—

She missed.

Whoosh—SLAM.

She hit the stage just a half-second too slow, the podium to her left cracking under the shockwave.

Ozpin was standing five feet to her right, unruffled. eye brow rasied...it look like she fell down vs jumped down

Still holding his coffee.

Still sipping.

The crowd of upperclassmen let out the most synchronized, soul-crushed reaction imaginable:

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"

One banner fell limp.

A foam claw deflated.

Someone near Velvet started sobbing.

"FOUR YEARS—FOUR. YEARS."

Natsumi slowly pushed herself up, spitting dirt, scarf twitching like a wounded snake.

"I slipped."

Ozpin finally turned to face her.

"It appears the stage remains intact."

Natsumi growled under her breath.

"Fine."

"We're doing this the ~FUN~ way."

The crowd was still groaning when Natsumi rose to her feet—Cracked knuckles. Bent knees. Eyes glowing like molten gold.

But she wasn't embarrassed.

She wasn't panicked.

She was grinning.

Ozpin raised an eyebrow as she rolled her neck and dropped into a ready stance. Her scarf shimmered behind her like it was waiting to strike too.

"You seem… confident."

Natsumi cracked her fingers, one by one.

"I didn't miss."

Ozpin tilted his head, intrigued.

"No?"

"Nope," she grinned wider.
"I was measuring."

Then she charged.

Flames erupted beneath her boots as her speed doubled, then tripled—
The ground behind her cracked from the heat pressure alone.

She spun low—left hook.
Feint.

Reversed—flaming elbow.

Ozpin blocked with his cane, but even he had to step back. Feeling the power behind her strikes. but still he was just reading her

She's faster.

She wasn't burning uncontrolled anymore.
She was aiming.

A focused dragon is a terrifying thing. the dragon eyes kept looking up to the vents. she was excited about something. Ozpin had no clue what it was .

And Natsumi? She was focused. her fang gleeming in joy

Above the arena, vents glowed faintly red. slowly melting, the meatal

Tiny motes of flame shimmered, suspended in the air—like dozens of fireflies caught in amber.

They pulsed. waiting for there master to command them

Waited.

"Come on…" Natsumi muttered mid-combo. "Come on, come on—"

She threw a kick—high, heavy, fast.

Ozpin ducked low, tried to counter—but she slid past it and skidded to a stop behind him, planting her feet—

Hands together.

"HELL ZONE GRENADE!"

The flames in the vents responded..

Every mote of fire—stored, timed, patient—converged in midair like tiny bombs on strings.

They formed a wide ring around Ozpin.

A dragon's breath weapon turned into a precision trap.

He blinked.

Clever.

The balls of fire launched— honeing into there traget. like a swarm of angry bees chasing a person.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!

A dome of fire swallowed the stage.

The crowd went nuts.

Velvet screamed. Coco howled. Nora physically shook Ren.

Yang actually stood up with a massive grin.

"HOLY CRAP!"

even ruby who kind hated this cword had a smile.. this was entertaining at least

As the fire died down…

Natsumi panted, crouched, waiting.

"Did I get you?"

A soft breeze blew the smoke away.

Ozpin stood there.

His coat was scorched at the edge. His tie was gone.

He was… smiling.

But in his hands?

He held his jacket, smoldering and blackened, like a shield. a destroyed one but still protected him

"Clever," he said. "Very clever."

Natsumi blinked.

"...That doesn't count, does it?"

"Afraid not."

"DAMN IT." her eyes flickering red for a second

Glynda stood at the far corner of the stage.

Watching.

Breathing hard.

Her sweat ran thick down her spine, heavier with each second.

She didn't know if she was proud… or terrified.

She didn't cheer.

Didn't speak.

Didn't even blink when the firestorm exploded across the arena.

She recognized the technique instantly.

She knew it was new.

And more than that—

She knew the slip at the start had been a ruse.

Her lips parted in a whisper only the wind could hear:

"You hid your trump card behind a fake stumble…"

"That's my girl."

The precision.
The timing.
The vertical Dust venting.
The controlled detonation of fire from above and around—

Natsumi had learned.

Natsumi had grown.

And for one glorious moment…

Glynda truly thought it would be enough.

That her child—after all the years of feral power, tantrums, trial and failure—
Had finally done it.

But then the smoke cleared.

And Ozpin stood there.

Untouched.

Only his jacket burned.

And Natsumi?

Changed.

Her stance fell lower.
Her lip curled.
Her fingers began to shake—not with fear.

With rage.

Glynda saw the shift instantly.

From gold to red.

From focused to feral.

"That was it…" she whispered, a pit forming in her chest.
"That was everything she had."

The Dragon of Wrath was stirring now—
And the child underneath was being pushed further and further away.

The crowd didn't notice.

They were still laughing.

Still clapping.

Still caught in the show.

But Glynda knew better.

She always did.

"She had one card," her voice trembled.
"And now she's burning."

On the stage, Natsumi growled low.
Her scarf writhed like a serpent.
The tips of her hair moved in the rising heat—like they too wanted to strike.

Ozpin straightened.

For the first time… his posture shifted.

No longer testing.

No longer observing.

He was ready.

Because Natsumi?

Was done pretending.

She wasn't a student hopeful anymore.

She was what she was born to be.

Rage.

Glynda's voice cracked, a tear slipping free—hot, unwanted.

This moment. This spiral.
It happened every year.

And it broke her every time.

"She's going to push too far," Glynda whispered.

"Ozpin… don't push back too hard."

Her throat tightened.

The weight of eight years of fire and healing and midnight cries and broken bedsheets rushed through her all at once.

"She's still…"

"She's still my baby."

The crowd still thought it was a show.

They screamed.
They pointed.
They cheered like it was all still part of the act.

But Ozpin knew better.

The fire in Natsumi's eyes had changed—
Too bright.
Too red.

Her stance was unraveling.

Footsteps pounding with fury, not form.

Emotion was overtaking instinct.

The Dragon of Wrath was taking over.

Ozpin narrowed his eyes.

One last chance.

One more move. Then I end it.

Natsumi lunged again—faster than before.

Wild.

Lashing.

The floor beneath her boots split from the sheer heat.
Scarf trailing like a live whip.

"STOP MOVING!"

She swung—

Left.
Right.
Knee.
Elbow.

Ozpin dodged every one. Precise. Clean.

She was still fast.
Still strong.

But now?

She wasn't thinking.

"HOLD STILL!"

A firebomb flared in her palm—erratic, unshaped.

It launched—
Exploded behind Ozpin.

Just inches off.

Students flinched.
The air went quiet.

"She's gonna kill the stage—"
"Is this part of it?"
"Why isn't he stopping her?!"

On the sideline, Glynda didn't move.

Her nails dug into her gloves.

"Stop her," she whispered.

"Before she hurts someone."

But she knew what was coming.

She had seen it every year.

Natsumi screamed.

Eyes glowing like the core of a dying star.

"I HAD YOU—!"

And Ozpin moved.

He stepped behind her—

One clean motion.

No fanfare.

Just a firm, gentle arm around her throat.

"No—!"

Sleeper hold.

She thrashed.
Elbowed him—once, twice.

But slower now.

Aura dimming.

Her strength betrayed her.

"LET—GO—!"

"This isn't a loss," Ozpin whispered like a lullaby.
"This is a lesson. You did well."

"Aarkf—!"

Glynda turned away.

She couldn't look.

Not again.

Her eyes clenched shut.
One hand over her mouth.

This moment broke her every year—
But never like this. She was so close.

The flames dimmed.

The scarf stilled.

The vents above stopped glowing.

Natsumi went limp—arms falling, head dipping forward.

Ozpin caught her gently, lowering her down like a burning branch spent of fire.

The heat in the arena vanished.

A single gust of wind brushed the cracked stage.

And somewhere in the hushed silence…

A single foam claw slipped from a stunned student's hand—

And fell.

all somone in the crowed could was

"jesus"

No one cheered.

No one clapped.

No one even breathed.

The crowd that had once roared for fire now sat stunned—every seat holding a student who wasn't quite sure what they had just seen.

Natsumi Dragneel had gone out like a storm.

And now she lay cradled in Ozpin's arms.

Still.

Silent.

Unmoving.

Her scarf, once wild and full of life, dangled like wet silk across his coat.

Even the wind had stopped.
Even the air felt different.

Ozpin walked slowly to the edge of the cracked stage.

Each step sounded louder than it should have.

Like thunder in a church.

Velvet and Coco were already halfway up—tearing through the crowd, Coco clearing a path with elbows and words that could melt steel.

"Move. MOVE. Outta the damn way!"

Ozpin descended the stairs with care.

Glynda met him at the base.

She didn't say a word.

She didn't have to.

Ozpin looked at her for a moment—just long enough for everything unspoken to pass between them.

Then, with infinite gentleness, he passed Natsumi into her arms.

Like she was handing over a weapon.
A secret.
A living flame.

Or a treasure.

And to Glynda…
She was more than that.

Her arms folded around her daughter like they had a thousand times before—
When the nightmares came.
When her own rage scared hher.
When the fire got too strong.

But never like this.

Never after a fight like that.

Never after nearly touching greatness. so close to a goal she SCREAMED FOR .

She cradled the unconscious girl against her shoulder, pressing her cheek to sweat-damp hair.

Her eyes—sharp, cold, professional—shone now with something ancient.

Something raw.

"I've got you," she whispered.

"I always will."

Behind her, Velvet and Coco hovered—watching, waiting.

Not interrupting.

Even they knew—

This wasn't a student-teacher moment.

It wasn't even a Huntress and her trainee.

This was a mother holding her child after war

Glynda stood with her daughter in her arms.

Natsumi's breathing was slow, but steady.
Her heat had faded—just enough for human skin to bear.
But the weight?

Still there.

Power curled in her limbs even in unconsciousness.
Even in defeat.

No one stopped Glynda as she turned from the arena.

No one dared.

She took one step off the stage.

Then another.

And the students—every single one—began to part.

Not like a crowd.

Like a tide.

A living current pulled back by some ancient instinct.

Not out of pity.

But out of fear.

And respect.

This wasn't just the Headmistress walking past.

This was Glynda Goodwitch, holding the girl who had just reshaped the battlefield with her rage—
Who had turned vents into bombs—
Who had screamed like a dragon and fought like fire given flesh.

They stepped aside in silence.

No one whispered.

No one joked.

Not anymore.

Velvet and Coco flanked Glynda, walking with tight jaws and unspoken loyalty.

Yang stood with Ruby, eyes wide, hands clenched.

Weiss stared. Pale. Unmoving.

Jaune looked like he didn't know whether to salute or run.

And at the back of the stadium, high above, Ozpin watched.

Quiet. Still sipping what remained of his coffee.

"Not a loss," he said softly.
"A step."

The silence lingered long after Natsumi was carried offstage.

No cheers.

No applause.

Just the faint scent of scorched stone and the weight of what they'd witnessed.

Then, finally, Ozpin turned to face the crowd.

His coat was still singed.

Tie missing.

Hair slightly mussed—though, somehow, still immaculate.

He stepped to the microphone and tapped it gently.

tap-tap

The sound echoed across the cliffside arena.

"Well then…"

The voice was calm.

Measured.

But somehow… warm.

"For those of you new to Beacon—welcome."

"And for those returning, I see your banners were updated this year."

His eyes flicked toward the crowd.
Toward the foam claws.
The smoldering signs.

"Excellent font choice."

A ripple of laughter followed. Light. Nervous.

He let it settle before continuing.

"Some of you may be wondering if that display was part of our standard initiation."

"It was not."

More scattered chuckles.

But this time, quieter. Uncertain.

Ozpin folded his hands behind his back.

"Miss Natsumi Dragneel—Goodwitch, depending on who you ask—is a… special case."

"While her age matches our incoming class, her circumstances do not."

"She has trained among monks. She hunts alone. She consumes raw Dust as dietary supplement. And she, more or less, owns one-third of the eastern Emerald Forest."

A few heads turned in confusion.
Others nodded. Slowly. Carefully.

"In fact…" Ozpin tilted his head just slightly.

"The traditional Beacon initiation—being launched into the forest, surviving, and returning—isn't feasible for her."

"Because she doesn't survive the forest."

"She owns it."

A pause.

The air shifted.

A student near the front whispered—half-joke, half-awe:

"Wait… is she the alpha predator?"

Ozpin allowed himself the faintest smile.

"More or less."

"So yes—when the time comes, we'll be going a little more… creative… with her initiation."

Another beat.

"Assuming she wakes up, eats her body weight in pork, and doesn't try to suplex the infirmary bed again."

This time, the laughter was real.

Released tension rolled across the arena.

Even a few professors chuckled from the shadows.

The fear hadn't gone.

But respect had arrived in its place.

Chapter Text

The world was white.

Not the warm kind of white. Not fire or sunlight.
Just the sterile haze of clean linen, glowing ceiling panels, and the too-sharp tang of antiseptic.

Natsumi E. Dragneel blinked once.

Her eyes stung. Her body ached like someone had tried to forge her spine into a sword and quit halfway through. Every muscle complained. Every joint pulsed with low, bruised heat. the sent of chocolate, leafs and old wood flood her nose .

Her scarf was missing. gently folded on the table next to her

She noticed that first.

Then—

"She's waking up."

The voice was soft. Familiar. Velvet, probably.

Another pair of boots stepped closer. Crisp. Confident.

Coco.

And there—standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, eyes unreadable—

Her mother.

Glynda Goodwitch.

"You're awake," she said simply.

Natsumi swallowed.

Her throat was raw. she felt a mix of pride and something else and that feel was slowly getting covered with UNYELDING RAGE

"Did I hit him?"

A pause. Velvet looked away. Coco's mouth tightened.

Glynda didn't flinch.

"No."

Natsumi blinked again. Once. Slowly.

"...Right." everything flooded her. all her hard work the planing. all of it at once.

She didn't sit up. Not yet. Her body didn't want to move. But her eyes turned—glowing faintly gold—and locked on her mother.

"Can you leave the room?"

"Excuse me?" Glynda blinked.

"Please." Her voice cracked like cooling steel. "Just for a second."

The red in her irises was starting to seep back in.

They knew what was coming.

Coco and Velvet stepped back without a word.
Glynda lingered a moment longer—then nodded. her eyes worried .

"We'll be just outside."

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

And then—

ROOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

It started low.

A guttural rumble from somewhere deep in her chest.

Then it surged.

A scream of rage, frustration, and failure that ripped through the infirmary like a bomb.
The window shattered, blown inward by raw, unfocused Aura.

Beds shook. Metal warped. Paper curled to ash.

Across the school, students heading toward the library for the night turned at the sound. the sound of such a angry soul echoed the air, chills down every spine

"...What was that?" Jaune muttered, ducking instinctively.

Weiss narrowed her eyes.

"This school is a madhouse."

Back in the hallway, Velvet flinched. as she covered her hears

"She's really taking it hard this year."

Coco sighed. "Yeah… she really thought this was it." coco not saying this out loud but she was thinking natsumi had it as well.

Glynda didn't speak.

Not until the roar died.

Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

Her daughter sat on the bed.
Shoulders hunched.
Head down.
Scarf curled in her lap like a piece of shed skin.

The fire was gone.

Only the ash was left.

Silence again.

Except for the ringing in her ears.

Natsumi didn't move.

Couldn't.

The scream had drained something out of her—something deeper than stamina, deeper than Aura.

She sat hunched on the bed, breath slow, shaking.

Everything hurt.

Her back. Her ribs. Her pride.

But worse than all that… was the heat under her skin.
Not fire. Not power,

Shame.

I should've landed it.

She stared at her hands—bandaged, trembling slightly.

That was my best shot.

The Hell Zone Grenade had taken months to design.

The monks had helped her train focus.

Her flame was finally alive, finally reactive, finally hers.

She'd done everything right. Even played it smart. planed and even did better what she had hoped.

And it still wasn't enough.

She gritted her teeth.

I'm sixteen. But I'm six. And no one cares about that out there.

The crowd didn't chant for a kid.

They chanted for a monster.

A dragon.

A beast that should've burned through that podium and knocked Ozpin into retirement.

But I missed. i failed.

And then she lost her temper.

Again.

She could feel the warped IV stand across the room from where her roar had thrown it.

The glass—gone.

The sheets—messed to the very edges.

They're going to say I lost control.

Again.

She's too dangerous.

She's not ready.

She could hear the voices already.

The Dragon of Wrath isn't stable.

She shouldn't be a student. She's a liability.

She pressed her forehead into her scarf.

It still smelled like her hoard. Warm. Burnt cotton. Familiar.

It was the only thing that hadn't judged her.

I tried. I really did.

And now?

Now the fire was gone.

All that was left was the hollow afterburn in her chest.

Just ash.

Just me.

Then—

The soft click of the door.

Footsteps.

Even without looking, she knew who it was.

Her mother.

The door clicked.

She didn't lift her head. she didnt want to face the music . she Didn't move.

But she felt her.

Like heat pressing into the edges of her Aura—soft, familiar, impossible to ignore.

Glynda Goodwitch.

She came back in.

Of course she did.

She always did.

Even when Natsumi didn't deserve it. Especially then.

The air shifted slightly. Magic. Presence. Discipline so refined it barely needed to exist out loud.

Her mother wasn't angry. She didn't have to be.

She saw everything. she saw me react like a monster

The missed hit. The failed trap. The fire. The scream.

The break.

She heard me roar. She knows I cracked again.

Natsumi's jaw clenched.

Her forehead still rested against the scarf in her lap.

It was warm. A little singed on the edge where the bed caught flame.

She could feel her mother's shadow pause beside the bed.

Still silent.

Still watching.

Say something… Natsumi thought.
Tell me I lost control. Tell me I embarrassed you. Say I made a scene. just..dont leave me to.

But Glynda didn't.

She just stood there.

And somehow that was worse.

Because it meant she wasn't angry.

'''She's… sad.

Disappointed?

Worried?

All of it?''' the dragon thought

The heat behind Natsumi's eyes flared again—but not from fire.

From the sting that came after the battle.

I'm not what they think I am.

I'm not ready. her mind echoed

And she knows that.

She hated that.

She hated how much it mattered.

If I'd hit him, even once... maybe she'd finally look at me like a Huntress instead of a hazard. her eyes teared up a little bit

Still no words.

Just Glynda.

Just silence.

And it wasn't cold. this girl was hit were it hurt the most. the pride.

It was… steady.

Like an anchor.

Like something Natsumi didn't want to need.

'But I do.'

Glynda looked at her her child. her pride and joy she got closer.

Glynda didn't sit yet.

She stood at her daughter's side, gaze steady, arms still crossed like it gave her something to hold onto.
She'd seen students cry before.
She'd seen warriors break.
But this?

This was her child.

Natsumi hadn't looked up. how could she?

Her forehead was still pressed to the scarf in her lap. Her shoulders were still tight with the kind of tension that didn't come from combat—it came from shame.

So Glynda finally spoke.

Soft.

Measured.

Unshaking.

"You scared them."

The words slipped into the air like glass settling on stone.

Natsumi flinched—barely. ' i know'

But Glynda kept going.

"But you didn't scare me."

Natsumi said nothing.

Didn't breathe.

"You didn't fail."

"You pushed farther than you've ever gone."

"You got him to move."

Still no answer.

So Glynda moved a little closer. Sat carefully on the edge of the bed, like one wrong shift might crack the floor.

"You built a trap. You executed it. You controlled your flames."

"You measured your opening."

"And when you missed… you didn't lash out."

Natsumi whispered through her teeth.

"I screamed."

Glynda nodded slowly.

"Yes. After."

"But not at him. Not at anyone else."

A pause.

"Just… out."

"Just to survive what it felt like to fall short again."

Natsumi's hands clenched tighter around the scarf.

Her voice was barely audible.

"...It's been four years."

Glynda's tone never changed.

"And in those four years, you've gone from wildfire to precision."

"You're sixteen."

"But you're six."

"And dragons don't hatch with discipline. They earn it."

Another pause.

Then Glynda reached forward, her hand brushing through her daughter's tangled red hair—gently pushing a pink-streaked strand behind her ear.

"I'm not disappointed in you."

"I'm proud of you."

"Because you fought like you, not like the thing the world thinks you're supposed to be."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy.

It was safe.

Finally, Natsumi shifted. Just slightly.

Her head leaning into the hand still resting on her crown.

Not fully, not yet.

But it was enough.

She wasn't alone.

Not here.

Not tonight.

Glynda didn't move.

She just let her hand stay where it was—soft on her daughter's head, thumb gently brushing behind her ear in slow, steady circles.

For a moment, Natsumi didn't react.

Then—

She shifted.

Leaning.

Not falling, not collapsing—just… leaning.

Like the weight in her chest tipped forward.

And Glynda caught her.

No spells.

No strength.

Just arms.

Warm and solid and familiar.

The scarf in Natsumi's lap crumpled between them as her forehead pressed to her mother's shoulder.

Still shaking.

Still burning.

But held.

She didn't say anything.

Didn't need to.

Glynda wrapped both arms around her, tucking the girl in like she'd done when Natsumi was small and feral and new to beds.

She could feel her daughter's heartbeat against her own.

Still fast. Still rattled.

But slowing.

No lectures.

No rules.

No next steps.

Just this.

A mother.

A child.

A fire still learning how not to burn herself.

The room stayed quiet for another minute.

Natsumi didn't cry.

She just breathed.

Held.

Then, softly, Glynda leaned back just enough to look her daughter in the eyes. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

"How about we go get dinner?"

Natsumi blinked—slow, cautious. Like she didn't trust she'd heard that right.

"Dinner?"

"Yes," Glynda said simply, brushing ash from the girl's cheek. "Somewhere off-campus. My treat."

"But I—"

"No arguments," Glynda added gently.

Then, with just the slightest sparkle in her eyes, she reached out—

—and scratched lightly behind Natsumi's ear.

"Come on. You were a good girl today."

Natsumi froze.

Eyes wide.

' DAM YOU '

Her spine straightened like someone had plugged her into a power line.

Her pupils narrowed into slits. her instinct's screamed. she hated that card. but if felt goooooooood~

"M-Mom—!"

But it was already too late. Her foot gave a happy little tap against the tile. Her scarf flared behind her like a tail on instinct.

From the door, Velvet burst out laughing.

"She said the thing—!"

Coco smirked and leaned on the frame.

"That's it. You're done. She wins. That's her final attack."

"Not fair," Natsumi muttered, cheeks warm, tail-not-tail flicking behind her like it had its own thoughts.

Glynda stood and extended a hand to help her up.

"Get dressed. We're leaving before your appetite reboots and I have to sign off on another fifty thousand Lien restaurant bill."

"No promises," Natsumi mumbled, but her voice was lighter now.

And as she took her mother's hand, warmth unfurled behind her eyes again—

This time, not fire.

Just contentment.

The restaurant they ended up in wasn't Beacon-affiliated.
Which meant no staring first-years.
No whispering upperclassmen.
No foam claws.
No Ozpin.

Just a long booth, a clean table, and a menu bigger than Natsumi's face.

She'd already ordered enough food for a small army—two of everything except the dishes with pickles (which she'd personally threatened the waiter over).

Now she was half-curled in the corner of the booth, scarf off, hoodie unzipped, and fangs showing ever so slightly as she tore into a grilled steak with terrifying efficiency.

Across from her, Glynda was sipping tea like she wasn't watching her daughter inhale ten thousand calories.

She gave a soft, knowing sigh.

"I've been thinking about expanding the indoor pool."

Natsumi paused mid-bite, blinking.

"The one at home?"

Glynda nodded, reaching into her scroll to pull up a 3D model.

"Yes. You keep dragging leaves and mud into it when you nap near the warm end—"

"It's where the vents hit!" Natsumi protested through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"—and I'm considering enchantments that heat the water evenly. Maybe a sun-lens illusion to simulate a natural surface pool."

Natsumi's eyes lit up like she'd been told Christmas was made of jerky. that sounded AWSOME !

"Wait, wait, wait. Like one of those jungle pools? With the steam and everything?!"

Glynda gave a rare, amused smile.

"Yes. And you'll be responsible for cleaning the filtration runes this time."

Natsumi gave a dramatic groan.

"Ughhhh, but those things itch my scales!"

"You don't have scales yet."

"Yet," Natsumi muttered. "It's rude to assume."

From the far end of the restaurant, their poor server approached slowly, holding a new tray of meat and looking deeply confused at the sheer mass of food already on the table.

Glynda met his eyes calmly.

"Yes. It's all hers."

"No, she won't explode."

"Yes, she's still growing."

The man set the tray down and retreated without a word.

Natsumi watched him go and grinned, fire in her eyes again—but not the angry kind.

"You really are the best, you know."

Glynda arched an eyebrow.

"Because I'm replacing the pool, or because I didn't lecture you in the car?"

"Both," Natsumi said cheerfully.

"Also because you called me a good girl."

Glynda sighed again.

"You are one," she murmured. a small smile came out as she said this .

And that?
That was better than a victory.

atsumi had three different meat platters, two sides, and a milkshake halfway gone. Her scarf was resting over the seat beside her like a sleepy pet. Glynda was half-scrolling through renovation plans for the pool while sipping her tea.

It was, briefly, perfect.

Then—

Ding.

The soft chime of the door opening.

Natsumi didn't look up at first.

But her nose twitched. the smell of cigar and chicken flooded her nose

Then her eye narrowed.

And then the growl started—low, deep, and inhuman.

Across the restaurant floor, dressed in that red-trimmed suit and smirking like he owned the moon—

Roman Torchwick.

Glynda noticed her daughter's posture shift before she even heard the sound. Her gaze lifted just as Roman paused mid-step, his eyes landing on the pair of them.

And that smile?

That smug, smug smile?

It widened.

"Well, well… if it isn't the Goodwitch girls." he walked up to them. his green eyes matched Glynda

He gave a slow tip of his hat, that trademark condescension wrapped in velvet.

"Didn't expect to see you dining out tonight. You know, most people ground their dragons after they burn half a store ."

Natsumi's hand clenched around her fork. breaking it

Her teeth bared just enough to flash the fang.

Glynda didn't move. Her posture didn't shift.

"Roman."

"Professor," he said, as if tasting the word like a fine wine. "Relax, I'm not here for business. Just a little dinner. this place makes amazing soup"

He turned to the hostess with a lazy wave of his cane.

"One table, somewhere cozy. Maybe near a window I can jump out of, just in case dragon girl gets twitchy."

He glanced back at Natsumi.

"You wouldn't want to lose control in public again, right?"

Her growl deepened.

The table rattled.

Sparks flared beneath her fingernails.

Glynda placed a single hand over Natsumi's, calm but firm.

"Not here." Natsumi stopped digger her fingernails digging deeper.

Natsumi didn't take her eyes off him. she refused to do that

Didn't stop growling. he had to know shes not scared of him

But she didn't move either.

Roman gave one final wink as the hostess led him away.

"Always a pleasure, ladies." Natsumi eyebrow twitched

Dinner ended without a fire.

Barely.

Natsumi had simmered through her third steak in silence, only growling once when Roman so much as passed her line of sight. Glynda had handled it with calm grace, sipping her tea like the man across the restaurant didn't exist.

When the last dish was cleared and the bill was finally brought to their table, Glynda reached for her scroll.

The waiter blinked.

"Oh—no need, ma'am. It's already been covered."

Glynda paused mid-motion.

"Excuse me?"

The waiter smiled politely. "Gentleman in the red hat. He insisted."

Natsumi's eye twitched.

"He what."

She turned just enough to see Roman reclining casually at his table, drink in hand, giving her a two-fingered salute and a wink like he'd just bought her dinner on a date.

Her claws clicked against the tabletop.

"Let me burn him. Just once. One pinky toe—"

Glynda stood, straightening her coat with elegance honed by years of surviving teenage nonsense and criminal arrogance alike.

She turned to the waiter.

"Would you be so kind as to deliver a message to the gentleman?"

"Of course."

"Tell him… thank you for paying."

Then she turned to Natsumi and smiled—calm, unreadable, and very smug.

"Let's go."

Natsumi blinked.

"Wait. You're just letting him win?"

"Oh no," Glynda murmured as they walked past Roman's table on the way to the exit.

She paused. Looked directly at him.

"Thank you for covering the check, Mr. Torchwick." the mage voice OOZED ! with confidence

Her voice was silky smooth. Formal. Deliberate.

"You'll find the receipt in your name."

Roman's smirk faltered.

"What?"

"Business-class, fully itemized, attached to a Beacon account log. Labeled 'official Goodwitch dietary expenses—emergency nutritional restoration for injured minor.'" she said wiith the upmost formal way she could.

She leaned just a little closer.

"Hope you kept your receipt. That's tax-deductible now."

Natsumi grinned wide.

"Get wrecked." she had no clue what they were talking about but hell she had to be the hype dragon.

Roman's jaw dropped as the two exited in synchronized calm. confused

Back at his table, the waiter returned. with the bill.

"Your total, sir, came to 51,743 Lien."

Roman stared at him.

"For food?"

"Yes, sir. "

...roman face went pale.

Neo. was going to KILL HIM

Roman Torchwick slammed the hideout door open like he was leading a revolution.

Neo, lounging upside-down on the couch, flipped her scroll lazily, barely glancing up.

"You are not going to believe this horse-shit!"

He threw the paper down on the table like it was a cursed artifact.

Neo blinked. Sat up slowly. Arched a brow.

Roman pointed at the paper like it had personally robbed him.

"That receipt—that receipt—cost more than my last two heists combined!"

Neo picked it up.

Unfolded it.

Her brows lifted with every line her eyes tracked.

Then she saw the footnote.

She blinked again.

"Keep reading," Roman muttered. "Go on. Scroll down. Hit the end."

RECEIPT — Official Ledger, Vale District 9

Location: Hunter's Flame Grillhouse
Table 6 (Comped by R. Torchwick)

ITEMIZED ORDER:

3x Smoked Mammoth Rib Platters — 9,600 Lien

4x Ember-Crust Boar Chops — 6,400 Lien

2x Whole Glazed Fire-Peacocks — 3,800 Lien

5x Spit-Roasted Flame Chickens — 6,250 Lien

4x Dragonbone Bacon-Towers — 5,600 Lien

2x Double-Dust Spicy Sausage Trees — 2,400 Lien

3x "Lava Lake" Stew Cauldrons (Individual Size) — 3,300 Lien

1x Iron Skillet of Hot Crushed Onyx Potatoes — 1,100 Lien

1x Seared Bullfang Steak (Blood Rare) — 2,000 Lien

4x Scorchfruit Shakes (All Flavors) — 2,400 Lien

2x Deep-Fried Ember Jerky Buckets — 1,800 Lien

1x Ash-Toasted Honeycake (Dessert) — 1,100 Lien

1x Side of 24 Strips of Bacon "Just Because" — 600 Lien

1x "For the Table" Fried Mushroom Platter (Gifted to friends) — 450 Lien

1x Herbal Beacon-Blend Tea (for Glynda) — 120 Lien

1x Bucket of cold water (untouched) — free

Subtotal: 49,920 Lien
Tax & Service Fee: 1,823 Lien
Total: 51,743 Lien

Attached Note – From Head Chef Terin Castil, Grillhouse Division

"To Whom This May Concern (Mr. Torchwick, I assume),

I'm not sure if you adopted a second-year Beowolf or fed your date a Dust crystal as an appetizer, but this girl ate enough food to collapse our weekly stockroom.

I had to call in three off-shift line cooks, two emergency meat deliveries, and a fire warding specialist just to handle her entree round. We ran out of aprons, and our grillmaster quit halfway through the sausage trees.

*If this was a joke—good one.

If not, please never send her back without a pre-signed waiver from the city fire marshal.*

S.O.S.
– Chef T. Castil"

Neo slowly lowered the receipt.

Then looked at Roman.

Then looked back at the note.

Then looked at Roman again.

And finally?

She burst into silent hysterics.

Shoulders shaking, eyes brimming with tears, she collapsed sideways on the couch, wheezing in complete mute laughter as she pointed to the phrase "fire warding specialist" like it had killed her.

Roman dropped into a chair like the whole world had betrayed him.

"She didn't even take leftovers, Neo."

"Nothing."

"She ate the bones."

Neo scribbled quickly on a nearby napkin and flipped it around:

🐉 + 🍖 = 💀 (me)

Roman groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

"I swear, if she shows up at one more restaurant I'm in, I'm just setting the place on fire myself and saving the trouble."

Neo held up the receipt again.

And drew a little crown on Natsumi's total.

Dragon Queen.

The Beacon airship touched down with a smooth hiss of pressurized air.

Smooth by normal standards.

Not by Natsumi Dragneel standards.

She was already swaying before the platform even fully settled, her forehead pressed to the inner wall of the passenger cabin, breathing like the concept of gravity had personally insulted her.

"This is how I die," she mumbled.

Across from her, Glynda sat composed—crossed legs, tea still in hand, not a single hair out of place. She glanced at her daughter with the expression of a mother who had seen this exact meltdown every time they traveled together.

"We were on the ship for thirteen minutes," Glynda said mildly.

"And in the air for thirteen minutes too long," Natsumi hissed, clutching the side panel like it owed her money.

The moment the door even began to hiss open—

"OUTTA MY WAY!"

Natsumi bolted.

Scarf flaring behind her, boots sparking with a faint puff of fire as she sprinted down the ramp, a paper takeout bag clutched in her arms like it was sacred cargo.

She hit the pavement with a skid, hunched over, made a sound like a dying furnace—

—then inhaled.

Stood.

Checked the bag.

"Still warm. Worth it."

At the far end of the dock, Velvet stood beside Coco with crossed arms and zero surprise.

"Motion sickness again?"

"She barely made it through dessert," Glynda said, stepping down the ramp with all the poise of someone who absolutely did not get hurled across space by dragon panic.

Natsumi waved the bag triumphantly.

"I saved your curry!"

"And risked internal combustion in the process," Coco muttered, walking over.

"I respect it," Velvet added.

"I don't," Glynda muttered. "I raised it."

Natsumi handed the bag off with reverence.

"Offering complete. I am once again a Good Girl."

Glynda raised an eyebrow. "We'll see if that holds after staff evaluations come in."

Coco snorted.

Velvet grinned.

And Natsumi?

She leaned on a railing, wind tugging at her scarf, her Aura humming gently beneath her skin.

The dragon had returned.

Full. Alive.

And not entirely empty-handed.

Natsumi had stopped swaying, but only barely.

She leaned against the railing like it was holding her soul together, scarf fluttering, eyes closed as the last remnants of airship-induced trauma slowly faded from her bloodstream. Her skin was still a little pale. The only thing keeping her standing was sheer dragon pride—and the scent of curry still clinging to the takeout bags.

Velvet handed her a water bottle wordlessly.

Coco fanned her with a folded napkin.

Glynda watched all three of them with her arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Then she sighed. Soft. Subtle.

"You should spend the night."

Velvet blinked. "Us?"

"Yes," Glynda said, adjusting her glasses. "You've been glued to her side since she went down. I assume that won't change now."

Coco looked between the two. "You sure?"

"There's more than enough room," Glynda said. "And I doubt I'll get her to sleep without one of you stealing her blankets anyway."

Natsumi opened one eye.

"I resent that. I only sometimes hoard Coco's jacket."

"You curled around my thigh like a pillow last time," Coco deadpanned.

"You're warm."

Velvet snorted.

Glynda allowed herself a tiny smirk.

"Take what you need from the spare wardrobe. And try not to set the couch on fire again."

"That was one time," Natsumi grumbled.

"Twice," Velvet corrected.

"Once and a half. The second time was mostly the curtains."

Glynda turned, cloak billowing slightly as she began toward the elevators that would lead them to the residential tower. Her voice drifted behind her—calm, firm, and completely domestic.

"Dinner's already handled. You'll find the bath drawn. Try not to make it bubble."

Coco nudged Velvet with her elbow. "She's seriously letting us crash again."

Velvet smiled, soft and a little shy. "I think she knows… we're part of the hoard now."

The lights were low.

The air was warm—unnaturally so, like the walls themselves remembered fire.

Glynda stood at the edge of her daughter's room, arms folded, glasses off. She didn't speak right away. Her eyes took in the space—not just a bedroom, but a den.

Natsumi's hoard filled the corners like it had grown there over time, which it had.

Stacks of books—some singed, some pristine. A pile of glittering metal scraps tucked neatly beneath the windowsill, organized by shape and shine. Trinkets. Bits of armor. Gems half-cracked and humming faintly with Dust. A pile of cloaks and clothes Natsumi never wore but refused to part with.

And in the center, built carefully around her bed like a nest of history and want—

A circle of warmth.

Blankets. Plushies. A few photos. Her first set of gauntlets—long since bent and blackened from training, now sitting like old trophies beside a glowing, softly whirring orb of Ember Dust she kept as a nightlight.

Glynda didn't step on anything.

She knew better.

Every scrap had meaning. Every item had been chosen, not just collected. A dragon's hoard wasn't treasure.

It was identity.

And Natsumi?

She was curled right in the middle of it.
Scarlet hair splayed out, scarf coiled loosely around her neck.
Faint sparks still flickered in her fingers, like her Aura hadn't fully let go of the day.

Glynda moved closer and sat gently on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate boundary of objects that meant safety to her daughter.

Natsumi blinked up at her, drowsy but lucid.

"...Thanks," she murmured.

Glynda brushed a warm strand of hair away from her face.

"For what?"

"For being here," Natsumi said, eyes fluttering. "For not... running. For not being scared."

A silence.

Then, soft:

"For understanding the hoard."

Glynda smiled.

"You made it with your heart."

"Why would I ever fear that?"

She leaned down and kissed her daughter's brow.

"I love every strange, spark-covered bit of you."

"Even the broken gear pile?"

"Especially that one. It's honest."

Natsumi let out a tired, contented laugh.

"...I love you, Mom."

" i love you too Always."

As Glynda stood to leave, she paused at the door, one last glance over the warm, tangled chaos her daughter had built into a home.

And she turned off the light—not with a glyph, but with her hand.

"Good night, little ember."

And the door shut with a soft click.

Chapter Text

Beacon Academy – The Eve Before Initiation

The great Beacon library had never seen so many sleeping bags in one place.

Scrolls glowed low in dark corners. Books were stacked like barricades. Cloaks were draped over chairs, creating makeshift tents and faux privacy. It was less a study hall and more a refugee camp for nervous, soon-to-be-launched teenagers.

They weren't here for extra credit.

They were here because no one wanted to be alone the night before initiation.

Especially not after what happened yesterday.

Near the west side of the room, Ruby Rose sat cross-legged on her blanket, fidgeting with the edge of her hood. Yang was beside her, already in a Beacon T-shirt and gym shorts, looking far too comfortable for a girl who'd be flung into Grimm territory in the morning.

"You okay, Rubes?" Yang asked.

Ruby nodded… then shook her head.

"You remember that girl? From the store? The Dust robbery?"

Yang raised a brow.

"You mean the one who ate the Dust?"

Ruby whispered, "Is she in this test?"

Yang grinned. "Rumor is… no. She already lives in the forest."

Ruby stared. "She what?"

"Lives there. Trains there. Hunts there. Like, it's her turf. I heard she's… like… the unofficial security detail."

"That's insane. Is that even allowed?"

Yang just shrugged. "She's part dragon. I think she makes her own rules."

Across the library, Jaune Arc sat alone, nervously rearranging his shield and sword every ten minutes like that would somehow make them less shiny and more legitimate.

He kept glancing around the room like everyone knew something he didn't.

To be fair—they probably did.

"You heard the roar, right?" a voice whispered nearby. "That wasn't just Aura backlash. That was... animal."

"I heard she cracked the window in the infirmary with a scream."

"Scream? Please. My cousin's friend's upperclassman said she breathed fire and melted part of the floor."

"I heard the Headmaster tried to launch her last year and she flew into the air without the platform."

Students huddled around low-burning lanterns, wide-eyed, trading rumors like survival tactics.

Off to the side, a quiet girl with a black bow tucked behind a book was definitely not eavesdropping. Blake's ears twitched at every exaggerated tale… but she said nothing.

She turned the page.

Another lie.

Another dragon myth.

But she was listening.

"I heard she's not even human."

"No way. That's just a story. Right?"

A pause.

Even the whispers didn't dare answer that one.

Back near the aisle, Ruby pulled her hood down lower.

"So… she's not taking the exam?"

Yang rolled onto her back and stretched.

"Nope. But she'll be watching."

"Watching?"

"Yeah. You know, patrolling. Protecting students. Keeping the Grimm away."

"Like a guard?"

Yang grinned.

"Like a warden."

A gust of wind flickered the library lanterns.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

They all imagined a shadow on the branch line.

Eyes glowing red.

And claws ready to strike.

The flickering lamplight gave the library a haunted feel.

Most of the students had settled into tired clusters, voices lower now, conversations quieter. But that didn't stop the whispers from crawling along the spines of books and the backs of ears like insects.

Especially about her.

About the dragon.

A group of older first-years—probably from Atlas, judging by their polished boots and the way they looked at everyone like a test—gathered near one of the long reading tables.

"If she's so powerful, why isn't she a student already?"

"Because she's unstable," one of them muttered, tapping their scroll. "Did you hear what she did to the infirmary window?"

"She screamed like a monster. That's not Aura backlash. That's something else."

Another student leaned in, smirking.

"I bet she thinks she's better than us. Just because she can bite through a Dust crystal doesn't mean she belongs at Beacon."

A few of them chuckled.

"More beast than girl. Honestly, she should be in a cage, not a combat school."

That's when Ruby Rose stood up.

She didn't slam her hands on the table. She didn't shout.

She just stood—small, red-hooded, fists clenched at her sides, voice clear and cutting.

"She saved someone's life. That's more than any of you did yesterday."

The table quieted.

A few looked away.

The lead boy raised a brow.

"So what? You a fan of monsters now?"

"No," Ruby said simply. "I'm a fan of people who protect others."

"Even if they're different."

There was no grand speech.

Just a truth, plain and honest, that left no room for cruelty to hide.

The group grumbled and backed off, muttering something under their breath as they moved to another corner.

Ruby sat back down, cheeks pink but not from fear. Her heart was racing—but she didn't regret it.

Not for a second.

A few feet away, hidden between shelves, Blake Belladonna lowered her book slightly.

She had heard the whole thing.

And for the first time since arriving at Beacon, the guarded tightness in her chest loosened just a little.

A human, standing up for someone different.
Not for applause.
Not for favor.
Just because it was right.

Blake closed her book gently.

And smiled.

The library buzzed with whispers.

Not from books.

From students.

Dozens of first-years had camped out across the polished floor, some on blankets, others on sleeping bags, a few just curled up under jackets. Nobody could sleep.

Not with the forest test tomorrow.

And definitely not after yesterday's roar.

In one quiet corner, Ruby Rose sat cross-legged on her bedroll, poking at the hem of her cloak. Yang stretched beside her, arms behind her head, radiating calm big-sister energy like it was her job.

Until she heard the students gossiping across the aisle.

"I heard she lives in the forest. Like a wild beast. With fangs."

"She roared so loud, the infirmary exploded!"

"She's not even human—she eats bones!"

Ruby's brows furrowed. She sat up straighter.

"You know that's not true, right?" she said, turning to the nearby group. "She didn't do anything wrong."

The group blinked. One of them—an older student with a smug grin—sneered.

"Oh, what, you're on her side? Planning to be her fireproof sidekick?"

Ruby stood now, fists at her sides.

"I'm saying you shouldn't talk like that about someone you don't even know."

"She's a monster."

"No," Ruby said firmly. "She's a student. Or she will be. And she saved someone's life the day I met her."

"She's not a threat. She's just different."

The other students went quiet. Some scoffed and wandered off. Others stared. Ruby sat down, cheeks a little flushed.

That's when Yang turned her head slowly and grinned.

"Wait a minute."

"What," Ruby muttered.

"You're standing up for the dragon girl... and you're the reason there was an explosion in the courtyard on arrival day?"

Ruby sank into her hoodie.

"I tripped."

"No, no, no. You detonated a Dust sack with your weapon."

"It was an accident!"

"You're a walking fire hazard, Rubes."

"So is she!" Ruby threw her hands up. "Maybe we're soul sisters, I don't know!"

Yang laughed, stretching.

"Beacon hasn't even started and you've already caused property damage and picked a side in the dragon war. I'm so proud."

"Please stop talking."

As Yang chuckled, a quiet presence approached.

Black ribbon. Gold eyes. A book tucked under one arm.

Blake Belladonna.

Ruby blinked as the girl stepped up beside them.

Blake's gaze was calm, but there was something behind it. Something searching.

"That was brave," Blake said, looking at Ruby.

"What?" Ruby asked.

"Standing up for her. Natsumi."

Ruby shrugged. "She's not a monster."

Blake smiled—soft, faint, but real.

"Most people don't bother seeing that."

She extended the book she was carrying.

"You might like this. It's about a girl who protected someone the world feared."

Ruby took it carefully. "Thanks… I'm Ruby."

"Blake."

Yang raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange.

"Huh. Well, I guess dragons do attract quiet ninja girls."

Blake smirked slightly and walked away without a word.

Ruby stared down at the book.

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

Yang ruffled her hair. "I think you did exactly what a good person does."

Ruby smiled, just a little.

Somewhere in the darkness of the library, the dragon herself slept—unaware of the little sparks her story was setting off all around.

Beacon Residential Tower – Natsumi's Apartment
Middle of the Night

It was past midnight when Velvet Scarlatina stirred.

She didn't know why she woke up—no nightmare, no noise. Just… something. A tug in her chest. A feeling.

The living room was dim, only lit by the faint ambient glow of Dust-laced ambient panels in the ceiling. Coco was snoring lightly nearby, one arm draped off the couch. Glynda's bedroom door was closed down the hall.

Velvet blinked, ears twitching slightly under her sleep cap.

She felt eyes.

Watching.

The kind of presence that prickled the base of your neck—not hostile, not heavy… but focused.

She sat up slowly.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark.

There.

Down the hall—just past the kitchen archway.

Two golden eyes.

Glowing.

Unblinking.

Natsumi.

Standing perfectly still in the shadows, her red and pink hair messy with sleep, scarf tucked loosely around her neck. She didn't move. Just… watched.

Velvet's breath caught.

"Natsu…?"

The dragon girl blinked once. Slowly. Like a cat caught in a hallway light.

Then she stepped forward, quiet as ash falling from a flame.

"Sorry," Natsumi whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Were you… watching me?"

Natsumi nodded, casual.

"You're in the hoard tonight. When I have guests, I do night patrols."

Velvet blinked. "That's a thing?"

"Dragons keep watch," she murmured. "We guard what's ours."

There was no pride in her tone. No boasting.

Just… truth.

Velvet sat a little straighter on her pillow pile, the confusion giving way to something else—something strange and warm.

"So… you were guarding us?"

Natsumi shrugged, her voice barely audible.

"You're part of the hoard."

Velvet's heart gave a weird little thump.

She should've been creeped out. Waking up to a glowing-eyed dragon hybrid looming in the dark wasn't exactly comforting.

But somehow?

She felt safer than she had in weeks.

Natsumi glanced down the hall, giving one last quiet scan.

"Go back to sleep. I'll do one more pass. No one gets near you tonight."

Velvet nodded slowly, laying back down.

"Okay... Thanks, Natsu."

Natsumi didn't respond.

She just slipped into the dark again—silent, patient, and watching.

As dragons do.

Beacon Academy – Initiation Morning
Student Locker Room, Pre-Dawn

The locker room echoed with nervous energy.

The sound of boots clinking against tile. Buckles snapping shut. Scrolls pinging softly with last-minute alerts. And behind all of it, a slow-building tension, like thunder waiting for the sky to break.

Today was Initiation Day.

The test.

The plunge.

The start of everything.

And nobody knew what the hell they were about to walk into.

"Do we have teams yet?" a student near the lockers muttered, strapping on chest armor.

"No. I heard we form them in the field."

"In the field?! What if I get stuck with someone useless?"

"What if I am the someone useless—?"

"Dude."

Swords hissed from sheaths as they were checked and rechecked. Semblances sparked faintly as nerves ran too high for control. Some students were calm. Most weren't.

Across the aisle, Ruby Rose adjusted the straps on Crescent Rose, trying very hard not to vibrate out of her boots. Her foot tapped. Her fingers twitched.

Yang sat beside her, slamming her gauntlets together with a sharp click.

"First day of real combat school," Yang said with a grin. "You ready?"

"Define 'ready,'" Ruby muttered.

Nearby, Jaune Arc fumbled with the straps on his chestplate for the third time.

"Does anyone know what the actual test is?" he asked to no one in particular. "Like… written? Sparring? Is there a study guide? Please say there's a study guide."

"I heard we get launched off a cliff."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. My cousin's teammate said they just threw them into the forest."

Jaune's face paled.

"Threw them into what now?"

"The Emerald Forest," someone said, eyes wide. "It's full of Grimm. We have to survive. Or collect something. Or… maybe both?"

Blake sat near the corner, silently inspecting her weapon. Listening.

Watching.

She said nothing.

Until one voice spoke louder than the rest.

"I bet they're not making her do it."

Everyone went quiet.

"You know. The dragon."

"She's not even a student," someone else said. "She just… lives here?"

"No, she's part of Beacon security."

"She owns the forest, basically. You think they're throwing her in with us?"

"I heard she watches from the trees. Keeps out the stronger Grimm."

"Or eats them," someone muttered.

Yang snorted. "You guys talk about her like she's a horror story."

Ruby glanced at her sister.

"What if she's watching our test?"

Yang's grin widened.

"Better pass. Or she might roast the ones who fail."

Jaune whimpered.

Blake finally spoke, her voice calm.

"I don't think she's there to hurt us."

A pause.

Everyone turned slightly.

Blake didn't look up.

"I think she's there to protect us."

Ruby smiled softly.

Yang gave her a look.

"Wait, are you on Team Dragon Knight now too?"

Ruby turned a shade of pink.

"I'm just saying, she's not the monster everyone makes her out to be…"

Before Yang could tease her again, a sharp chime echoed through the locker room speakers.

"All first-years to the cliff line. Initiation begins in ten minutes."

Everyone stood.

Weapons were drawn. Packs shouldered. Eyes narrowed.

This was it.

The beginning.

And somewhere—out there, in the deep green heart of the forest—she was already awake.

Waiting.

The wind howled over the edge of the cliffs.

Dozens of first-years stood in a wide, uneven line along the forest ridge, staring into the green expanse below like they were about to jump into the unknown—which, technically, they were.

Steel gleamed under the morning light. Scrolls buzzed with final notices. Combat gear was locked into place with trembling hands.

The Emerald Forest waited below.

Silent.

Unforgiving.

And very much alive.

Standing just behind the row of students, Professor Ozpin calmly sipped from his ever-present mug as he stepped forward to address the crowd. His cloak rippled slightly in the breeze.

Beside him, Glynda Goodwitch stood tall, arms folded, her sharp gaze scanning the assembled hopefuls like she was already scoring them from posture alone.

Ozpin didn't need a microphone.

His voice cut clean and quiet through the air.

"You've trained. You've studied. You've survived the application process. But none of that guarantees you belong at Beacon."

He took another sip.

"Here, we measure potential in the field. Your task is simple."

The students leaned in, collectively holding their breath.

"Somewhere within the Emerald Forest is a set of relics. Your objective is to retrieve one and return to the cliffside."

He paused.

"Alive."

A few students swallowed audibly.

"Each relic is located within a small shrine. You'll know them when you see them. They resemble ancient chess pieces. Pick one. Just one."

"And don't forget—Grimm aren't the only danger in these woods."

More nervous murmuring.

Ozpin adjusted his glasses slightly and continued.

"The first person you make eye contact with upon landing will be your partner for the rest of your time at Beacon."

That got louder reactions.

"Wait, what?!"

"No teams?!"

"We're just—paired up on sight?!"

"I should've worn better boots—!"

Glynda stepped forward, clearing her throat with perfect authority. The noise died instantly.

"You will be launched into the forest in pairs. Your landing strategy is your own responsibility. Your success—or failure—will reflect on your future at this academy."

Ozpin turned back to the students and raised one hand.

"Prepare yourselves."

One by one, glowing glyphs lit up at the students' feet.

A shimmer of magic. The quiet rumble of the launch platforms engaging.

Yang cracked her knuckles. Ruby bounced slightly on her heels. Jaune looked ready to faint.

And at the far edge of the treeline—

Hidden in the shadows of the high boughs—

Two gold eyes watched from the canopy, unblinking.

Natsumi.

The warden of the woods.

Waiting.

The forest knew her.

The wind didn't stir when she passed. The trees didn't creak. Even the birds—what few dared to sing in a Grimm-infested woodland—stilled when she crouched on a branch above them.

Natsumi E. Dragneel—the dragon of Beacon, the silent sentinel, the shadow beneath the canopy.

She moved like smoke and fire. Unseen. Unheard.

Golden eyes flicked from movement to movement as she crouched high in a tree overlooking the clearing. The shrill distant hum of the launch glyphs warming up vibrated faintly under her boots.

Initiation's about to start.

Her job was simple.

Eliminate Class C Grimm or higher before they could ambush the new recruits.

Rescue and extract any student who fell unconscious or got too injured to finish the exam.

Don't interfere otherwise.

She exhaled through her nose, feeling the fire hum low in her blood, gentle like coals waiting for the right breath to roar.

She'd already cleared out two Ursa that wandered too close to the shrine path. A pack of Beowolves earlier. One particularly nasty Beringel was now a smoldering stain across the riverbed.

They don't get to touch them.

She meant the students.

She watched the cliffs from a mile away, perched between branches that smelled like pine and sap and blood. Her scarf fluttered like a flag.

She could hear their voices faintly on the wind—young, scared, excited.

They have no idea what's waiting for them down here.

But she wasn't the danger.

Not today.

Still… her claws ached a little. Her tail bone itched—a phantom feeling.

And her heart?

It felt hollow.

She wanted to be up there.

She wanted to be launched.

To feel the glyph fire under her boots, her wings unfurling mid-air in instinct alone.

She wanted to land hard, teeth bared, flame roaring, and fight with them.

As an equal.

As a student.

Not a beast on a leash.

But this was the role they gave her.

And it was an important one.

So she stayed.

Waiting.

Watching.

Protecting.

A silent dragon curled through the forest floor.

And when the first body dropped from the sky—

She was already moving.

Most people didn't hear it. But Natsumi did.

The canopy creaked like tired bones above her. The moss shifted underfoot in slow waves. Grimm roamed just beneath the treeline, their black bodies rippling like oil in the underbrush.

But none came near her.

Not for long.

Natsumi crouched in the crook of an old tree, one hand steady on the bark, the other resting lightly on a branch that hummed faintly with the scent of scorched clawmarks and dustfire.

Class C and above, she reminded herself. Leave the rest for them.

She wasn't a student today.

She was a warden. A guardian. A ghost with a pulse.

Her instructions were clear:

Eliminate dangerous Grimm before they reached the students.

Extract any first-year who passed out or was too injured to finish the trial.

Do not interfere unless absolutely necessary.

Beacon trusted her with this.

Ozpin trusted her.

Glynda... relied on her.

Still, as she watched the cliffline from miles away, waiting for the first flash of glyphs and streaks of color plummeting into the canopy, her heart thudded against her ribs like a trapped flame begging to rise.

I want to be up there.

To fly.

To fight.

To be seen as more than just what slinks through the trees.

But she stayed quiet.

Because she had a job to do.

The dragon inside her wanted to roam. Wanted to test the students. Wanted to see who was worthy.

But Natsumi, the girl Glynda raised, reined it in.

Her golden eyes narrowed as the first glint of aura-lit students fell toward the tree line. Her nostrils flared, catching a faint ripple of sulfur and bone.

Too close.

A Grimm.

Not a big one. But not weak either.

A creeping form that would be far too much for someone still fumbling with a freshly cleaned sword.

Natsumi dropped from the tree like smoke on fire.

She didn't roar.

She didn't speak.

She moved—and the Grimm never saw her coming.

By the time the first student hit the canopy?

The beast was already ash.

Ruby didn't scream.

She didn't have time.

One moment she was standing on the cliff—nerves in her throat, Crescent Rose locked to her back, knees bent like she might just figure out a "landing strategy" on the way down—

And the next—

FWOOM—!

She was flying.

Wind roared past her ears. Her cape snapped like a battle flag. Her heart immediately regretted all previous decisions.

"OhmygoshOHMYGOSH—"

Below her, the Emerald Forest yawned open. Endless green. Dagger-shaped trees. The dark teeth of the unknown.

She plummeted fast.

Too fast.

Too far.

Think, think, THINK—

Mid-air, Ruby twisted. Crescent Rose snapped from her back with a metallic hiss. She twisted it open into scythe mode, catching the glint of light off the polished blade.

The trees rushed up like spears.

"NONONONONO—!"

She slashed—

The blade caught the edge of a branch and redirected her enough to not die. She bounced off a thick trunk, twirled twice midair, slammed through a tangle of vines—

THUD.

A small crater puffed up from the forest floor where she hit.

Silence.

Then a groan.

"Ow…"

Ruby lay on her back, staring at the sky through shredded leaves.

One glove came up with a weak thumbs up.

"Nailed it."

She rolled over, spitting out dirt and leaves, pulling herself up with her scythe like a cane.

"Okay," she muttered, brushing twigs off her cloak. "Find a relic. Find a partner. Don't die. Simple."

Crescent Rose folded back into carry mode with a satisfying snap. She strapped it on and looked around.

The woods were silent.

Too silent.

"...Hello?"

No answer.

But if she'd waited a heartbeat longer—

If she'd turned just slightly—

She might've seen it:

A flicker of gold eyes in the distance.

And a figure disappearing silently into the trees.

Watching.

Waiting.

Protecting.

The impact of the red one's landing still echoed between the trees.

Natsumi crouched along the high curve of a moss-covered branch, her claws digging lightly into bark. Leaves fluttered around her like feathers shaken loose by her breath.

She'd felt the Aura pulse before the girl even hit the ground.

Fast. Unrefined. But bold.

She liked that.

The wind shifted again.

More arrivals.

Far to the west, a long howl—probably an Ursa catching the scent of unblooded students. South, a pulse of Dust in the soil—someone used too much landing propulsion, left a crater.

"Hmm." She tilted her head, sniffing the air.

One of them smelled like panic.

Another like metal polish and fresh ink.

Still clean. Still untested.

She didn't smile.

Dragons don't smile the way people do.

But something in her chest stirred.

A little pride.

A little fire.

So many of them, this year…

She began to move again, slipping through the trees like her bones remembered how to vanish. The world narrowed to sound and motion.

No footstep wasted. No branch disturbed.

A sliver of her scarf trailed behind her, flickering like a flare's shadow.

Focus. Protect. Intervene only if needed.

A shriek echoed in the distance—followed by a thud. Then a voice swearing loudly and colorfully.

Natsumi adjusted her direction.

That one might need help.

She leapt between trees, trailing smoke and silence.

One eye on the test.

The other on the woods.

And under it all, in the quietest, smallest part of her chest—

I could've been down there too.
I should've been.

But she didn't slow.

Not yet.

Because the forest was watching them all.

And so was she.

Her descent had been clean—calculated. Grappling line, branch redirect, a subtle flip of the wrist at just the right moment. She left no crater. No flash of light. Just a soft thud as her boots touched down in the moss.

Silent in. Silent out.

Exactly how she liked it.

She exhaled once, sharp through her nose. Checked her scroll. Checked Gambol Shroud's blade.

All systems fine.

Then—

A crackle.

Leaves rustling.

Low, heavy footfalls.

Blake turned toward the sound, her hand sliding to her weapon.

A Grimm burst from the undergrowth.

Big.

A Beowolf.

Its black fur matted with thorns and dirt. White mask gleaming. Claws sharp.

But it wasn't charging.

It wasn't growling.

It was running.

Hard.

Blind.

Panicked.

Straight toward her—and not even looking.

Blake blinked.

What the—?

The Beowolf lunged sideways at the last second, trying to veer away.

Blake moved on instinct.

She ducked low, slashed across its underside, pivoted, and drove her blade up through its spine as it stumbled past.

It crumbled into smoke before it even finished its dying howl.

She stood over it, panting lightly, eyes narrowed.

Grimm don't run.

They fight.

They chase.

They hunger.

But this one?

This one had fled.

Something scared it.

Blake turned her eyes toward the deeper woods—the shadows between trees where even the morning light refused to settle.

Silence.

But she swore…

For half a second…

She saw gold.

Just a flicker. Between the branches.

Then nothing.

She tightened her grip on Gambol Shroud and stepped into the trees.

Not chasing the Grimm.

Chasing the question.

Blake moved like wind.

Low, fast, and silent.

The path the Beowolf had taken was crude—branches torn, moss shredded, claw marks deep in the bark. But the fear it left behind was harder to follow.

Not a trail of blood.

Not a trail of rage.

A trail of emptiness.

Something in this forest can frighten Grimm, Blake thought.

And it's not the students.

She ducked under a low branch, boots skimming over soft undergrowth. Her ears twitched—

A growl. Close.

Then—

BOOM.

A blast of gold aura and kinetic force tore through the clearing ahead.

Blake froze just outside the tree line, watching the chaos unfold.

A Beowolf flew backward—on fire—and smashed into a tree, its mask cracking as it disintegrated with a screech.

Standing in the clearing, hair flaring like a second sun—

Yang Xiao Long.

Grinning.

Panting.

Knuckles steaming from the punch.

"Who's next?!" she called to the trees.

Found her, Blake thought.

Before Yang could turn, another Beowolf burst from the side—fangs bared, claws raised.

Yang didn't see it.

Blake moved.

In one breath, she was beside it. Blade out. No warning.

SLASH.

One clean cut across the beast's mask.

It fell, twisted, and dissolved into ash at Yang's feet.

Yang blinked. Looked up. Saw Blake—calm, quiet, unreadable—standing with her weapon already folded back.

"...Whoa," Yang said, catching her breath. "You're good."

Blake simply tilted her head.

"You're loud."

Yang chuckled. "Fair."

A pause passed between them. Not awkward. Just… assessing.

Yang extended a gloved hand.

"Yang. Just Yang."

Blake studied it for a heartbeat.

Then shook it.

"Blake."

They didn't say anything else.

They didn't have to.

Somewhere above, more students launched like fireworks.

Somewhere deeper, gold eyes watched from a tree, claws wrapped around bark, the dragon silent and unseen.

So far… so good.

Jaune Arc was going to die.

Probably mid-air.

Most likely due to gravity.

"WHYYYYYYYY—"

He flailed as he plummeted through the trees, Crescent Shield spinning off his back like a metal frisbee, his sword stuck halfway unsheathed.

No landing strategy. No plan. No idea what I'm doing.

This was fine.

Totally.

THWUMP—!

And then—

THNK!

A sudden jerk around his neck.

Jaune yelped as the back of his hoodie snagged tight, halting his fall mid-flight.

He dangled two feet off the ground, limbs swinging helplessly, eyes wide as he stared down at the forest floor.

"What—how—?"

A tall figure stepped into his field of vision.

Red hair. Armor gleaming. A spear embedded in the tree behind him, pinning his hoodie in place like a butterfly on a corkboard.

Pyrrha Nikos.

"Are you alright?" she asked calmly, as if catching boys out of the air was standard combat procedure.

"Yeah!" Jaune squeaked. "Totally fine. Just… hanging."

She smiled gently, walked over, and pulled the spear free in one swift, practiced motion. Jaune dropped to the ground with a grunt, landing in an awkward crouch.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "I was, uh… just testing gravity."

"It still works."

"Yup."

They stood in silence for a beat.

Jaune dusted himself off while Pyrrha retrieved her shield from nearby.

"So…" he said, awkwardly adjusting his armor. "We're partners now?"

"It seems so," Pyrrha nodded.

"Cool. Cool cool cool. So... relics, right? We find one of those and head back?"

"Correct."

"No big deal."

"Hopefully."

Then she paused.

Her gaze drifted toward the deeper trees.

Eyes narrowing.

Posture stiffening slightly.

Jaune followed her glance.

"What? What is it?"

Pyrrha didn't speak for a second. Her fingers tightened slightly on her spear.

"We're not alone."

"Yeah, I mean… the forest's full of Grimm, right?"

"No," she said softly. "This feels different."

There was no sound. No crack of twigs. No growl of monsters.

But still, the air felt… pressured.

As if something was watching.

Waiting.

Pyrrha couldn't see it.

But she could feel it.

The presence of a predator.

Not a Grimm.

Something older.

Wiser.

Natsumi crouched on a branch above, claws hooked lazily into bark, gold eyes blinking once as Jaune Arc slammed into the ground like a sack of wet bread.

Pathetic.

He flopped like he'd never touched a weapon in his life.

How did he even get accepted…?

She was already shifting to move on.

Then the girl caught him.

A clean throw. A mid-air pin by the hoodie—without even disturbing the wind.

Natsumi froze, just slightly.

Pyrrha Nikos.

The name tickled something behind her tongue. She'd seen her fight before. In tournament replays Glynda made her study. Not Aura alone—technique. Precision. A stillness that could kill.

Natsumi's claws curled tighter into the branch.

That one… could stand her ground.

She didn't move. Just watched.

Watched Pyrrha pull her spear. Watched Jaune tumble like a dropped weapon. Watched them talk, awkward and uneven—but still.

A pair.

A team.

Her heart thudded once.

Hard.

I want that.

But that wasn't her role.

She was a shadow. A warden. Not a partner.

Still…

Her gaze narrowed slightly.

Pyrrha had felt her.

Just for a second.

When her eyes went still and her shoulders tightened.

She sensed me.

Natsumi smiled faintly.

A real one. Small. Tooth-tipped.

The girl was smart.

But she wasn't a threat.

Not yet.

She shifted slightly along the branch—just enough to stay unseen as the two humans moved deeper toward the shrine trail.

I'll follow. Just in case.

They don't see the larger thing yet. The one trailing behind the relic sites.

She tasted ash in the air.

Something old was moving through this forest.

And it wasn't her.

The forest was silent.

But not in the right way.

This wasn't the hush before a predator strike. It wasn't the stillness of stalking prey.

It was… waiting.

Wrong.

She dropped from the canopy in near silence, landing in a crouch atop a stone ridge overlooking a broken basin.

And she saw it.

Roots tangled around it—no, not roots—vines, slick with oil and threaded through with pale, brittle bone. They twitched like tendons. Coiled like muscle. And at the center of it all, half-submerged in ichor:

A Grimm.

Or something that used to be one.

Too many limbs. Its back hunched, half-spine exposed. Its body was wrapped in those same vines—but not as armor. They were part of it now. Embedded deep. Feeding it.

Its mask was wrong. Twisted.

The usual blank white of a Beowolf's face had teeth. Not just on the jaw—across the entire front.

It hadn't seen her yet.

But it twitched.

As if it could feel her rage.

Natsumi's eyes glowed.

She didn't roar.

Not yet.

But every scale along her back prickled. Her tail twitched behind her, barely visible under her hoodie. She stepped forward, silent and tense, nose wrinkling at the scent.

This isn't born from nature.

This was built.

Whoever made this didn't create life—they mocked it.

The creature twitched again.

Its head snapped toward her ridge.

Too fast.

It knew she was here.

It didn't growl.

It didn't charge.

It just watched her.

Unblinking.

And the vines around it quivered. Hungry.

This is new, she thought. It shouldn't be here. It doesn't belong.

And it doesn't get to stay.

A twitch. A shift in the vines. One too many limbs cracking into place.

That was enough.

Natsumi dropped from the ridge in a blink.

No roar.

No warning.

She landed like a comet—fist first.

The impact rippled through the basin, shattering stone. The mutant Grimm reeled back—but not fast enough.

Too slow, she thought.

She opened her mouth wide.

Inhaled once.

And then—

"FIRE DRAGON'S ROAR!"

The sound that tore through the trees was not a scream.

It was punishment.

A cone of gold-red fire exploded from her lungs, so hot it vaporized the vines it touched. The mutant shrieked—not in pain, but confusion. It had never known fear before.

It did now.

Its body twisted to flee, but she was already there.

A step. A flicker.

"FIRE DRAGON WING ATTACK"

Flames circled the creature like angry stars—then collapsed inward.

It didn't burn.

It ceased.

The vines flared, the bones cracked, and the Grimm howled one last time before it collapsed into ash and steam, the pit beneath it boiling into glass.

Natsumi stood in the middle of it all, chest rising, arms still smoldering, gold eyes narrowed.

The forest was quiet again.

Watching her.

The wind, for once, didn't move.

Whoever sent that… wasn't expecting me.

She turned her head slightly, scanning the tree line.

Nothing.

No signature. No control pulse. It was just… dropped here.

A test?

A message?

She growled low in her throat and stepped over the puddle of melted vine and charred bark.

The pit was still pulsing slightly, even as the creature that birthed from it dissolved.

They'll try again.

She glanced skyward toward Beacon's distant cliffs, where students were still mid-trial.

They won't get the chance.

High above the Emerald Forest, the Beacon cliffside was quiet again.

The last student had been launched. The locker platforms had gone still. The professors—those who watched from behind illusion-shielded balconies—had settled into their observation duties.

And at the highest point of the cliff, just outside the tower's watchpoint, Professor Ozpin stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, a fresh cup of coffee in hand.

Beside him, Glynda Goodwitch was less relaxed.

Her eyes hadn't left the treeline since the launch began.

"You're pacing," Ozpin said lightly, without turning.

"I'm standing."

"Aggressively."

"They're children," she muttered. "And she's out there."

Ozpin finally turned. "She's never failed her role."

"She shouldn't have that role."

Ozpin didn't answer.

Then he stopped.

He turned fully.

So did Glynda.

Because from the middle of the Emerald Forest—

A pillar of smoke rose.

Not black.

Gold.

It shimmered faintly. Magic-bound. Not natural fire—but something alive.

Glynda's eyes widened a fraction.

"That's not part of the test."

Ozpin inhaled through his nose.

Calm. Calculating.

But not surprised.

"No. That's her signal."

He turned to his scroll, activating a secure channel.

"We'll need a cleanup team. Section D-7. There was a Grimm breach."

"Grimm don't cause fire like that."

Ozpin took a long sip of his coffee.

"No, they don't."

Glynda exhaled, glancing toward the sky again.

"Should we recall her?"

"Not yet. If it was serious, she would've left ashes. That was a warning."

He tapped a button on the control board. A small map lit up, the signal flare pinging over a grid of tracking coordinates.

"She's hunting now."

The forest was behind them.

For now.

The first-year students stood in tight rows across the Beacon amphitheater floor, most of them still scuffed, grass-stained, or recovering from minor bruises.

Jaune's armor was crooked. Ruby had twigs in her hood. Nora was bouncing. Blake looked like she hadn't broken a sweat.

Yang was stretching. Loudly.

And Weiss?

Weiss Schnee looked like she had just been informed the air was canceled.

Ozpin stood at the podium again, serene as ever.

"Congratulations. You've survived the Emerald Forest."

He let that hang just long enough to earn a few nervous chuckles.

"You retrieved your relics, navigated unfamiliar terrain, and—most importantly—worked together under pressure."

"Your actions during this trial have been carefully observed and reviewed."

He adjusted his glasses.

"Teams will now be assigned."

"When I call your names, please step forward."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd.

"Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long…"

Team RWBY straightened slightly. Ruby squeaked.

"You will form Team RWBY…"

"Led by Ruby Rose."

Silence.

Stunned silence.

Ruby blinked.

"Wait—what?"

Weiss blinked.

"What?!"

Even Blake raised an eyebrow.

Yang just grinned like a proud mom and clapped Ruby on the shoulder.

"Congrats, sis!"

Weiss didn't clap.

She stared at Ozpin like he'd grown horns.

"Excuse me—Headmaster, I don't mean to be disrespectful—but I have top marks. I had three Grimm kills. I performed two separate support actions. I—"

"And Ruby," Ozpin said gently, "demonstrated initiative, command presence, and decisive action under pressure."

"She blew up two trees by accident!"

"Accidental leadership," Yang muttered under her breath.

"It's not a mistake," Ozpin said. "It's a test. And she passed."

Weiss clenched her jaw but said nothing more.

"Next—Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren, and Nora Valkyrie…"

Ozpin paused for effect.

"Team JNPR."

Jaune blinked. "What?"

"Led by Jaune Arc."

Pyrrha smiled softly.

Ren blinked once.

Nora cheered.

"YOU DID IT, FEARLESS LEADER!"

Jaune's mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"I don't even—what? I got stuck in a tree—"

"And still led your team to the shrine," Ozpin said. "Leadership isn't always clean. But it's earned."

Jaune glanced at Pyrrha, who just nodded gently.

"I believe in you."

He swallowed hard.

"O-okay. Sure. Great. No pressure."

The rest of the names blurred into background noise. For most of the students, this was a huge relief.

For others?

It was the start of the pressure.

High above, on a ledge behind mirrored glass, Glynda Goodwitch watched the student formation silently.

Beside her, a scroll buzzed.

A message from a private frequency.

Short. Fire-stamped.

"1 down. 0 left. All clear."

Glynda allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

"Good girl," she whispered.

Chapter Text

an : this took all about 2 moths for all 6 captures to wright. so this is it for like 3 weeks or so!

Laughter echoed through the dorm halls as new teams found their rooms.

Boots clattered against tile. Armor was dumped beside beds. Students shouted over each other, arguing about bunk assignments and unpacking in chaotic swirls of relief and adrenaline.

Team RWBY had just reached their dorm. EXCITED to make it to the school!

Ruby was grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed from the high of making a team—and leading one.

Yang flopped onto her bed. "Not bad could use a hot tub"

Weiss muttered something about the absurdity of the assignment while rearranging her trunk with precision.

Blake sat on her bed, quietly sliding books onto her shelf.

It was loud.

Warm.

Alive.

Until it wasn't.

Until—the roar.

Low.

Long.

It rolled over the dormitory like distant thunder.

Every sound stopped.

Voices died.

Chatter halted.

Even Ruby's excited hand gestures stilled.

The roar wasn't like the ones they'd heard before.

It wasn't rage.

It wasn't power.

It was deep.

Slow.

And sad.

Like something ancient remembering a name long gone.

Ruby blinked, whispering, "...What was that?"

No one answered.

Not at first.

Weiss looked toward the window.

Yang sat up slowly.

Blake said nothing.

They didn't understand it.

Not yet.

But down the hall, a few upperclassmen froze in place.

Coco Adel stood in the second-year dorms, coffee in hand, halfway through a conversation with Fox when her shoulders stiffened.

Velvet dropped her scroll, ears going flat.

Fox swallowed hard. "That's her."

Coco nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah."

Another student further down whispered, "It's been a while since we heard that one."

Yatsuhashi looked toward the windows. "Someone didn't make it."

No questions followed.

Just silence.

Respect.

Because they'd heard it before.

Not often.

But enough.

It wasn't a dragon's scream of fury.

It was a call—a low, aching declaration to the wind:

One was lost.

at the emerald forest

The wind was stronger here, high above the dorms, where few dared climb and fewer still lingered. The old tower was closed to students, rarely used, a relic of Beacon's early days.

But tonight, it held a shadow.

Natsumi crouched at the edge, arms resting on her knees, her scarf whipping behind her in the wind like a banner soaked in silence. The sun bled red across the horizon.

The forest below still burned faintly with golden ash—her fire had already died down. The threat had been purged. Her duty fulfilled.

Except one.

One had fallen.

And now the name was etched into the dragon's memory.

No ceremony.

No list.

Just a presence.

Gone.

She hadn't screamed when she found the body.

Hadn't cursed the sky.

Just stared.

And closed their eyes.

Then she roared.

Not to grieve.

Not to blame.

But to acknowledge.

Behind her, the sound of a familiar step.

She didn't turn.

Glynda Goodwitch stood a few paces back, hands folded, cloak pinned tight against the breeze.

No words yet.

They never rushed these moments.

"I was fast," Natsumi said quietly, her voice like coals cracking in the wind. "I tracked the scent the second it turned. I was closer than I've ever been."

Glynda nodded once. "And still…"

"Too late." Natsumi tilted her head. "Again."

A long silence.

Then:

"They were brave," she added, tone sharper now. "Smart. But young. Too quick with their swing. Not quick enough with their retreat."

Another gust blew past.

The fire in her voice didn't crack—but Glynda could hear what wasn't being said.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked gently. Glnyda deep down knew what the answer was. she knew how her daughter took death. mainly someone not part of the pack .

Natsumi shook her head.

"No. I don't. dragons dont morn those wont are close mom. you know this." Gylnda did. she had to know if that had change. its not a sick or twisted reason just different

She looked up at the sky.

"We don't cry. We don't break. We know—death walks every path we fly. And no flame burns forever."

She touched her chest, lightly. A quiet gesture.

"But we remember. Always."

More silence.

Then Glynda stepped closer, her voice barely above the wind.

"You'll keep watching."

"Of course."

"You'll keep fighting."

"I don't know anything else."

Glynda gave a faint, brittle smile. "You could rest."

Natsumi finally looked back, her gold eyes faintly glowing against the slowly setting sun .

"I'll rest when the hoard is safe."

The room was dimly lit, the long table polished to a soft gleam under the overhead lights. The hum of the campus beyond was distant, muffled—nothing penetrated this room.

Four figures sat around the table.

Professor Ozpin, silent behind his ever-present mug.
Professor Port, unusually subdued.
Doctor Oobleck, tapping a pen against his knee but saying nothing yet.
Glynda Goodwitch, standing with a scroll open in front of her, her expression unreadable.

And at the far end, slouched low in a chair far too formal for her usual tastes, sat Natsumi.

Still barefoot.

Still warm from the forest.

Hair wind-blown. Scarf tugged down around her collarbone. Her gold eyes, usually restless, were locked on the object sitting in front of her on the table.

A book.

Not an old tome. Not a strategy manual.

A student-made survival guide.

"Furry Friends and Fire Hazards: How to Survive Natsumi Goodwitch – A Practical Guide to Fire, Fury, and Friendship."

Natsumi stared at the cover.

"...This is real?"

Port cleared his throat. "It circulated privately at first. Harmless rumors, student jokes… we were going to ignore it."

Glynda tapped the screen on her scroll, bringing up a projected chart. "Until it became the most downloaded student document on campus."

Oobleck added, "Second only to the exam cheat sheet from two years ago."

Ozpin didn't look up. "That one was clever, I'll admit."

Natsumi flipped the guide open, squinting at the first page.

Her voice was low, flat. "Chapter One: 'If she smells you, it's too late.' Really?"

Oobleck shrugged. "Technically accurate."

Natsumi snorted. "They called me a 'fire-breathing chaos lizard with a loyalty kink.'"

Port looked away.

Ozpin's mug clinked softly against the table.

Natsumi stared at them.

"This was a joke. A meme."

"It was," Glynda said calmly. "Now it's a resource."

Natsumi raised a brow. "You want to hand this out? Like it's a syllabus?"

Glynda didn't flinch. "Yes."

Silence.

Then Glynda stepped forward, her voice quieter—but harder.

"You've spent most of your life learning how to blend. How to speak our language. How to understand our emotions. Our politics. Our fears."

She turned the scroll slightly, pulling up a file. "You've been studying humans, faunus, hybrids, and Aura-bound philosophy since you were seven. You learned how to eat around people who fear fangs. How to dull your instincts so you don't scare the wrong crowd."

She met Natsumi's eyes directly.

"Maybe it's time they started learning you."

Natsumi didn't speak.

She looked back down at the guidebook.

The language was messy.

Some of it was exaggerated. Silly. Even a little insulting.

But it wasn't cruel.

And it wasn't wrong.

She flipped a few pages.

Chapter 5: How to Know She Trusts You (You Might Die, But It's Worth It)
"If she brings you food, say thank you. If she brings you bones, say thank you louder."

She exhaled through her nose, the corners of her mouth twitching.

Oobleck spoke next. "They're trying to make sense of you the only way they know how. Through stories. Through instinct. Through fear, maybe—but also respect."

Ozpin finally lifted his eyes.

"You frighten them, Natsumi. But they don't hate you. Not really."

He gestured to the book.

"They're trying to understand you. Maybe it's time we gave them the right tools."

Natsumi closed the book softly.

Then leaned back in her chair.

"…Fine."

She didn't sound offended.

Didn't sound hurt.

Just tired.

And… maybe a little lighter.

"They can read it," she said.

"But if they get the parts wrong, I'm biting someone."

Port chuckled under his breath.

Oobleck muttered, "We'll put that under 'cultural correction.'"

Glynda gave a slow nod.

"It's time," she said softly, "for Beacon to stop asking you to be less of yourself to be understood."

Natsumi looked back down at the book again.

"…They're gonna have so many questions."

Ozpin's smile was faint, but genuine.

"Let them ask."

" let them learn of your past"

natsumi looked at the book. skimming thought. it had everything. her past. her people...her fears. her mom was right.

it was time for the school to know who she really was.

not a monster

not a weapon

a person

Beacon Cafeteria – The Post-Initiation Feast

Evening

The feast was everything the day wasn't—warm, noisy, bright, and filled with the kind of comfort that only came after survival.

Students piled their trays with reckless abandon. Tables overflowed with roast meats, Dust-cooked vegetables, seasoned rice, pies, bread that melted in your mouth. The smell of pepper and fried starch blanketed the hall like a reward.

Team RWBY had just claimed a corner table.

Ruby sat with a turkey leg twice the size of her hand. Yang was already on her third plate. Blake picked neatly at a grilled skewer. Weiss, sitting stiffly in her chair, was mostly rearranging her tray for symmetry.

Then a small stack of thin, bound booklets landed at the edge of their table.

None of them had seen where they came from.

Weiss blinked. "What's this?"

Ruby leaned over, picking one up and flipping to the cover.

"Furry Friends and Fire Hazards: How to Survive Natsumi Goodwitch – A Practical Guide to Fire, Fury, and Friendship."

Ruby's mouth moved silently for a few seconds.

Yang squinted. "Is that… is this a book about her?"

Blake took it next, flipping through pages. "Looks like it."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Is it official?"

"No Beacon crest on the cover," Blake said. "But someone printed it professionally. Glossy pages. Formatted sections."

Ruby grabbed one and flipped to the contents.

Chapter 4: Signs You've Been Accepted (Includes: Rabbit Drops, Scorch Marks, Unexplained Growling at Your Enemies)
Chapter 8: Dragon Den Etiquette – Don't Touch Anything That Smells Like Her.

She let out a strangled half-laugh. "What is this?!"

Weiss took it, flipping a few pages before her brow furrowed. "Some of this is weirdly detailed."

Blake glanced around.

Other tables had copies now too. A quiet murmur was spreading through the room.

"What if she sees us reading this?" Ruby whispered.

And that's when the doors opened.

A hush fell like a dropped blade.

Natsumi Goodwitch entered the cafeteria.

Not walking.

Striding.

Barefoot. Burn-scuffed pants. Sleeves rolled up. Hair wild from wind and ash. Scarf wrapped loosely around her throat like a claim she never removed.

Her gold eyes moved once across the room.

Every student she passed went still.

A tray was handed to her by one of the staff. No line. No questions. Just delivered.

And then—she sat.

Alone. For a second.

Then two upperclassmen—strangers to most of the first-years—joined her without fanfare. One wore a beret. The other had rabbit ears and a quiet presence.

Weiss's voice dropped.

"…Who are they?"

"No idea," Yang murmured. "But they're sitting with her."

And then it began.

Natsumi ate.

No utensils.

No hesitation.

Just primal, precise tearing into a rack of meat, her claws anchoring the tray as she pulled strips free with her teeth.

Not messy—but raw.

Controlled.

Predatory.

Elegant only in the way a wolf might be, stretching its jaws just wide enough to not bite through bone—because it could, if it wanted.

Students stared.

Some whispered.

Others flipped faster through the booklet, suddenly desperate for insight.

Chapter 2: What Not to Do While She's Eating (Includes: Eye Contact, Small Talk, and Asking for a Bite)

Ruby whispered, "I feel like I shouldn't be watching this."

Weiss blinked. "Is this normal?"

Blake's voice was unreadable. "For her? Yes."

Across the room, the energy changed.

No one clapped.

No one approached.

But the myth of the dragon?

It was gone.

She was here.

Real.

And watching her eat was like watching a forest fire burn in a glass case—terrifying, beautiful, and impossibly hard to look away from.

Weiss slowly closed the guidebook.

"…I think we should read all of this."

Ruby nodded rapidly.

Yang whispered, "I already memorized the table of contents."

Blake, still calm, just said, "Good. Because she's watching you now."

Ruby stiffened.

So did Weiss.

Very slowly, they looked over.

Across the room—Natsumi was looking directly at their table.

Golden eyes.

Unblinking.

Then—she gave the tiniest tilt of her head.

Not a smile.

Not a threat.

Just a note.

She knew they were reading.

She didn't mind.

Not yet.

The buzz of conversation had returned, cautiously, but the tension hadn't fully faded.

Natsumi was still eating, the students still pretending not to stare. First-years flipped through the strange survival guide in whispered clusters, as though decoding a holy text.

Some chapters felt like comedy.

Some felt like warning.

And some—felt like confession.

But just as the murmurs began to settle again, the cafeteria doors opened.

And Glynda Goodwitch entered.

Not in combat heels.

Not in her flowing battlecoat.

But in soft, low-heeled shoes and a dark gray sweater jacket. Her hair still pinned with precision, her posture perfect—but the air around her was... different.

She didn't look like the Beacon disciplinarian.

She looked like a woman who had just come off a long, quiet shift. Someone tired—but not worn down.

She walked straight to Natsumi's table.

Not like a superior.

Not like a general.

She sat beside her daughter.

No ceremony. No distance.

And students noticed.

Across the hall, a few upperclassmen exchanged glances.

One whispered, "I thought they were… y'know. Master and leash."

Another shook their head. "No. That's not how she looks at her."

Ruby stared openly now. "She's… she's with her?"

Blake said nothing, but watched intently.

Weiss furrowed her brow. "But isn't she her handler? That's what I heard."

"No," Blake said quietly.

And she was right.

Because Glynda didn't lecture Natsumi. She didn't scold her for tearing into her food with claws or sitting barefoot at the table. She simply took a tray, passed her daughter a roll, and began to eat beside her.

Comfortably.

Naturally.

Like this wasn't a fearsome dragon among humans.

Like this was just family.

Natsumi leaned a little to the side, nudging Glynda's elbow with a soft grunt. Glynda wordlessly slid her an extra skewer from her tray.

That was it.

No speech.

No display.

Just ritual.

Mother and child, forged by years of fire and understanding.

The room didn't speak, but it watched.

And in the quiet realization sweeping across Beacon's dining hall, a myth began to die.

She wasn't a weapon.

She wasn't a monster.

She wasn't some chained thing under Glynda's control.

She was a daughter.

And Glynda was not her warden.

She was her anchor.

And suddenly, the guidebook didn't feel so silly anymore.

Because the one thing it hadn't said—the thing no one thought to write—

Was this:

Even dragons have mothers.

The Morning After the Feast

The walls were lined with glowing panels and overhead displays. Scrolls flickered silently. Dust-light chandeliers glowed like artificial moons.

Ozpin stood near the window, coffee in hand, watching Vale's skyline without really seeing it.

Professor Port cleared his throat. "Forgive my bluntness, but… what was that last night?"

Doctor Oobleck nodded. "The feast became something else entirely. A public unmasking, if you will. The students saw more than a dragon. They saw—" he adjusted his glasses, "—a mother and daughter sharing bread."

Port rubbed his jaw. "It's not that I object to her being visible, but… they're afraid of her, Glynda. And that fear has served us well. A deterrent, a shadow in the forest."

Glynda sat at the head of the table, legs crossed, scroll laid neatly before her. She was calm. Professional. Impeccably composed.

And stone-set behind the eyes.

"She's not a deterrent," Glynda said quietly. "She's a person."

Port frowned. "Yes, but you must admit—she is different. And the mystery was part of how we kept things balanced. The fear keeps them in line."

"She is not a leash to frighten first-years with," Glynda said, voice colder now.

Ozpin finally spoke, still facing the window.

"They saw her eat, Glynda."

"And? Did she burn anyone?"

Silence.

Oobleck tapped his pen. "The... guidebook. You're really allowing it to circulate?"

"I've approved a revised version," Glynda said. "Corrected. Formalized. No more hearsay. Just facts."

Port frowned deeper. "Facts like 'she bites bones for affection' and 'don't interrupt her naps or you'll wake up with no eyebrows'?"

"Yes," Glynda said. "And also facts like: She mourns. She protects. She has a mother. She is not a beast in the woods."

Oobleck looked toward Ozpin. "Is this truly wise?"

Ozpin sipped his coffee.

Then turned, finally.

"She has spent her entire life learning to speak in our terms," he said. "To hold back. To smile softly so no one flinches. To wear gloves when she doesn't feel like hiding her claws."

He set the mug down.

"I think it's time the rest of the world learned her language."

Port exhaled, slowly. "But you understand what this means, don't you?"

Glynda stood.

"Perfectly."

She closed her scroll.

"We're no longer asking her to hide."

"And if the students fear her?" Port asked.

Glynda looked at him, level.

"Then they'll learn."

And she left the room.

The bell hadn't even finished its second chime when the door slammed open.

Team RWBY burst in, out of breath, half-dressed in uniform, one of Yang's boots still untied. Team JNPR stumbled in behind them, Jaune dropping his scroll and Nora dragging Ren by the sleeve.

"Made it!" Ruby wheezed, sliding into a seat with a triumphant puff of steam.

Professor Peter Port raised an eyebrow, mustache twitching. "Cutting it close, students."

"We had a... room incident," Weiss said sharply, glaring at Yang.

Yang shrugged. "They didn't say making bunk beds were gonna take a bit!"

"i blame ruby" Weiss hissed.

Port sighed and gestured toward the remaining seats. "Take your places. You're fortunate that I—an example of patience and power—have yet to begin my lecture."

They filed in, grumbling and adjusting their uniforms.

And then they saw her.

Natsumi.

Lying across the back row like a sun-drunk predator, one leg hooked over the armrest, scarf pulled halfway up her face, arms folded behind her head.

Barefoot.

Sleeping.

Right there. In the room.

Ruby froze mid-sit. "Wait… is that—?"

"It is," Blake murmured.

"Why is she here?" Pyrrha asked quietly.

"She doesn't even go here," Weiss muttered, narrowing her eyes.

"She's not a student," Blake added. "She doesn't even take classes."

"And yet," Yang whispered, "she beat us here."

Natsumi shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, one hand reaching for the empty air like she was still dreaming about fighting. Her claws flexed once.

No one dared sit near her.

One poor first-year started to, then

noticed her sher growled at them and immediately retreated.

Port cleared his throat.

"She joins us when she wants," he said simply. "We don't question it."

"Is that allowed?" Jaune whispered.

"your gonna remove a sleep dragon who has a fetish to blow things up? ," Ren murmured.

"Totally allowed," Jaune corrected himself, sitting very still.

Port continued as if this were normal—because at Beacon, it was.

"Now then! Let us discuss what it means to face adversity in the field. Grimm are not simply monsters—they are manifestations of emotion. Rage. Fear. Hunger."

He gestured dramatically to the board.

"Which is why Aura discipline and emotional control are vital!"

Ruby was trying to pay attention.

Really.

But every few seconds, her eyes flicked back to the back row.

Where the dragon slept.

Unbothered.

Untouched.

Present.

And entirely outside the rules.

The guidebook hadn't prepared them for this.

Not really.

Because seeing Natsumi in the woods?

That was legend.

Seeing her in a desk?

That was real.

And somehow even more terrifying.

the two teams sat down Team rwby sitting the same row with each other all right next to one and another. jnpr were a but scattered.

"…and as I was saying," Professor Port boomed, gesturing wildly with a piece of chalk that had clearly seen battle, "Grimm are not merely beasts! They are born of darkness—drawn to pain, to panic, to unshielded souls!"

He spun back toward the board, scrawling a chaotic diagram of what might have been an Ursa or a tree. Possibly both. with in the first 20 minutes of the class

yang tried to keep up. Blake took notes. ruby doodled.

Weiss… twitched.

At first it was ruby. now it had been the snoring.

Just a faint, rhythmic sound from the back of the classroom—soft and steady.

Now it was louder.

Deeper.

Rumbling.

Like a growl trapped in a lullaby.

Weiss's quill hovered mid-air as another snore echoed across the room.

"Are you kidding me?" she hissed under her breath, throwing a glance back over her shoulder.

Natsumi lay sprawled across the back row—still asleep, one boot resting on the desk, scarf tugged down, mouth slightly open.

A soft purr-snore-purr rumbled from her chest.

And every few seconds, a wisp of actual steam drifted from her nostrils.

Ruby leaned over, whispering. "I think she's dreaming about setting stuff on fire."

"She is setting my patience on fire," Weiss snapped, barely able to contain herself.

"Should we wake her?" Ruby whispered.

"No," Blake said calmly. "Unless you want to lose your hand."

Port, meanwhile, seemed entirely unfazed.

He continued his lecture with full theatrical flair, arms wide, voice booming—until he finally gestured toward the back of the room.

"And yet!" he declared, turning to the students. "Even in this very hall, we are honored to be joined by a living force of nature!"

He smiled broadly.

"A protector of Beacon! A fire-borne sentinel of instinct, discipline, and raw tactical supremacy!"

Natsumi let out a snore that nearly shook a desk.

Weiss slammed her quill down. "SHE'S NOT EVEN AWAKE!"

Port raised a hand as if blessing a divine presence. "Ah, Miss Schnee. But is she not always awake in spirit? Even in slumber, Miss Goodwitch listens with a hunter's soul!"

Another rumble echoed across the room. A deep, almost contented dragon-purr-snore.

Ruby covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

Yang had stopped doodling just to watch this unfold.

Blake, as usual, looked impassive. But her ears twitched once—amusement.

Port clapped his hands together. "I daresay it is a privilege, not a disruption! One does not tell the mountain to move so class may proceed—we simply feel fortunate to lecture within its shadow."

Weiss looked like she was about to combust.

"I'm going to combust," she muttered.

"Careful," Yang whispered, "that's her thing." her thumb point to the red haired dragon

Another loud snore rolled through the room—long, low, ending with the faintest hiccup of heat. The nearby window fogged slightly.

Port beamed.

"The dragon sleeps—and we are humbled by her presence!"

Weiss buried her face in her hands.

Port was in the middle of a dramatic retelling of how he'd once wrestled a Beowolf with only a busted boot and half a turkey leg.

Ruby was smiling, politely confused.

Jaune was scribbling notes that looked more like a bad comic strip.

Weiss was clenching her jaw so hard it could cut glass.

Behind them, Natsumi still slept, purring softly, faint curls of heat rising from her chest.

Then—

A sound.

Steel cracking.

A hinge buckling.

The class turned in time to see the cage at the side of the room—the demonstration cage, which Port had boasted about earlier—shudder.

Then buckle.

Then snap.

With a guttural squeal, a Boarbatusk Grimm burst through the broken door in a blur of tusks and bone-armor, screeching across the tile like a saw blade on stone.

Students screamed.

chairs toppled.

Jaune fell out of his chair with a yelp. port was trying to make a go for his axe

But they were too slow.

Natsumi moved before anyone else even finished blinking.

One moment: sleeping.

The next?

Gone.

A blink later—a flash of red .

She tackled the Grimm mid-charge.

The sound was not a roar.

It was the crack of a predator colliding with prey.

Natsumi's body slammed into the Boarbatusk like a boulder wrapped in claws grabbing its armored face, forcing it down to the floor with a brutal slam that made the windows rattle. d

And then—it happened.

The Grimm let out a sound.

Not a snarl.

Not a screech.

A shriek.

Of fear.

It kicked.

It scrambled.

It fled—trying to escape her grip.

The entire class went silent.

Even Port.

Because Grimm don't run.

They fight.

They hunger.

They attack.

But this one? This Boarbatusk was trying to get away from her.

Eyes wide. Screeching.

Natsumi didn't kill it.

She didn't burn it.

She just snarled once—low and guttural, teeth bared—and tossed it bodily back into the cage like a sack of garbage.

The door slammed shut behind it with a flick of her boot.

The Grimm backed into the farthest corner of its cell.

And stayed there.

Shaking.

Silent.

Professor Port cleared his throat. "Ah—! Quite… quite the demonstration!"

He clapped his hands once, awkward. "Let this serve as a reminder: proper containment is always essential when—"

He stopped.

Because no one was listening.

All eyes were on Natsumi.

Blake's most of all.

She stared, frozen. Her mind thrown back to the forest—to the Grimm that ran before it even saw her. To the fear trail left behind.

She remembered now.

It wasn't about what she did to the Grimm.

It was about what she was.

The Grimm feared her.

Not like prey fears a predator.

Like fire fears the sun.

Natsumi yawned once, shook out her limbs like a cat waking from a nap, and slowly walked back to the back row, completely unbothered.

Ruby whispered, "Did that Grimm just—squeal?"

"Like a child," Yang muttered.

Jaune stared at her in awe. "Did she just body-slam a Boarbatusk without using Aura?"

"I think it wet itself," Nora said brightly.

Ren only nodded. "It was afraid."

Blake said nothing.

She watched Natsumi climb back into her seat, roll onto her side again, and pull her scarf over her face.

Back to sleep.

Like nothing had happened.

Like the Grimm's fear was just background noise.

But Blake knew better now.

Dragons don't dominate by power alone.

They rule because the world remembers what they are.

End of Class

The final bell echoed through the hall like a sigh of relief.

Students stood quickly, murmuring, stretching, packing scrolls and notes with the frenzied rhythm of survivors who almost had to fight a Grimm loose in their first class.

Professor Port dusted off his jacket with a theatrical bow.

"And that, dear students, concludes our first lecture of the semester. Remember! In the wild, your instincts and intellect must dance together—like finely tuned partners in the waltz of survival!"

Most students didn't hear him.

Because everyone was watching the back of the room.

Where Natsumi Goodwitch was crouched on her desk like a gargoyle.

Arms stretching.

Joints cracking.

Then—

Without a word, she hopped lightly onto the windowsill, glanced up toward the ceiling, and grabbed a maintenance hatch just above her head.

She slid it open with practiced ease.

Weiss stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Excuse me—but you can't just—!"

Thump.

Gone.

Natsumi pulled herself into the vent like it was a hallway. A flick of her scarf. A grunt of effort. One last flick of her clawed foot—

And she disappeared into the darkness above.

A faint metallic thud closed the hatch behind her.

Silence.

Ruby stared up, blinking. "Did she just—?"

"She crawled into the ceiling," Blake confirmed.

Yang squinted. "Is that allowed?"

Jaune asked, "Wait, are those connected to other rooms?"

"I bet they are!" Nora chirped. "What if she shows up in the bathroom next?!"

Port, unfazed, cleared his throat and offered a hand toward the now-empty back row.

"I would like to formally thank our… guest lecturer, Miss Goodwitch, for her swift intervention today. It is always a great honor to have her join us. Few are graced by her physical presence. Fewer still by her combat instincts."

Weiss fumed. "She slept through half your lecture!"

"And still demonstrated unparalleled threat suppression!" Port said proudly.

Weiss looked at the vent again.

Then at her notes.

Then at Ruby's barely readable doodles of Natsumi fire-slamming the Boarbatusk.

She sighed.

"I am going to lose my mind."

The lecture hall was already half full, scrolls humming quietly, the glow of Dust-powered projectors painting the walls in soft blues and golds. A single whiteboard sat untouched at the front of the room—untouched, because Doctor Oobleck rarely used it.

He preferred to pace. And talk. Fast.

At the front, a tall blur of motion zipped past with an energy that seemed chemically unstable: Oobleck himself, arranging textbooks, muttering historical dates under his breath, and tapping furiously on a tablet like time was running out—even though class hadn't even started.

Near the center, Velvet sat calmly, flipping through notes, glancing every so often at the seat beside her.

And then—

CLANG.

THUMP.

Natsumi landed beside her, chips in hand, pulling her scarf back down around her neck and stretching out with a low yawn.

Velvet didn't even flinch.

A moment later—

Team RWBY entered.

Weiss was at the front.

Her pace: precise.

Her eyes: locked on target.

Her voice: already simmering.

"You—!"

Natsumi looked up.

Not in fear.

Not in guilt.

Just mild interest, like a wolf looking at a very angry rabbit.

Weiss stormed over, planting herself directly in front of Natsumi's desk.

"You can't just sleep through classes and then disappear into the vents like some kind of—of overgrown rodent!"

Natsumi blinked. Slowly.

Chomped a chip.

Velvet leaned back slightly, amused.

"You snored, Natsumi. Loudly. You interrupted Professor Port. I was going to address that in class, but then you body-slammed a Grimm and left before I could say anything!"

Another chip. Crunch. No reply.

Weiss gestured sharply. "I don't care who you are—etiquette matters! You may be used to growling and crawling around like an animal, but we are in an academic institution—"

Then—

Zzzzzzip.

A blur passed them.

Doctor Oobleck was suddenly at the front podium, waving his tablet.

"Ah! It's time! Good morning, students! Open your scrolls to the Kingdoms of Vale file—annotated version three-point-nine!"

Weiss blinked, cut off.

Oobleck continued, "You'll note the timeline begins not at the founding of the modern government but at the Dust Expansion Wars, where—ah, yes, of course! Miss Goodwitch, glad to see you here again."

He offered Natsumi a quick nod without pausing his pacing.

She lifted a chip in lazy salute.

Weiss's mouth hung open, words stalled on her tongue.

Ruby leaned in from behind her.

"Weiss. Maybe wait until after class?"

Weiss glared at Natsumi one last time, turned stiffly, and sat down next to Ruby like she'd just swallowed her pride—and hated the taste.

Blake leaned toward Yang. "I think Weiss just lost an argument without it starting."

Yang grinned. "I think she got out-alpha'd."

At the front, Oobleck's lecture picked up speed.

And in the second row, the dragon leaned back in her chair, bag of chips in hand, surrounded by history, whispers, and the faint smell of salt and smoke.

Just another day at Beacon.

Mid-Lecture

Professor Oobleck moved at blur-speed across the classroom, words flying out of his mouth faster than most students could process.

"—and the Dust Trade Accord of 41 AV established a new series of territorial lines in what would eventually become the modern Mistrali border—but ah! That didn't stop the escalation of cultural attrition, no, because that actually began back during the lesser-known Frostvine Riots—!"

Scrolls glowed.

Fingers scrambled.

Most students were focused.

Most.

Except Weiss Schnee.

Because Natsumi, seated one row back and diagonally across from her, was still eating.

Loudly.

Crunch.
Crunch-crunch.
CRUNCH.

It wasn't constant. It came in waves. A relaxed rhythm of clawed fingers dipping into a bag of chips and dragging out whole handfuls, crinkling plastic and scattering crumbs onto the desk with zero effort to be subtle.

Weiss's pen stopped moving.

Another crunch.

CRUNCH.

She twitched.

Ruby gave her a sympathetic glance. "Weiss... don't."

Crunch.

Weiss turned slowly, eyes sharp, voice low but seething.

"Must you chew like that during a lecture?"

Natsumi blinked. Slowly. Paused mid-chew. Tilted her head.

Velvet beside her looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Weiss gestured sharply, whispering, "You're eating like a wood chipper."

Natsumi didn't answer.

Instead, she casually crunched louder.

That's when Doctor Oobleck—without pausing his walk—glanced over his shoulder and said:

"Ah yes, Miss Schnee! A fair observation, though I must remind you that Miss Goodwitch is currently following a post-treatment schedule. I'm her assigned physician and dentist. Full clearance."

Weiss blinked. "You're her… what?"

Oobleck nodded rapidly. "Indeed! Dragon physiology poses unique stress points on the upper jaw and molars—especially after her recent combat rotations. That bag of chips is part of a calibrated bite-strength rehabilitation protocol. Fantastic for mandible flexion and cranial adjustment, wouldn't you agree?"

He smiled. "Crisps over crackers. Better friction per crunch."

Natsumi popped another chip and gave Weiss a smug little look.

Crunch.

Weiss's eye twitched.

Blake leaned toward Ruby and whispered, "I think that was the most passive-aggressive bite I've ever seen."

Yang grinned. "Dragons eat shade for breakfast."

Natsumi licked her fingers once and murmured loud enough for Weiss to hear:

"Doctor's orders."

and there it came . after weiss almost blowing a gasket. it was the end of class

The bell rang, but Oobleck hadn't stopped pacing. He waved one hand dismissively while muttering about Frostvine census discrepancies and how pre-Crisis documentation remains the "unsung tragedy of kingdom management."

Students bolted.

Not Natsumi.

She stood slowly, casually tossing the now-empty chip bag into a trash can with a flick of her clawed hand. She stretched once—back arching, arms wide—exposing the full length of burn-scarred muscle beneath her rolled-up sleeves.

Velvet nudged her. "You going to your appointment?"

"Yeah," Natsumi said through a yawn. "Gotta let him poke around in my skull again."

Weiss, who had spent the last half-hour enduring the chip-crunching of a dragon and the casual dismissal of all academic etiquette, finally snapped.

"You—!"

Natsumi turned slightly, expression unreadable.

Weiss stormed up, eyes blazing, scroll clutched in one hand like it could issue divine punishment.

"You think just because you're some kind of overgrown salamander with a personal dental clearance, that you're above structure? Above rules? You sleep, snore, crunch your way through class like a feral gutter animal—and don't you dare look smug, I saw it—!"

She stepped in close, jabbing a finger upward toward the dragon's face.

"—you may scare Grimm, and maybe even some of the students, but I am a Schnee. I don't care what's in your blood—you still follow protocol if you want to act like you're part of this academy!"

A beat of silence.

Natsumi just blinked once.

Then opened her mouth.

Weiss blinked, confused—until she saw the rows of jagged, pearl-white dragon teeth slowly parting.

Not as a threat.

Not as a roar.

Just... waiting.

"Go on," Natsumi said dryly. "You wanted the last word. Step a little closer. I'll hold real still."

Weiss took half a step back.

Then—

Zzzzip.

Doctor Oobleck swept into view holding a sterilization case and a dentist's toolkit, which he unfolded like a weapons locker.

"Aha! Miss Goodwitch, excellent timing! Let's see how those enamel grafts are holding, shall we? Open wide, please."

Natsumi tilted her head back and opened her mouth—casual, bored. A flick of her tongue exposed inhuman molars and the faint glow of aura-forged bite channels.

Weiss recoiled instinctively.

Oobleck turned toward her mid-prep, already donning gloves.

"Miss Schnee, if I may humbly suggest: I am about to put surgical-grade dental instruments into the mouth of someone who can breathe fire hot enough to warp field plating. If you're considering provoking her further… please do so after my hands are no longer in mortal danger."

Weiss opened her mouth to argue—then stopped.

Natsumi gave her the faintest smirk around the dental mirror now in her mouth.

Oobleck beamed. "Very good. Excellent tongue posture."

Weiss turned on her heel and stormed out without another word.

Blake, waiting near the door, watched her go.

Then glanced back at Natsumi.

"…That's the second time you beat her without saying anything."

Natsumi, voice muffled through a mouthful of tools, grunted.

"Mm-hm."

The sun had shifted just enough to make the courtyard walk unbearably hot under the uniform layers. Team RWBY and JNPR trudged across campus like soldiers on forced march.

"I'm just saying," Ruby panted, adjusting her collar, "maybe next time they shouldn't put survival class on the opposite side of the known world."

Yang wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "We're halfway there, short stack."

"I could've had my scythe carry me."

"You would've broken something. Again," Weiss muttered, arms crossed as she walked with full Schnee-pride despite the heat.

Blake said nothing, calm as always.

Jaune was wheezing.

Nora was bouncing.

And everyone was looking around.

Ruby finally asked the question.

"Where's Natsumi?"

Everyone paused.

Yang scanned the rooftops. "No vents rattling. No rooftop silhouettes. No fire smell."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she realized etiquette does matter."

Blake said nothing—but doubted that very much.

Beacon – Medical Wing

At That Very Moment

Doctor Oobleck adjusted his dentist goggles, smiling with academic glee as he examined the open mouth of the beast herself.

Natsumi lounged in the reclined chair like a sleepy jungle cat, arms crossed, scarf tossed casually over the armrest. Her mouth was open, glowing gently as he worked around the faint Dust-pits behind her molars.

"Well now," he said, voice rising with delight. "No residue! No carbon buildup! And by the Brothers, is that...?"

He leaned in, took a sharp inhale near her fangs.

Sniff.

"Mint?"

Natsumi grunted, mouth still open. "Mhnm."

"You've been using the toothpaste I gave you!" he beamed. "Extra enamel-fortifying, Aura-safe, high-fluoride mint blend! I can smell it! It doesn't smell like blood and fire this time!"

"Mhmmm."

He clapped his gloved hands together. "I'm so proud. Truly. No bite rot, no fang cracks, and—" he angled her jaw slightly, "—you've even stopped grinding during naps!"

Natsumi snorted faintly.

A wisp of mint-scented steam escaped her nostrils.

Oobleck leaned back, scribbling notes with a vibrating energy. "We've come a long way from the 'my teeth clean themselves with fire' theory, haven't we?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Excellent tongue control. Beautiful bite alignment. Top-tier jaw symmetry for a hybrid of your scale and lineage."

He paused.

"…Though the chips were a bit excessive."

Natsumi rolled her eyes without moving her head.

"Still no sign of her," Ruby muttered.

Jaune collapsed onto a bench. "Maybe she's hunting. Or sleeping."

"Maybe she's on fire," Weiss said hopefully.

Blake spoke quietly.

"She's probably at her appointment."

the group forgot that she did ineed have a dentist appointment ...

Silence.

Then Jaune whispered, stunned: "Wait. You're telling me the guy who taught us about the Dust Conflict with sock puppets is the one who sharpens her fangs?"

"Apparently," Blake said.

Ruby shivered. "That poor man."

Professor Peach's Class – Outdoor Combat Deck, East Wing

The "classroom" was really more of a tactical playground.

A wide, open-air arena ringed by artificial trees, rock walls, trap-laden obstacle zones, mock cliffs, and deep brush. Dust panels built into the ground flickered in standby, waiting to simulate terrain hazards. Shade cloths hung above to keep the sun from baking the students alive.

Team RWBY and Team JNPR arrived sweaty and slightly irritable after the long hike across campus.

"Please," Weiss muttered, "tell me this class is indoors."

Blake looked around. "It's not."

"Of course it's not," Weiss muttered.

A small, calm breeze blew past.

Then—

"'Bout time you stragglers showed up."

The voice came from above—casual, unbothered, and definitely smirking.

Professor Peach sat reclined on top of a storage container, her combat boots kicked up on a crate, arms crossed, sunglasses perched low on her nose despite the shade.

Bright pink hair in a long braid. Tank top. Camouflage jacket tied around her waist. Dust pistol holstered low on her thigh like a lazy promise.

She grinned.

"Well, look at all this fresh meat. You're late. Which means I get to make you suffer."

Nora cheered. "Yes!"

Peach dropped to the ground with practiced ease, landing in a crouch and standing tall before them.

"No roll call. No lectures. You're here to learn how to survive things that don't care about your transcripts or your daddy's money."

Weiss twitched.

Peach looked right at her when she said it.

Then Peach's smile widened just slightly.

"No Natsumi today, huh?"

Ruby blinked. "You… you know her?"

Peach snorted. "Kid, I've known her since she was small enough to fit in a weapons crate and angry enough to try biting out the bottom."

Yang choked.

"She was that small?"

"For about a week."

Peach slung her hands behind her head, walking backward as she spoke.

"Let me make something clear. That girl doesn't take my class. Doesn't need to. She is survival."

"But," she added, tilting her head, "she drops in sometimes. When she wants. Sometimes in the middle of drills. Sometimes through the roof."

"Why?" Jaune asked.

Peach shrugged.

"She likes the field. Says it smells like real blood and fake trees."

Ruby raised a hand nervously. "Should we, uh… do anything if she shows up?"

Peach grinned like a wolf.

"If she shows up, you let her do what she's doing. Then you get out of her way."

She paused.

Then gave them a warm, wicked smirk.

"But if she lets you tag along? Follow close. And listen."

A whistle sounded from her scroll. class had started

Mid-Class, Eastern Field Prep Zone

The sun filtered gently through the shade mesh, casting dappled light across the classroom's faux-forest perimeter. Half the class knelt or crouched, hands in dirt, examining survival kits passed out by Professor Peach.

She moved among them like a field sergeant—casual, cool, boots crunching on gravel.

"Lesson one," she called, voice smooth. "The woods don't care about your grades. You lose your weapon, you lose your team, you lose your signal—you live or die by what you remember."

Ruby looked up from her kit. "Is this real stuff?"

Peach grinned. "Every bit. Some of this I pulled from real supply caches I buried myself. You'd be amazed what you can survive on if you don't care what it tastes like."

Nora held up a foil packet. "Is this meat or soap?"

"Yes," Peach answered.

Yang snorted.

Weiss, meanwhile, looked focused, kneeling perfectly, unrolling her kit with precise, practiced hands.

Peach strolled past and nodded. "Good technique, Schnee."

Weiss sat straighter. "Of course."

"Let's see if you can maintain it when you're wet, cold, and being chased by something that doesn't fear fire."

Weiss's confidence faltered slightly.

Before Peach could continue, there was a sound.

Clang.

Then another.

Bang—clang-clang. THUD.

It echoed from above.

Through the vents.

The thick, narrow duct lines that ran through the tops of Beacon's simulation domes and combat training zones—used for maintenance.

And one other thing.

The class froze.

Students looked up.

Clank.

CLANG.

THUD. THUMP. Rattle-rattle-rattle.

Peach looked up with a sigh.

"Oh good. She found the exterior vents again."

Ruby blinked. "Wait, is that—?"

THUD.

The loudest metallic echo yet.

Then a deep, dragging scrape of something with claws.

Weiss dropped her survival kit, stood up, and growled under her breath:

"Son of a—"

Peach smirked, hands on her hips. "Language, Miss Schnee."

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose.

"She's coming."

Another echo.

Then a sharp, heavy drop right above them—

And suddenly—

CRASH—!

The grate in the side of the training dome burst open, and Natsumi dropped down onto the gravel in a crouch, hair windblown, scarf trailing behind her like a banner of defiance. a sucker in hand.

She stood slowly, brushing off her shoulders, the scent of mint and ozone clinging faintly to her.

Peach blinked once.

"You're late."

Natsumi cracked her neck.

"Had a cleaning."

Peach nodded toward the kits.

"Grab a packet. You're prey today."

Natsumi grinned, showing one too many teeth.

"Can I eat the hunters?"

"Only if they scream first."

Students were still staring.

Some took a step back. Weiss muttered through gritted teeth, "Why does she always come through the vents?"

Blake replied simply:

"Because no one told her not to."

Weiss muttered through gritted teeth, "Why does she always come through the vents?"

Blake replied simply:

"Because no one told her not to."

Moments After Natsumi Crashed the Class

The wind rustled across the training zone again, brushing through the artificial leaves and cloth netting overhead.

Natsumi stood in the center of the class now, arms crossed, clawed fingers idly flicking through the packet of survival rations Peach had tossed her.

She sniffed it once.

Wrinkled her nose.

"...This one's old."

Peach grinned. "Still edible. If you're desperate."

Natsumi looked unimpressed.

Students were still trying to figure out how to stand near her without standing near her.

Then—

Peach reached into her satchel and pulled out a bound black-and-red course manual—thicker than most field books, with layers of pages marked in sticky notes and penciled corrections.

She tossed it across the short distance.

Natsumi caught it one-handed.

"Here," Peach said, casually. "That's the semester plan. First half's basic fieldcraft, second half's tracking and cold-weather survival. Figured with you crashing the class and all, might as well make yourself useful."

Natsumi raised an eyebrow. "You giving me homework?"

"I'm giving you a voice," Peach replied. "Read through it. If something looks dumb, mark it. If you've got better methods? I wanna hear 'em."

She smirked.

"Don't hold back."

Dead silence.

Then—

Weiss's voice, sharp and incredulous:

"Wait. Wait. Wait."

All eyes turned.

Weiss stepped forward, eyes narrowed, her arms rigid at her sides.

"She's your TA now?"

Peach raised her sunglasses and stared at her over the rims. "Sure. Unofficially. Or officially. Depends how much paperwork I feel like doing."

"But she's—she's not even a student!"

Peach smirked. "And yet, she's better than most of the licensed Hunters I've taught. What, you want me to ignore that?"

Weiss looked to her teammates, flustered.

"She sleeps in vents. She eats during class. She body-slammed a Grimm and walked out!"

Yang nodded. "Yeah, it was awesome."

"She's not even trained to teach!"

"She survives," Blake said quietly. "She doesn't need a certificate."

Ruby piped up, eyes wide. "Does that mean she can give us grades now?"

"No," Peach said, "but she can show you what you're doing wrong. And she will."

Natsumi was already flipping through the manual, eyes scanning the sections.

"Chapter Four," she muttered. "Your animal tracking section's weak. You missed half the prints that mean something."

Peach grinned. "See?"

Weiss stood frozen, betrayed by reality.

Peach tossed a spare marker to Natsumi.

"Mark it up, firebreath. You're on the clock."

Natsumi caught it without looking.

Weiss whispered, defeated, "She's grading us now."

Blake clapped her on the shoulder.

"It builds character."

The training hall buzzed with pre-combat anticipation. Rows of sparring rings shimmered along the polished floor, glowing glyphs gently pulsing as Dust-circulators in the walls whispered with faint energy, ready to catch blood, sweat, and pride.

Team RWBY and Team JNPR filed in—geared, weaponed, and trying to look sharper than their nerves allowed.

Weiss Schnee entered with poise.

Her posture was flawless.

Her uniform pristine.

Myrtenaster sat clean and ready at her side.

She was prepared.

She was focused.

She was not, however, prepared for the sound.

A deep, resonant purr echoed faintly through the wide space. Not mechanical. Not feline.

Primal.

It wasn't loud. It was low. Like heat rising through stone. Like something curled in the belly of the earth and dreaming about fire.

Weiss's head snapped toward the source—already suspecting—and there she was:

Natsumi Goodwitch.

Sprawled across the top of the teacher's desk like a crowned beast in a cave.

Back arched along the wood.

One boot dangling off the edge.

Her scarf half-draped over a pile of untouched lesson plans.

The dragon girl's long limbs were carelessly tangled like she'd fallen asleep mid-conquest, and the way her hair spilled across Glynda's clipboard made it very clear she had zero intention of moving.

She was asleep. On the desk. On the professor's desk.

And worse?

Purring.

Loudly.

Like a rumbling furnace wrapped in soft velvet.

Weiss choked on her disbelief.

"She's asleep on the desk. Glynda's desk!"

Yang leaned in, trying (and failing) not to laugh. "Well, I guess she technically is family."

"She's purring like she's on a hot spring!"

Ruby tilted her head. "Maybe she's absorbing knowledge through osmosis."

Blake, calm as fog, just murmured, "You don't poke a dragon when it's resting on its hoard."

Weiss's hands balled into fists.

"This is Combat Class. There are standards."

And then, as if summoned by that tension, Professor Glynda Goodwitch entered.

Not from the side. Not from behind the desk.

From the sparring circle, clipboard under arm, heels ringing with finality.

Her voice cut the air like a blade dipped in frost.

"Pairs will be randomized. You will fight until one of you yields, is disarmed, or leaves the circle. Collateral damage will be minimized. Whining will not be tolerated."

She didn't acknowledge the desk.

She didn't look at her daughter.

But—just as she turned to pace between the assembled students—she added with the thinnest trace of dry amusement:

"And yes, she's allowed to be there. No, she does not need to be awake."

Weiss's eye twitched.

"She's napping on authority itself—!"

Ruby gently tugged her sleeve. "Weiss. Let it go."

Weiss hissed quietly. "This is an institution."

From the desk, Natsumi stirred.

She shifted slightly, arm slung over her eyes now.

Her tailbone twitched with a phantom itch—something almost ready to grow.

She mumbled something unintelligible into Glynda's grading rubric.

And the purring?

Continued.

Warm. Loud. Unbothered.

The desk was hers now.

Weiss Schnee—was brave enough to wake a sleeping dragon in her mother's class.

She waited.

She tried.

But then—

Another purr, this one rattling the floor like a distant avalanche.

Weiss snapped.

"She's not even paying attention! How is this fair?! She's not a student, she's not even conscious—!"

The room went quiet.

Not shocked.

Not dramatic.

Just… quiet. The kind of silence that folds in on itself. That waits.

Glynda Goodwitch turned.

Slowly.

With that deadly, practiced precision of a woman who never raised her voice because she never had to.

Her eyes locked on Weiss like a hawk that just caught something moving in its claws.

"Miss Schnee."

Weiss straightened automatically, heel snapping in place. "Yes, Professor?"

Glynda walked forward, boots echoing across the sparring floor like countdowns.

She stopped just short of the girl.

Her tone was cold. Controlled.

But not cruel.

"This is my class."

Weiss opened her mouth. "Yes, but—"

"This is my class," Glynda repeated, more firmly. "And the student you're so concerned about?"

She gestured—not grandly, not even dramatically—just a slight motion toward the napping dragon on the desk.

"That is my child."

Weiss blinked.

The words didn't land all at once.

Glynda continued, each word like a hammer tapping in nails.

"You do not get to decide how I discipline her. You do not get to question her place here. And unless you are volunteering to hold the line when she chooses not to be patient with disrespect—"

She paused.

Leveled her voice.

"—you would do well to remember that this academy exists not just for your kind of excellence, but for hers."

Weiss stood frozen.

She wanted to argue. To defend the sanctity of discipline and rank and rules.

But the weight of Glynda's words—her child—echoed louder than anything else.

From the desk, Natsumi shifted in her sleep again. One arm now loosely hanging off the side, her claws flexing once like something dreaming of a fight.

The purring quieted.

Just slightly.

But Glynda wasn't done.

"I understand that you come from a house that values order. So do I."

She leaned in slightly—not threatening, but unmistakably final.

"But in this room, my word is law."

Weiss swallowed hard.

"…Yes, Professor."

Glynda stood back upright and turned without another glance.

"Pair off. Begin drills. Anyone not engaged in training will spar with me."

There were no further outbursts that day.

Weiss didn't look at Natsumi again.

Not out of fear.

But out of something unfamiliar.

Respect.

Not for the dragon.

But for the woman who could tame one.

The training hall gleamed—clean, precise, every ring of polished stone activated with subtle aura detection runes. Dust circuits purred behind the walls, prepared to absorb force or flare with failure.

Team RWBY and Team JNPR filed in from the far hall, armor adjusted, weapons readied, nerves coiled like spring traps.

Professor Goodwitch stood waiting at the front, clipboard in one hand, glasses perched low on her nose, the cold edge of discipline humming from her posture.

Natsumi was already there.

She lay—half-curled like a feline—atop Glynda's reinforced steel desk. Her scarf hung lazily off one side. Her booted foot tapped idly in the air. The dragon didn't speak. Didn't blink. She was either asleep or hunting the boundary between both.

Weiss saw her. And bristled.

"She's on the teacher's desk," she hissed through her teeth.

Ruby shrugged. "Technically it is her mom's class."

Yang snorted. "She's probably dreaming about setting it on fire."

"She's purring."

Indeed, a low, steady rumble pulsed from the desk—resonant, like a giant cat content in a sunbeam made of steel.

Weiss was already mid-glare when Glynda's heels clicked across the hall floor.

"Stand at attention."

The room snapped to formation.

"Today begins your formal combat evaluations. Over the next few weeks, I will assess your aptitude, technique, and control across a number of disciplines. Your records will remain sealed and reviewed only by myself and Headmaster Ozpin."

With a flick of her wrist, dozens of glowing pages shimmered into the air—scroll-thin documents that hovered over each student like gentle spirits.

"These are your evaluation sheets. You will list your weapons, known Semblance traits, Dust proficiencies, and any magical affinities—trained or not. These are not for gossip. Not for comparison. And not to be discussed with your teammates unless instructed."

One by one, the pages lowered into waiting hands.

Blake's eyes flicked once over hers and said nothing.
Nora's whisper was less subtle: "They called me a ballistic soul type. I love it."
Pyrrha nodded in silent approval.
Jaune looked confused and mildly panicked.

Ruby tilted her head. "Semblance: velocity-burst displacement. Huh. Sounds fancy when they write it out."

Yang grinned. "Yeah, mine says: 'Controlled kinetic momentum with concussive rebound.' Translation? Punch hard, then harder."

Weiss, meanwhile, was stiffening.
Her sheet listed everything.

Myrtenaster.
Glyph control.
Dust specialization: High affinity – Ice, Wind, Light.
Tactical combat style: Linear-Precision Type.
Combat conduct rating: High.
Emotional detachment: Medium.

And something at the bottom that made her eyebrow twitch:

"Known to experience agitation when structure is challenged."

She glanced up.

Glynda was already looking at her.

No expression. Just quiet acknowledgment.

And then, one last sheet floated down.

Not to a desk. But gently onto the back of Natsumi's neck.

The dragon girl reached back, eyes still closed, took the page between two claws, glanced at it once—

—and let out a low, pleased hum before tucking it into her scarf.

"Evaluations will continue throughout the week," Glynda said. "You will spar in randomized pairs. You will be pushed. You will be watched."

Her gaze swept the class, firm but not unkind.

"And by the end of it, you will all have a better understanding of what you are—and what you may become."

She clapped once.

"Begin warm-ups."

The room came to life.

Weapons activated. Semblance sparks lit the floor.
The dragon on the desk did not move.

But her purring got louder.

Glynda Goodwitch raised her voice slightly—not louder, just sharper, like the snap of a chalk line.

"For the next three days, your sparring assessments will include a rotating opponent."
She paused, gaze sweeping over the students.
"A benchmark to evaluate your capabilities. Your reactions. Your limits."

A few students glanced at one another, curious.
Blake's ears twitched.
Pyrrha's expression didn't change, but her stance subtly shifted.
Jaune looked like he swallowed a bolt.

Then Glynda added, perfectly calm:

"You'll be testing yourselves against my daughter."

There was a beat of silence.

And then—

THUMP.

The reinforced desk rattled as Natsumi shot upright with a jolt of delighted energy. One moment she was curled in sleep like a lazy storm cloud, the next she was airborne, landing on the floor with a metallic clack of boots.

Her golden eyes flared with excitement. Her teeth bared in a wide, sharp grin—fangs gleaming like fire-touched ivory.

"Really?! For real?!"

She bounced once in place, then paced in a quick, tight circle like a cat that heard the food drawer open.

"Whose first?" she asked, practically vibrating with anticipation. "Do I get to chase them or do I have to wait in the ring—oh, can I pick favorites?"

Glynda didn't blink. "You will wait. You will stay in the ring. And you will not use fire."

Natsumi groaned loudly, shoulders slumping like a child told to leave the cookies alone.

"Ughhhhhh—fiiiine. No fire. Just claws, speed, and terrifying reflexes. Boring."

Her tail twitched—except, of course, she had no tail.

Yet.

She glanced toward the class, grinning wide again.

"Alright, students! Come throw yourselves at me like paper planes!"

Weiss's eye twitched.

Ruby leaned over to Blake and whispered, "Why does she sound happy about this?"

Blake's answer was simple: "Because she is."

Yang cracked her knuckles, smirking. "Kinda hot."

"Yang!"

Glynda cleared her throat.

"Settle yourselves. Warm-ups will be brief. The first pair begins in ten."

As students dispersed, weapons in hand and nervous chatter rising like steam, Natsumi spun on one heel, still smiling, still crackling with energy.

She whispered low to herself, just under her breath—

"Let's see what kind of humans we've got this year."

Glynda stood tall beside the sparring circle, clipboard in hand, glasses sharp as the stare behind them. Glyphs flickered to life around the ring as each name was called.

At its center?

Natsumi.

The dragon crouched, barefoot, stretching lazily with a yawn that showed just a glint of fang. Her scarf hung loose, tail absent — but tension thrummed through her limbs like something waiting to pounce.

Her only instructions had been: "No fire. No breath. No claws. Physical only."

She grinned anyway.

This wasn't about victory.

It was about truth.

1. Lie Ren

He bowed first, calm and precise. Then launched forward in a silent blur.

Quick strikes. Clean footwork. A real test.

Natsumi blocked — not with flourish, but efficiency. She adapted after every move. Matched him beat for beat — until he got cocky and overcommitted a sweep.

She stepped into it and flipped him onto his back.

"Match," Glynda called.

Ren rose with quiet acceptance.

2. Blake Belladonna

Blake was fast. Dangerous in her silence.

She never stood still — faking left, teleporting behind, shadow cloning once to throw Natsumi off-balance.

It worked — for thirty seconds.

Then a faint shift in Natsumi's stance caught her mid-turn.

Blake went sailing just past the ring's edge.

"Rung out," Glynda said without emotion. "Match."

Blake stared. Quietly impressed.

3. Nora Valkyrie

Energy. Chaos. No hesitation.

Magnhild spun and crashed down — once, twice — until Natsumi rolled under it and popped up with a shoulder into her gut.

Nora skidded, laughed, and came back twice as hard.

The floor cracked under her wild swings — but Natsumi took her momentum, stepped into her blind spot, and tripped her into the mat.

"Match."

Nora groaned. "That was awesome."

4. Yang Xiao Long

Fire met fire.

Yang's fists crashed like thunder.

Natsumi moved with her this time — no flipping, no finesse. Just raw power.

Strike for strike.

Aura sparked.

One punch grazed Natsumi's chin. Another clipped her ribs.

But when Yang overextended for a knockout, Natsumi ducked — shoulder in, Yang thrown.

"Match," Glynda said. "Barely."

Yang got up, smirking. "Yeah, she hits like a boulder."

5. Ruby Rose

Ruby was speed.

Crescent Rose danced like wind-blown red steel, but the moment Natsumi closed the gap — there was no wind left.

Ruby tried to backpedal, too late.

Pinned.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just caught.

Glynda nodded. "Speed. No follow-through. Next."

Ruby huffed. "I almost had her."

6. Weiss Schnee

Weiss Schnee.

Poised. Controlled.

Her rapier rested in her hand like an extension of her will, not a tool.

No smile. No ego.

Just focus.

They locked eyes.

Natsumi tilted her head, amused. "You're gonna try and fence me into the ground?"

Weiss didn't reply.

The match began.

Glyphs snapped into life beneath her boots as she surged forward—not reckless, but with tactical aggression.

Natsumi dodged the first strike—but not the second.

A clean slash across the shoulder.

Then a follow-up glyph burst—pop!—and Weiss was above her, blade angled down.

Natsumi rolled aside just in time.

The dragon's grin widened. "You're annoying."

Weiss pressed the advantage.

She moved with methodical aggression, directing the pace, landing two more hits—one to the ribs, one across the thigh.

Natsumi felt that one.

Her breath came sharper now. She stopped smiling.

Not because she was angry.

Because she was enjoying it.

No one else had made her move like this.

No one else had made her think.

Eventually, Natsumi caught Weiss's rhythm—turned her own momentum against her with a low sweep, then pinned her down with one arm pressed to her sword wrist.

Glynda called it, voice firm.

"Match."

Natsumi stepped back, letting Weiss up.

Weiss sat up first, panting lightly, hair damp with sweat.

"I still scored more hits than anyone," she muttered.

the dragon rolled her eyes

Aftermath

The class dispersed.

Weapons sheathed.

Breath slowing.

Some students exchanged high-fives. Others limped toward the exit.

Natsumi leaned against the side of the ring, one hand pressing her sore ribs where Weiss had tagged her clean.

Her chest rose and fell, sweat clinging to her neck.

A shadow passed beside her.

Glynda.

She didn't speak immediately. Just extended a small, flat crystal—a portable aura diagnostic tool. She hovered it near her daughter's side.

"Still bruised," she murmured. "But nothing torn. Pulse slightly elevated."

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Your 'fine' includes blood and fire."

Natsumi gave a half-smile. "Not today."

Glynda tucked the scanner away and folded her arms.

"You let her score those hits?"

Natsumi shook her head. "Nope. She earned every one."

There was a pause.

Then Glynda nodded. Once.

"I'll note that."

A beat passed.

And in the quiet of the fading class, with sunlight just starting to stream through the combat hall windows, Glynda rested her hand lightly on her daughter's shoulder—for just a second.

Not as a professor.

Not as a disciplinarian.

But as a mother.

Then she turned toward her clipboard.

"One more match."

The last name.

"Jaune Arc."G

And the dragon's smile returned. fangs shined...ohhh this was gonna be fun

Jaune Arc.

Tired.

Tense.

Ready anyway.

But that's Chapter 6.

Because Jaune's fight wasn't a test.

It was a statement.

Chapter Text

The ring was quiet now.

The air still shimmered faintly with leftover aura from Weiss's spar. Scuffed floor. Cracked glyphs. A faint scent of sweat and Dust in the air.

Natsumi stood at the center again—bouncing slightly on her heels, like a boxer between rounds. Her scarf was tugged down around her neck now. Her cheeks were flushed, gold eyes alight with an energy that didn't burn out—it just coiled deeper.

Glynda didn't even look up from her clipboard.

She just said it:

"Jaune Arc. Step into the circle."

The room blinked.

Then murmurs.

Then full-blown whispers.

"Wait, what?"

"No way."

"Arc?"

"He's not even top five on his team—what is Glynda doing?"

Jaune froze.

One foot already turning like it wanted to leave.

Pyrrha placed a hand on his shoulder—light, but firm.

"You can do this," she said softly.

"I cannot do this," he replied immediately.

But he stepped forward anyway.

Yang leaned toward Ruby. "This feels like throwing a matchstick into a bonfire."

Weiss crossed her arms. "I mean, it is Jaune. He's probably going to trip, stutter, and somehow insult her without meaning to."

Blake's gaze stayed steady. "Don't underestimate him."

Weiss arched an eyebrow. "Oh, please. He's a marshmallow with legs."

But Natsumi wasn't laughing.

As Jaune stepped into the ring, stiff as a frostbitten tree, she stopped pacing. Her whole posture changed.

Not mocking.

Not gleeful.

Just... still.

Like a hunter watching something rare crawl into the forest clearing.

Jaune looked like he was already halfway through his apology.

Natsumi looked like she was interested.

Glynda finally glanced up from her clipboard and gave a sharp nod.

"Begin."

Jaune flinched like she'd slapped him.

Natsumi tilted her head, slow. Measured. That smirk she'd worn for every match before? Gone.

No bounce.

No cocky grin.

Just steady, quiet study.

Jaune swung first.

His sword—Crocea Mors—cut the air with a burst of desperate momentum. A wide arc, telegraphed, clumsy by combat standards.

But fast.

Faster than some expected.

Not faster than her.

Natsumi caught it.

One hand.

Fingers curled around the steel with a sound like a bear snapping a twig. No effort. No strain. Just—stopped. Her grip didn't tremble. Her eyes didn't blink. She just… looked at him.

And then she tossed it.

The sword spun end over end and landed with a hollow clang outside the ring.

The room fell silent.

"Oh no…"
"He's unarmed—"
"That's it, he's done."

Jaune froze.

Wide-eyed.

His feet were rooted, like even he didn't know what came next.

His hand twitched like it wanted to reach for the sword that wasn't there.

But Natsumi didn't move.

She just waited.

A beat.

Then another.

And then—

Jaune punched her.

No technique. No stance. Just raw, ugly instinct. A straight jab, shoulders too tight, feet too square.

But it connected.

Right in her sternum.

A solid hit.

For a moment, it looked ridiculous—like throwing a pillow at a hurricane.

She didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't even breathe.

But—her eyes narrowed.

Not in annoyance.

Not in pain.

Recognition.

Because something had beeped in her mind.

Not Aura.

Not pain.

Not even force.

Will.

That punch didn't carry strength—but it carried something else. Something ancient. Something stubborn. It felt like a note struck too hard on a broken piano—wrong, but real.

She stepped back—not because of the hit, but because of what was behind it.

She muttered low, just audible:

"…What the hell are you made of?"

Jaune didn't answer.

He just lifted his fists again.

Wider stance this time. Still raw. Still messy.

But…

Standing.

Still trying.

Natsumi struck.

A blur of scarlet and heat—one hand on his shoulder, the other slamming into his ribs. Not full force. Not enough to break him.

But enough to crater him.

Jaune hit the mat hard.

His back bounced once—shield clattering across the stone—and for a moment, the whole class thought that was it.

Match over.

He lay still.

Natsumi didn't move.

She didn't press in.

She just waited, one clawed hand flexing at her side.

And then—he groaned.

And stood.

Wobbly. Breathing like his lungs were half crushed. Shield retrieved with shaking fingers.

But he stood.

Again.

Glynda said nothing.

But her clipboard paused mid-note.

Natsumi tilted her head.

Then struck again.

This time, he raised the shield.

The blow landed like thunder. The impact echoed across the arena—Aura flaring as Jaune took the full brunt with his arms behind the shield, absorbing it like a wall built to break.

He flew backward.

Hit the floor.

Rolled.

Got up.

"Why's he standing up again?"
"He should stay down."
"That's—insane."

No one said it out loud.

But they all thought it.

She was toying with him.

Except… she wasn't.

Not anymore.

Because Natsumi stepped in again, faster this time—elbow to shoulder, knee to stomach, sweep to shield-arm.

Brutal. Calculated. Clean.

Jaune went down.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time he rose slower.

But he rose.

And Natsumi?

She stopped smiling.

Not in anger.

Not in annoyance.

But in quiet consideration.

Her hits got sharper—but not crueler.

She circled him now, like a predator watching prey do something unexpected.

"You're not strong," she said low, circling him.

"You're not fast. You don't have killer instinct. You barely know how to hold that shield."

Jaune coughed.

But didn't drop it.

"And yet…" she murmured, gaze narrowing.

"You keep standing."

She flicked forward—feint, then a real jab.

He blocked. Badly.

Still fell.

Still stood.

Again.

And now—students weren't mocking anymore.

They weren't whispering about how stupid it was.

Because there was something worse than losing to a dragon.

And that was surviving it.

The ring felt hotter now.

Not because of flame.

Because of intention.

Natsumi's expression changed—not wild, not angry. But older. Older than her years. Older than the air itself.

Something deep flickered behind her eyes—not gold. Not fire. But something ancient. Something that made Blake stiffen, Weiss step back, and even Glynda subtly grip her clipboard tighter.

She took off her boots.

One after the other. Silent. Fluid. Like ceremony.

The moment her bare feet touched the ring floor, the glyphs pulsed—reacting to her presence like stone remembering the sun.

And then—Jaune charged.

Sword raised. Shield at the ready. Desperation in every step.

Natsumi caught the blade.

Not with hands.

With her foot.

Toes curled over the flat of the blade, heel locked against the edge.

She yanked him forward with inhuman control—and kicked.

Not a push.

Not a blow.

A strike meant to break something.

Jaune went spinning. Skidded across the ring—shoulder-first. Landed hard. He rolled onto his back, coughing, vision swimming.

And then—

She was on him.

One foot planted on his chest.

The other—toes gripping his hair.

She pulled.

Not to hurt.

To force his eyes to meet hers.

"Still standing?" she asked.

Jaune's breath hitched.

His Aura flickered, drained near red.

But he glared up.

And she saw it.

Not defiance. Not pride.

Something else.

A will that didn't make sense.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't angry.

It was just…

unmovable.

Like the last rock before the tide.

And something in her eyes shifted.

The pupils narrowed to slits.

Her voice deepened. Like smoke curling from a long-dead battlefield.

"I've fought monsters," she whispered. "Killed kings. Eaten fire."

Her toes released his hair.

But her other foot pressed harder into his chest.

"I've stepped on gods who begged louder than you."

Then—her weight shifted.

She crouched down.

Face inches from his. Her hair fell around them like a curtain.

"But I've never seen a soul like yours."

She bared her teeth.

"Why won't it break?"

Jaune couldn't speak.

Blood trickled from his mouth.

But his hand—shaking—reached up and shoved weakly against her leg.

Still fighting.

Still trying.

Natsumi's expression darkened further.

No more smirking.

No more teasing.

She rose—foot still planted on his chest—and exhaled once, slow and hot.

She stopped holding back.

A flick of her leg sent him skidding across the ring again.

Before he could rise, she was already there—foot crashing down in an overhead arc, blocked only by Jaune's battered shield.

The shockwave cracked the edge of the ring.

He didn't stand this time.

He pushed himself up.

Barely.

Glynda stepped forward.

"Enough—"

But Natsumi growled.

A low, guttural rumble that froze the room.

"No."

Her feet slid back into stance.

Her chest rose and fell slowly.

"I want to see how far this goes."

And Glynda… stopped.

Not because she approved.

Because she was watching too.

Because whatever Jaune Arc was becoming—it wasn't a fluke.

It was real.

The ring was silent.
Only the soft, distant hum of medical bots stirred the air.

But before they reached him—
She moved.

Natsumi stepped forward, boots echoing against the sparring floor like muted thunder. Her breath still steamed in the air, hot and quiet. Her claws flexed once—then relaxed. cutting metal. shocking everyone. jaunes only defense was gone

Jaune's shield was gone.
His sword—tossed outside the ring like it offended gravity.
He was bleeding from the lip. Possibly the ear.

But still… he stood.

Natsumi tilted her head.

Then lowered it.

The purring stopped.

A sound like something old remembering war filled the ring instead.

And then she moved.

One step.
Two.
Grip.

Her clawed toes gripped Jaune's hair—yes, with her feet—dragging him down with bone-deep disrespect.

He grunted as his knees buckled—then gasped as her hand caught his jaw.

One hand behind his head.

The other against his face.

Her forehead rested against his like an executioner saying hello.

Then—

CRACK.

The first headbutt echoed like stone hitting steel.

Blood spat from Jaune's nose.

He groaned—choked—but didn't fall.

She pulled back.

CRACK.

The second one split his brow.

He slumped—but stayed up.

Her grip tightened.

She wasn't smiling anymore.

This wasn't fun.

It was necessary.

CRACK.

The third headbutt snapped something. A wet, sharp sound.
His teeth clicked. His eyes glazed.

Still up.

Pyrrha shouted, "STOP IT!" and lunged—

Only to be yanked in place mid-run.
A hard glyph cracked beneath her boots, trapping her in a golden snare.

"LET ME GO!"

Glynda didn't blink.

"He hasn't yielded."

CRACK.

The fourth left a dent in the floor.

Weiss looked away. Nora stopped bouncing. Blake didn't move—but her hand tightened around her scroll.

CRACK.

The fifth left Jaune trembling—barely kneeling, breath ragged, one eye swollen shut.

And yet…

His hand came up.

A punch, weak—but driven by something not even Aura could measure.

Something that beeped in the air behind it.

Natsumi paused.

Eyes narrowing.

She tasted that.

That will.

That maddening, defiant, human will.

She didn't hate it.

She respected it.

But that didn't mean she was done.

CRACK.

The sixth dropped him to one hand. Blood pooled at the edge of the circle.

CRACK.

The seventh made his legs buckle fully—flat on his knees now, like a broken statue trying to pray.

Pyrrha screamed again, tears blurring her eyes.

"HE'S DONE! HE'S DONE—YOU MONSTER!"

CRACK.

The eighth. And he collapsed.

Sprawled.

Motionless.

But not broken.

Not shattered.

Just… silenced.

At last.

Natsumi breathed out slowly.

Her breath fogged the air—steam, hissing from her mouth, barely held fire behind her teeth.

She looked at Glynda.

Said nothing.

Then turned… and walked away.

Glynda's voice followed like a judge's gavel.

"Match over."

The students didn't speak.

They just stared at the spot where Jaune had fallen—where the dragon had tested something far deeper than skill.

And found it did not break easily.

She stood over him.

Jaune Arc.

Face bloodied. Body broken.
But not shattered.

Not bowed.

Not run.

He had faced her.

And in doing so… made her hesitate.

Her lips parted.

And with a soft hiss of breath, she reached inside her own mouth.

Two fingers.

A sharp tug.

Click.

She drew it out—a tooth, glimmering faintly with fire-forged enamel. A dragon's fang. Not one lost in the fight. One she chose.

She knelt beside him, the gym floor cool under her knees. Slowly, almost reverently, she slipped the fang into his unconscious hand, folding his fingers over it like a charm.

Then—she brought her hands together.

Palms pressed. Fingers aligned.

And bowed.

Just slightly.

A warm, steady growl rumbled from her chest—deep, resonant, not threatening.

Not mourning.

Something older.

Something sacred.

A prayer.

Natsumi didn't believe in gods.
Not the kind humans whispered to in the dark.
But she knew why they prayed.

They prayed to things they couldn't understand.
To powers beyond reason—good, evil, miraculous.

And that's what lay in front of her.

Not a weakling. Not prey.
A miracle.

The only one who had made her—
The last of the dragon slayers—
pull back not out of pity, but respect.

The only one whose fists carried a message.

Even in silence, even unconscious…
Jaune's will rang out like a war drum inside her bones.

Natsumi stood as the medical bots arrived.

She stepped back silently, letting them surround him, sensors blinking, arms whirring.

But she didn't walk away immediately.

Her golden eyes lingered.

And in her gut—a strange feeling bubbled up.

Not pride. Not triumph.

Contentment.

Rare. Alien.

And warm.

The sparring ring was still stained with sweat, blood, and awe.

Natsumi had vanished from the stage like smoke — trailing heat, not apology. The bots worked over Jaune's limp body now, stabilizing vitals and preparing for transport.

But Pyrrha Nikos was not done.

She stormed up the steps, her boots ringing hard, her face pale with fury.

She turned on Glynda.

On Ozpin.

On the space where Natsumi had stood like a storm given form.

"You LET her do that!" Pyrrha shouted, voice cracking under rage. "She headbutted him until he collapsed! She ripped him apart! That wasn't a spar, that was—"

"Enough," Glynda said, her voice cold.

But Ozpin raised a hand gently.

And stepped forward.

"Let her speak," he said. Then: "Let me speak."

Pyrrha turned toward him, trembling. "Why?! Why would you let her almost kill him?! He's not even—he's—he's not a warrior like her! He's not—"

Ozpin looked at her evenly.

"No," he said softly. "He's not. But he was willing."

Pyrrha blinked.

Confused.

Broken.

Ozpin stepped past her, toward the center of the ring, where the blood still glistened faintly in the dim light.

"Natsumi has no hatred for humans. Or Faunus. Or anyone, truly," he said. "She doesn't care about history. About race. About conflict."

He turned, slowly.

"But she feels. And today—for the first time in years—she felt something when she looked at him."

Pyrrha stared at him like the words were in a language she'd never heard before.

"She chose to test him," Ozpin continued. "To test… us."

He let the silence sit.

Weighted.

"And he didn't speak with words. He didn't win with strength. But his will made her stop holding back."

Ozpin looked down at the blood again.

"And that's why I let it happen."

"Because in that moment… for the first time in a long, long time…"

He turned back to Pyrrha.

Eyes heavy with age.

"...Humanity passed."

He walked away without another word.

Leaving Pyrrha alone.

And very still.

She looked back at the ring.

At the small smear of fire-warmed blood.

At the ghost of the dragon still clinging to the floor.

And thought:

It wasn't Natsumi who needed to understand them.

It was them who needed to understand her.

And somehow… a boy with no special skill, no bloodline, no strength—

Had spoken the loudest of them all.

Not with a roar.

But with the echo of a broken will that refused to die.-

Just as Pyrrha finally fell silent, her breathing heavy with restrained fury, a sound echoed through the academy halls.

A roar.

But not the kind they'd heard in battle.

Not fire.

Not threat.

This one had pain in it.

Raw. Animal. Real.

The kind of sound that rattled in the bones, not from fear — but from empathy. Something hurt, and it wasn't a Grimm.

Ozpin's hand paused on the doorframe. He didn't turn around.

Instead, he chuckled softly.

"Ah. So she's finally feeling it."

Pyrrha looked up, eyes sharp. "Feeling what?"

Ozpin sipped his coffee.

"Karma."

Glynda narrowed her eyes. "…She pulled the fang?"

He nodded. "A clean one. Top row. Must've rooted deep. For a dragon, it's… let's say it's not unlike yanking out a piece of your spine. Willingly."

He gestured with a flick of his wrist, half amused, half impressed.

"That roar? That's pain. No theatrics. No control. That's the cost of making an offering."

Pyrrha's anger wavered — not gone, but shaken.

Ozpin turned toward Glynda.

"We'll begin the final phase of evaluation soon. You'll find her?"

"I always do," Glynda said quietly.

And she left without another word.

The hallway to the northern observatory was quiet.

No students. No echoes. Just the hum of wind against glass and the faint smell of ozone clinging to the walls.

Glynda found her there.

Natsumi, curled half-sideways on the elevated ledge beneath the great window, one knee pulled to her chest, scarf slack around her shoulders. Her boots lay discarded on the floor below. Her hands were tucked under her arm—but one trembled, faintly. The knuckles were wet.

Blood. Thick. Viscous. Crimson with the faint shimmer of Dust-reinforced tissue.

She'd bitten a cloth strip between her teeth, trying to stifle the pain.

It didn't work.

A single fang sat in her lap.

Long. Curved. Still faintly warm.

A piece of herself.

Glynda stepped closer, heels clicking with soft finality.

"You're bleeding."

Natsumi didn't look up. Her jaw was clenched. Her breath shallow.

"Should grow back," she muttered. "Eventually."

From around the corner, two more shapes appeared—slowly, hesitantly.

Coco and Velvet.

Coco had her shades off, held loosely in one hand. Her voice was soft.

"…So. That scream was you."

Velvet winced. "We were in the west hall. It echoed through the vents."

Glynda turned to them with that cool-professor calm. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

Coco raised a brow. "Kind of hard when a dragon starts howling like she's dying."

Velvet looked at Natsumi, gently. "We thought it was a Grimm attack."

Glynda's expression didn't change.

Natsumi finally raised her eyes.

They were still molten gold—but dull now. Dimmed.

"…Did he keep it?" she asked.

"The fang?" Glynda clarified.

Natsumi nodded once.

Glynda's voice softened. "Yes. It's still in his hand. Med-bots didn't remove it."

A long silence.

Then Natsumi exhaled—slow and deep.

"Good."

Coco stepped forward, stopping a few feet short. "What the hell did he do to earn that?"

Natsumi let her head rest back against the glass, throat still tight, voice low.

"…He didn't flinch."

Velvet blinked. "That's it?"

"No." A pause. "He stood back up. Twice. He couldn't win. But he still chose to try. Even when he knew what I was. Even when I stopped pretending to be safe."

Her fingers brushed the fang.

"That's not just will. That's something older."

Glynda stepped closer.

"You think he's… worthy?"

Natsumi laughed, but it was dry. Wincing.

"No. He's too soft. He's awkward. He's not even sure why he fights. But…" She looked down at her hand, still trembling. "He reminded me why I do."

Coco stared at her like she was seeing her for the first time.

Velvet said nothing—but her ears tilted forward, sharp and curious.

Then Glynda sat down beside her.

Not speaking. Not scolding.

Just sitting.

After a long pause, Natsumi asked, quieter:

"…Was it too far?"

Glynda didn't answer immediately.

Then, softly:

"It was necessary."

Natsumi closed her eyes.

And finally let herself slump—just slightly—against her mother's shoulder..

Natsumi didn't resist.

Not when Glynda stood and said, cold but clear, "Coco. Velvet. Take her to Oobleck."

"Seriously?" Coco blinked. "She's heavy as hell—"

"Then use her legs," Glynda said without turning.

Coco grunted. "You heard the woman."

Velvet looped one of Natsumi's arms over her shoulders. "Come on, Firestorm. Let the doc look at your jaw before it falls off."

Natsumi didn't argue. Didn't snap. She just let herself be dragged down the hall, her breath thin, her fangless grin trying not to twitch from pain.

Behind them, Glynda turned.

Her heels clicked like punctuation down the sterile corridor.

Beacon Medical — South Wing

The room was dim, lights low to keep stress on the patient minimal. Jaune Arc lay under a soft glow of IV-fed aura boosters, oxygen mask hanging loose at his neck. His hair was damp with cold sweat. His knuckles were still curled—around a single dragon fang.

When the door opened—

Pyrrha was already there.

Back straight. Eyes sharp. Armor still on, like she hadn't moved since the match.

Her voice struck first.

"You have some nerve being here."

Glynda closed the door behind her.

"I do."

"You let her break him." Pyrrha's tone sharpened like metal dragged across flint. "You let her slam his head into the ring—over and over. That wasn't training. That was butchery."

Glynda didn't flinch.

Didn't raise her voice.

She simply walked forward.

And the lights dimmed around her as her hand began to glow—a soft green pulse from her fingers, Dust weaving gently like living silk.

"I know you're angry," she said.

"I should be!" Pyrrha shouted. "He almost—he could've—"

"I said I know." Glynda stopped beside the bed. "But I also know what I saw."

She placed her hand against Jaune's chest.

And the air changed.

Like a wind made of memory and weight swept through the room—an ancient pressure, like being underwater with something vast beneath you.

The spell clicked into place.

a green glow surged, then sank—gentle, steady, precise.

Jaune's breath evened.

The bruises along his ribs softened.

The crack along his temple vanished like it had never existed.

The nurse, just entering, froze in the doorway.

"I—I was just about to call for air evac," she whispered. "We didn't think he could recover here. His aura wasn't stabilizing—he needed surgery—"

Glynda didn't look at her.

She simply removed her hand, the green glow fading like morning fog.

"I've been many things," she said softly. "A professor. A mother. A Warden."

She turned.

"But before all that—I was one of the strongest mages Vale had."

Silence.

Pyrrha just stared—her anger dulling, her mouth slightly open.

Jaune's fingers twitched, still wrapped tight around the dragon fang.

Glynda stepped away.

"I didn't let her kill him, Miss Nikos."

"Then why?" Pyrrha's voice cracked. "Why would you even let her try?"

Glynda's answer was quiet.

"Because Natsumi wasn't trying to win. She was looking for something."

She paused at the door.

"And he gave it to her."

"What?"

Glynda looked back.

"A statement. Not with strength. Not with words."

She glanced once more at Jaune's still-sleeping form.

"But with will."

She opened the door. And before leaving, added:

"For the first time in a long time, my daughter didn't pull her strength. She pushed it. And it didn't shatter him."

Then she smiled—just faintly.

"Humanity didn't pass today because it was mighty."

She looked back toward Jaune.

"It passed because one soft, stubborn boy refused to fall the way she expected."

And with that, she left.

Behind her, Jaune stirred slightly.

Still unconscious.

Still breathing.

Still holding the fang.

The room was still.

Glynda stood at Jaune's bedside one last time, her fingers brushing lightly across the edge of his blanket. She looked at him—not as a student, not as a survivor—but as something rarer.

A contradiction.

She reached into her coat.

Pulled out a folded piece of parchment—firm, crisply folded, the kind only a woman like Glynda Goodwitch could crease so precisely.

She placed it gently on the bedside table, just beside the dragon fang still clutched in his hand.

Then turned to leave.

Pyrrha, still by the doorway, didn't stop her. But her voice was lower this time. Rawer.

"…What did you write?"

Glynda didn't look back.

"I wrote what needed to be said. When he wakes."

And then, a breath later, with a faint trace of honesty edging past her usual iron tone:

"I used to think he didn't belong here."

Pyrrha's eyes narrowed, lips thinning.

Glynda continued, quietly:

"That he was a boy playing at soldier. That the walls of this place would crush him before he ever got to stand tall."

She looked forward again, toward the hallway, toward the fading echoes of a dragon scream still ringing faintly in the world outside.

"But I've been wrong before."

And then she was gone.

phrrya...was confused..not knwoing how to feel the goodwitch family

Later — After the Room Had Fallen Silent Again

The parchment sat where she'd left it.

Cream-colored. Unfolded.

But waiting.

Inside, written in impossibly neat penmanship:

Mr. Arc,

If you are reading this, then you have survived your match against Natsumi. You have my respect for that—though I imagine you're still wondering what the point of it all was.

You weren't supposed to be here. If I may be frank, I doubted your place at this academy. Your transcripts were forged. Your technique—raw. Your confidence, lacking.

But today, I witnessed something rare.

You did not win. You did not overcome her strength. But you endured it. You stood before something ancient, something terrifying, and you did not yield. Not truly.

You made my daughter stop.

And that, Mr. Arc, is more than I thought you capable of.

I have been wrong before. I was wrong about you.

You do belong here.

—Glynda Goodwitch

he infirmary was quiet.

Sunlight leaked through the high windows in shafts of amber-gold. Dust filters purred faintly in the ceiling, and the scent of sterile gauze and mint antiseptic clung to the air like fog on morning stone.

Jaune stirred.

First a twitch. Then a breath. Then a groan—low, hoarse, like something returning from deep underwater.

He blinked slowly, eyes unfocused.

Everything hurt.

Not the sharp kind of pain. Not the panicked, immediate something's wrong pain.

This was residue. Muscle-deep ache. Skull-deep pressure. Like someone had tried to headbutt the concept of "consciousness" out of him.

"Jaune?"

The voice came soft. Hopeful.

He turned his head—slowly.

Team JNPR was there.

Nora was perched on the foot of the bed, hugging a pillow so tight it looked like it might explode.

Ren stood beside her, arms folded, but his eyes flicked up the moment Jaune moved.

Pyrrha… was seated.

Back straight. Hands in her lap. Her face was unreadable—but her eyes weren't.

Her eyes were furious.

"You're awake," she said, almost like an accusation.

Jaune tried to sit up.

His body said no.

So he fell back with a groan, lifting one hand—

—and paused.

There was something in it.

Clutched between his fingers, pressed faintly into his palm… was a tooth.

Not human.

Not faunus.

Not even remotely normal.

It was long. Curved. Deep-silver at the root, fading to gleaming pearl near the tip. Still warm, like it remembered where it came from.

He stared at it, dazed. "…Is this…?"

Nora whispered, "Yup."

Ren nodded. "A dragon fang."

Jaune's mind caught up all at once.

The fight.

The headbutts.

The eyes.

Natsumi.

He swallowed, throat dry. "…She gave me this?"

Pyrrha stood.

"After she nearly killed you."

Her voice was low. Trembling.

"Do you know what you looked like when I got there? You weren't moving. You weren't breathing right. She was headbutting you like you were a Grimm—like you weren't even human!"

Jaune opened his mouth, but she stepped closer.

"And Glynda just stood there. Letting it happen! Like this was some test?!" Pyrrha shook her head, furious. "What kind of test nearly kills someone?"

Jaune blinked slowly.

"…One I passed?"

Pyrrha stared.

And Jaune looked back down at the fang.

It was heavier than it looked. Carved with faint natural grooves that gleamed when the light hit them—like scales turned to stone.

"She gave this to me. After. Why?"

Ren, quiet as always, answered.

"Because you didn't give up."

Nora chimed in, softer than usual. "She wanted to see if you'd break. You didn't."

Jaune turned the fang over in his hand.

It was still warm.

Still real.

"I thought I was gonna die."

"You probably should have," Ren said. Not unkindly. Just honest.

"But you didn't," Nora added. "And she saw it."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Pyrrha—tense, tired, still angry—spoke again.

"She prayed, you know. After. Put her hands together and made this… sound. This rumble."

Jaune blinked. "Prayed?"

"She doesn't even believe in anything," Pyrrha muttered. "But she did. For you."

Jaune looked down again.

The fang.

The warmth.

The pain in his bones.

"…What does that mean?"

Ren answered without hesitation.

"It means the dragon saw something in you."

Jaune closed his fingers around the fang—softly, reverently.

And somewhere far away, the last dragon was licking her wounds.

And smiling.

...he looked at this beside table to see a letter

Jaune's fingers closed gently around the fang as he leaned back against the pillows.

The ache was still there—gnawing through his bones like echoes of impact—but something else had settled behind it.

Weight.
Meaning.

He blinked, slow, still hazy from everything that had happened, when his gaze landed on the small table beside the bed.

There—folded neatly, plain white, no seal—was a letter.

His name was written in a clean, careful script on the front.
Jaune Arc.

He reached for it, hand still shaking.

Pyrrha noticed. "What is it?"

"…From Glynda," Jaune murmured, already unfolding the paper.

The room fell silent as he read.

Mr. Arc,

If you are reading this, then you have survived your match against Natsumi. You have my respect for that—though I imagine you're still wondering what the point of it all was.

You weren't supposed to be here. If I may be frank, I doubted your place at this academy. Your transcripts were forged. Your technique—raw. Your confidence, lacking.

But today, I witnessed something rare.

You did not win. You did not overcome her strength. But you endured it. You stood before something ancient, something terrifying, and you did not yield. Not truly.

You made my daughter stop.

And that, Mr. Arc, is more than I thought you capable of.

I have been wrong before. I was wrong about you.

You do belong here.

—Glynda Goodwitch

The letter trembled in his hands.

Not because of pain.

Because of the sudden, overwhelming truth of it:

Someone believed in him.

Not his team. Not friends. Not by default or out of loyalty.

But someone who shouldn't have. Someone who had every reason not to.

And still… had seen him.
Truly seen him.

A tear slipped from the corner of Jaune's eye and rolled down into the crumpled edge of the letter.

Pyrrha reached out, quietly resting a hand over his.

He didn't speak.

He couldn't.

But for the first time since he set foot in Beacon…

He felt worthy.

Not because he was strong.

But because he hadn't broken.

Beacon Cafeteria – Evening
The soft clatter of trays and quiet murmur of voices filled the large dining hall, its glow dimmer now, gold-tinted by the lowering sun.

At one table, Team RWBY sat together—half-eaten plates between them. Ruby was poking at mashed potatoes. Yang chewed through a questionable meat skewer. Blake read quietly over a scroll, while Weiss dabbed her mouth with a napkin like the aristocrat she swore she wasn't becoming.

Across the room, Team JNPR had claimed a corner table near the windows. None of them had really touched their food.

Jaune was awake now—propped up between pillows, shoulders bandaged, a faint purple bruise still blooming across one cheekbone. Pyrrha sat nearest, hands folded tight in her lap. Ren and Nora flanked either side, both tense but trying to look casual.

Jaune offered a weak smile when they asked if he needed anything.

But his gaze kept drifting—to the front of the hall.

The doors creaked open.

And she walked in.

Natsumi.

Scarf gone. Eyes half-lidded. One fang visibly missing.

Her mouth was puffed up, jawline swollen from trauma she'd tried very hard not to show. A few strips of gauze still peeked from under her collar. Every step looked casual—but her grip on Glynda's hand was tight, like a sulking child being escorted somewhere she didn't want to go.

Glynda, in her off-duty cardigan, led her with the kind of patience that said, "I told you not to pull the fang yourself, and now look at you."

Natsumi didn't make eye contact with anyone.

Just trudged to the food line.

Where she was handed—without asking—a tray containing:

One small bowl of lukewarm bone broth

One cup of vanilla pudding

And a plastic spoon

She stared at it like it had personally insulted her.

From RWBY's table, Weiss leaned over, smirking behind her teacup.

"Bone broth and pudding," she murmured. "Fitting, really. Call it karma."

She didn't say it loudly.

But dragons hear everything.

Natsumi's head slowly turned.

One puffy golden eye narrowed.

No growl. No teeth.

Just a look.

A deep, burning look of "Say it again, snowflake."

Weiss froze with her teacup halfway to her mouth.

Yang let out a low whistle. "You poked the volcano."

"She can't bite me," Weiss muttered, a bit more uncertain now. "She's medically grounded."

Across the room, Natsumi slumped into her seat, stabbing the pudding with her plastic spoon as if the dessert had wronged her.

She didn't look at anyone.

Not directly.

But her gaze drifted.

To Jaune.

Still bandaged.

Still bruised.

Still breathing.

And just for a moment—barely a second—her eyes softened.

She didn't wave. Didn't nod. Didn't smile.

But she looked.2222

Longer than she needed to.

And then went back to her pudding, chewing like it was gravel.

Chapter Text

Breakfast sucked.

Not in the "food is bad" way — no, the cafeteria food was fine. hell it was her favorite food ! all meat really! It was her. Every bite was a reminder she was off-balance, like trying to walk with one shoe missing. The right side of her mouth felt wrong. Her jaw kept trying to close on a fang that wasn't there anymore, only to slam on raw, tender gum. she could feel the heat of her breah dance around in the gap. her hot drool having a new place to enter.

The extrema ache hadn't stopped since yesterday. It was sharp pain — just constant, nagging, a throb. her headache sharper then ever . that wouldn't let her forget she'd torn the fang out with her own hand. A reminder of Jaune's stubborn grin when he'd finally gone down, and the quiet way he'd taken the gift.

She tried tearing into a strip of bacon, only for her jaw to shift weird. Pain shot up through her skull and she slapped the fork down on the table with a growl. "Perfect. Now even eating is a damn chore."

From the next table over, a few students glanced her way, whispering. She ignored them, grabbing her toast instead — softer, easier. Still felt wrong.

And every time her tongue ran along that empty space, the same thought crept back in:
You did this. You can't take it back.

It wasn't regret — dragons didn't regret an earned gift. But living with it? That was the part nobody talked about.

Every bite fought back, not because the food was tough, but because her jaw didn't work the way it used to. The right side of her mouth throbbed, her tongue constantly brushing the empty space where her fang used to be. Chewing sent sharp jolts up into her skull.

She tore at a piece of bacon, jaw shifting wrong, and pain spiked so bad she nearly swore aloud. The fork clattered onto her tray, her free hand pressing against her cheek. "Damn it…" she muttered under her breath. Even bread felt wrong now — too soft, too one-sided.

A quiet chuckle drifted from a table across the cafeteria.

Weiss sat there, perfectly poised, sipping her coffee like she was attending a gala. Her eyes flicked toward Natsumi with the faintest glimmer of satisfaction. No smug smile, no grand taunt — just that knowing look that said this is justice.

Funny, Weiss thought, watching the dragon princess wrestle with toast like it was her sworn enemy. The same girl who tried to make my first day miserable… already punishing herself. All without me lifting a finger.

Natsumi caught the glance, and the low growl that built in her throat made the students nearby go quiet. But she didn't bite — literally or figuratively. She shoved the rest of her toast into her mouth, wincing the whole way, and went back to eating like nothing happened.

Weiss sipped her coffee again, savoring the moment.

Blake slid into the seat beside her, setting down a plate. Without looking up from cutting into her pancakes, she murmured,
"You sure it's smart to tease the overgrown dragon girl?"

Weiss didn't even blink. "I'm not teasing. I'm… observing."

Blake's ear twitched. "Mm. Right. Observing the girl who could probably throw you through a wall."

Weiss sipped her coffee, gaze never leaving Natsumi's struggling form. "If she's foolish enough to attack me over breakfast, then I've already won."

Across the room, Natsumi caught the glance. The low growl that built in her throat made a couple of nearby students shift uncomfortably, but she didn't bite — literally or figuratively. She shoved the rest of her toast into her mouth, wincing the whole way, and went back to eating like nothing happened.

Weiss took another slow sip, savoring the moment. Blake just shook her head.

That's when Yang strolled up, balancing her tray on one hip and wearing that I'm here to cause trouble grin.
"What are you two whispering about?" she asked, dropping into the seat across from them.

Weiss took a dainty sip of her coffee. "Nothing of consequence."

Blake glanced at Natsumi across the room, still trying — and failing — to eat without wincing. Then she gave Yang a pointed look. "Weiss is enjoying the fact that the overgrown dragon girl is… let's say, paying for her own decisions."

Yang's gaze followed Blake's nod, landing on Natsumi. Her grin widened. "Oh-ho. So that's why she looks like she wants to fight her breakfast. What'd she do?"

Weiss smirked ever so slightly. "She removed one of her own fangs yesterday. Apparently, that sort of thing has… consequences."

Yang let out a low whistle. "And you're just sitting here enjoying the show? Cold, Ice Queen."

Weiss's tone was crisp. "It's called justice. She made my first day here miserable. Now she's learning the universe has a sense of humor."

Yang chuckled, leaning back. "Yeah, well… just don't be shocked if she decides to return the favor."

Weiss only took another sip of coffee. "If she's foolish enough to try, I'll be ready."

Across the room, Natsumi's eyes flicked their way — and for just a moment, all three of them felt the weight of her stare. Before Weiss could comment, Coco sauntered past with her coffee and sunglasses still on indoors. She caught enough of the conversation to slow her pace and glance down at Weiss.

"You might wanna pump the brakes on that little victory lap," Coco said smoothly.

Weiss arched a brow. "And why, exactly, would I do that?"

Coco smirked. "Because you're talking about Natsumi. Not only is she basically my BFF, she's also about ten times pettier than you think. And trust me—when she gets even? She doesn't do it in halves."

Yang leaned forward, intrigued. "Petty how?"

Coco tilted her head, pretending to think. "Let's just say… she once took an insult so personally that she bought the building the guy lived in just to evict him. And she was twelve."

Blake actually looked up from her pancakes at that. "That's… impressive."

Weiss sniffed. "Please. I'm not intimidated by some overgrown lizard with impulse control issues."

Coco chuckled darkly. "Alright, Ice Queen. Just remember you said that… when she decides to make your life interesting." She gave a small wave and strolled off to her own table like she hadn't just dropped a live grenade in the middle of theirs.

Yang leaned toward Weiss, grinning. "She's totally gonna make your life interesting."

Weiss set her coffee down a little too sharply. "…We'll see."

Weiss was bone-tired. Training had wrung every drop of energy from her, sweat plastering stray strands of hair to her face. All she wanted now was a hot shower, a quiet desk, and the company of her textbooks for the night.

Instead, she stopped dead in the hall.

Her locker looked like it had been in a death match with an industrial shredder — and lost.

Bits of twisted metal littered the floor like silver confetti. The lock area was mangled beyond recognition, deep claw marks raked across the surface. The paint was gouged in long, ugly streaks, and the middle section was crushed inward as if something had clamped down on it with terrifying force.

And the bite marks… unmistakable.
One even had a gap where a fang clearly should have been.

She didn't need to wonder who did this.

Weiss eased the locker door open; it creaked pitifully, like it was begging for the sweet release of death. She braced herself for chaos inside — shredded books, trashed uniforms, stolen Dust cartridges.

Nothing.

Everything was perfectly untouched, as if whoever had done this wasn't after her possessions at all. Just… the locker itself.

Her eyes narrowed.

A piece of paper was taped neatly above the biggest bite mark, flapping slightly in the hallway breeze.

Oobleck's unmistakable hurried scrawl:

Medical Note – Due to ongoing dental regeneration, natural teething activities are encouraged to promote proper fang growth. Suitable hard materials include wood, stone, or light metal. Damage to said materials should be considered part of the healing process.

– Dr. Bartholomew Oobleck

Weiss stared at the note. Then the locker. Then the note again. Her eye twitched violently.

Down the hall, faint footsteps. She turned just in time to catch a flash of red hair vanishing around the corner.

Coco's earlier warning echoed in her mind: she's also about ten times pettier than you think. And trust me—when she gets even? She doesn't do it in halves."

Then her father's voice layered over it — colder, sharper:
If you mess with a Schnee… you had better be the one left standing at the end.

Weiss found her in the courtyard, sprawled across a stone bench with a half-empty water bottle, soaking in the sun like a lazy cat who owned the place.

Weiss, on the other hand, was seething. She was about to show the so-called Dragon of Wrath what Schnee fury looked like.

Natsumi cracked one golden eye open when Weiss's shadow fell over her.
"Morning, Schnee. You look tense. Jaw sore? Oh—wait—no, that's me."

Weiss didn't rise to the bait. She held up the crumpled medical note like it was Exhibit A.
"Care to explain why my locker now looks like it was mauled by a rabid animal?"

Natsumi sat up slowly, glanced at the note, and then looked away like she was trying to remember if she'd ordered dessert last night.
"That was your locker?" She let the faux-surprise hang just long enough to be insulting before smirking. "I was told to test my new fang on something belonging to a coward who wanted to poke the dragon. Must've gotten the wrong one." A beat. "Oh wait—nope. Nailed it."

Weiss's eyes narrowed. "You're not even trying to hide it."

"Why should I?" Natsumi leaned back, draping one arm along the bench. "Oobleck says I need to chew something tough. I'm following doctor's orders. You wouldn't want me ignoring medical advice, would you?"

Weiss's gloved fingers crushed the note into a hard ball.
"You're impossible."

"Compliment accepted." Natsumi flashed the jagged, half-grown fang that started this entire mess.

Weiss turned to leave—but stopped. She jabbed the note toward Natsumi like it was a sword.
"You're not even a student here. How can you get away with destroying school property?"

Natsumi tilted her head, mock-thoughtful. "Good point. Guess the rules for students don't apply to me. Which means—" she tapped her fang with a nail "—I can chew whatever I want."

"That is not what I meant."

"Oh, I know." She leaned forward, elbows on knees, grin wicked. "But see, Schnee… when you're not a student, there's no detention, no demerits, no angry headmaster lectures. The only thing stopping me from biting something… is whether I feel like it."

Weiss's voice went cold. "You're going to regret this."

"Probably," Natsumi said with a shrug. "But right now? I'm having too much fun."

Five minutes later, Ozpin's office.

Weiss's heels cracked against the polished floor like gunfire. She didn't knock—just marched up to his desk and slapped the crumpled note down.
"Headmaster, this is unacceptable. Natsumi destroyed my locker—bitten, clawed, mangled beyond repair—and she isn't even a student. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with this."

Ozpin took a slow sip from his mug. "Have you read the handbook?"

Weiss frowned. "Of course I've read the Beacon handbook—"

"Not that one." He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick, laminated binder stamped in gold:

How to Survive Natsumi Goodwitch: A Practical Guide to Fire, Fury, and Friendship.

He slid it across the desk. "Page eighty-six, subsection C — On Teething and Structural Damage."

Weiss flipped to the page and read aloud.
"'Any and all property damage caused by Natsumi during a teething cycle is to be considered an unavoidable side effect of her biology. Attempts to discipline her will result in escalation.'" She stared at him. "This can't be real."

"It's real," Ozpin said, perfectly calm. "And for your safety, I suggest reading the rest before your next interaction with her."

Weiss's jaw tightened. "Was that a threat?"

"A caution," Ozpin corrected. "Miss Schnee, in this world there are many non-humans—Vampires, Sangheili, Lizardmen—each with instincts and biology you'd be wise to respect. Miss Goodwitch simply happens to be one of them."

Weiss shut the binder with a sharp thunk.
As she left, she could still hear his voice:
"Page one-oh-three is especially relevant if she starts leaving bite marks on your door."

Weiss was pacing the length of the dorm, the thick laminated binder clutched in one hand like she meant to bludgeon someone with it. Her voice had that clipped, high edge it only got when she was seconds away from breaking something.

"She has her own handbook!" Weiss snapped, turning sharply on her heel. "Not a warning notice. Not a file in Ozpin's drawer. An actual handbook with chapters, subsections, and—get this—illustrations!"

Ruby was sitting on her bed, half-wrapped in a blanket burrito. "Uh… like, a student handbook?"

"No!" Weiss jabbed a finger at the bold gold title stamped across the cover:
"How to Survive Natsumi Goodwitch: A Practical Guide to Fire, Fury, and Friendship."

Blake raised a brow from her spot by the window. "…That's real?"

Weiss flipped the binder open and started reading in a furious, mocking tone. "Section eighty-six: On Teething and Structural Damage. 'Any property damage caused by Natsumi during a teething cycle is to be considered an unavoidable side effect of her biology.'" She slammed it shut. "Do you hear this? The administration is giving her teething privileges."

Yang snorted from where she was leaning against the wall. "Kinda makes sense. She's part dragon. You try telling her not to chew something."

"There's more!" Weiss yanked the binder open again, rifling through the pages. "Section forty-two: Fire Hazard Exemptions. Page one-seventy-eight: How to Bribe Natsumi for Temporary Cooperation. And apparently," she said, voice dripping with disbelief, "page ninety-four is 'The Official List of Students She Will Probably Never Eat.'"

Ruby's head popped up from her blanket. "…Am I on the list?"

"no..., you're not the list! why would that matte anyways?!" Weiss slammed the binder closed again. "She has her own handbook, and I don't even get my own parking space."

Yang was grinning now. "I'm guessing you're not on the 'never eat' list."

Weiss's glare could have frozen the sun.

Yang wandered over, plucking the binder right out of Weiss's hands before she could protest.
"Let's see what's got you all frosty, Ice Queen…" She flipped through a few pages, scanning the absurdly detailed text. Then she froze, a slow, wolfish grin curling across her face.

"Oh-hoooo… Weiss. There's some fire in here."

Weiss crossed her arms. "I highly doubt anything in that book could surprise me at this point."

Yang's grin widened. "Uh-huh. Well, according to page fifty-three… all female dragon slayers have both…" She let the pause hang just long enough. "…a penis and a vagina."

Ruby almost spat cocoa across the room. Blake's ears perked, her smirk subtle but unmistakable.

Yang slapped the page with her palm. "Which means, Weiss… technically, she can go fuck herself!" Yang doubled over, laughing so hard she had to brace against the wall.

Weiss's face flushed — not from embarrassment, but sheer outrage. "That is completely inappropriate to include in an official handbook!"

Blake tilted her head. "Sounds like a very thorough handbook to me."

Ruby pulled her blanket up to hide her grin. "I mean… it's… kind of educational?"

Yang wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, it gets better." She cleared her throat and switched to an exaggerated professor voice:
"'Due to a dragon slayer's need to survive, their biology, and their breeding for war, females have adapted the ability to reproduce with any species and any gender of their choice… ensuring the bloodline can continue even if they are the last of their race.'"

Weiss snatched the binder back like she was confiscating contraband. "Absolutely not. This… this thing should be burned."

Yang's smirk didn't fade. "Oh no, Ice Queen… this is going straight under 'Required Reading.'"

Yang flipped a few more pages, still grinning like a kid who'd found the teacher's diary.
"Ohhh, what do we have here… 'Section Seventy-Two: Known Weaknesses.'"

Weiss froze mid-step. "…Weaknesses?"

Yang scanned down the bullet points, then burst out laughing. "Oh, this is beautiful. 'Note: Natsumi Goodwitch has a documented, irrational fear of eels.'" She slapped the page. "It even specifies — slimy, slithery, bitey eels."

Ruby peeked over from her bed. "Like… ocean eels? Or the electric kind?"

Yang read further. "All of the above. Even the fake rubber ones. Says here she once 'vaporized an aquarium exhibit in under two seconds' when startled."

Blake chuckled under her breath. "That's… oddly specific."

Weiss's eyes narrowed… then lit up. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. "Tell me more."

Yang looked up. "…Oh no. Oh no no no… you're already planning something."

"I'm simply… gathering information," Weiss said sweetly.

Ruby sat up straighter. "Uh, Weiss? You do remember she bit your locker in half, right? Maybe… don't poke the dragon?"

Weiss closed the binder with deliberate care. "Sometimes, Ruby… the dragon needs to be reminded she's not untouchable — and NOT to mess with a Schnee!" She marched out with her chin high, radiating smugness.

Blake's ears flicked once — a sign she was already worried.

Yang shook her head, but she was still smirking. "Well… if you 'accidentally' leave a fake eel in her laundry basket, I want front-row seats."

Ruby bit her lip. Yang caught the look and tried to reassure her. "Don't worry, Rubes! She's a big dragon girl — she'll be fine! Besides, it's just a prank. No harm done, right Weiss?"

Weiss nodded confidently… completely unaware she was about to make a huge mistake.

Weiss stood in the empty hallway outside Natsumi's usual route to the cafeteria, a bucket in her hands and a smug little smirk curling at the corners of her mouth.
Inside the bucket: a writhing, tangled mass of perfectly realistic rubber eels. Slimy to the touch. Shiny enough to look wet. Disgusting in every way that counted.

The plan was simple — prop the bucket above the doorframe, tie a string to the handle, wait for the dragon to walk through, and let gravity do the rest.

Weiss adjusted the rope one last time, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Perfect," she murmured. "She'll jump, she'll scream, and everyone will know…" She allowed herself a satisfied sigh. "…that even a dragon has a weak spot."

From down the hall, Yang's voice carried. "You sure about this, Ice Queen? You're playing with fire here. Literal fire."

Weiss didn't even glance over. "It's harmless. They're fake."

Blake walked past, eyes flicking to the setup above the door. "Just remember… cornered animals lash out."

Ruby peeked from behind her, chewing her lip. "And dragons really lash out."

Weiss waved them off. "Please. She'll be startled, she'll get over it, and I'll finally have the upper hand." She stepped into an alcove, gripping the string like a sniper waiting for the perfect shot.

Footsteps. Heavy, steady. Unmistakable. Weiss's smile widened. "Showtime."

The door creaked open. She yanked the rope.

The bucket tipped.

A perfect cascade of glistening, slimy "eels" spilled in slow motion—

—and Natsumi froze.

All the color drained from her face. If anyone had superhuman hearing, they would have caught the tremor in her heartbeat. In moments like this, she hated herself — hated how the fear dug deep into her bones, deeper than her pride could reach.

The eels bounced off her shoulders and scattered across the floor.

Weiss's grin vanished.

Because Natsumi didn't just flinch. She collapsed.

The dragon crumpled to the floor in a tight fetal curl, claws digging into her arms, trembling so hard the sound of her scales clicking together echoed down the hall.

"No… no no no—" Her voice cracked, raw and small. "M-Mommy… help… I'm scared—"

The hallway went dead quiet. Ruby instinctively stepped forward, kneeling to touch her shoulder—

SNAP!

Natsumi's head shot up, jaws slamming shut where Ruby's hand had been a split second earlier. The click of her teeth was sharp enough to make Ruby stumble back.

No one moved. Yang's jaw tightened, her whole body coiled but frozen. Blake lingered at the edge, ears twitching, eyes uncertain. Weiss's fingers went slack on the rope, the cold sinking into her chest.

Then—heels. Quick, confident steps.

Professor Peach rounded the corner, eyes locking on the scene instantly. "Alright, everybody, back up." Calm. Firm. Not a request.

She was kneeling beside Natsumi in seconds, voice lowering to a gentle murmur. "Hey, sweetheart… it's just me. You're okay."

A shuddered breath. A stuttered voice: "A-a-auntie?"

Peach smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'm here. No one's gonna hurt you. Just breathe with me, alright?"

Natsumi's eyes were glassy, tears slipping down her cheeks — not the furious tears of a fighter, but the frightened kind you'd see on a child. Peach kept her pace slow, deliberate, guiding Natsumi's hands away from her head without breaking eye contact.

Little by little, the trembling eased.

Weiss just stood there in the background, the rope dangling in her fingers, the reality sinking in heavy and sharp.

Peach kept her hand resting lightly on Natsumi's arm, murmuring low reassurances as she guided her up from the floor. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you somewhere quiet."

Natsumi didn't resist — just clung to Peach's sleeve like it was the only solid thing in the world, head ducked low, silent except for the hitched sound of her breathing.

The rest of the hallway stayed frozen, everyone keeping their distance as Peach walked her down the corridor. The dragon's prided dragged along the floor, limp, the weight of it echoing the weight in the air.

Weiss didn't follow. She couldn't move.

It wasn't until Peach rounded a corner that she realized she was moving — slow, quiet steps, drawn by something she couldn't explain. She stopped just before the next hallway turn, the muffled sound of Peach's voice carrying back to her.

"…you're safe now. No one's gonna laugh at you, I promise."

Then came the sound she hadn't expected — not a growl, not a hiss, not the sharp edge of Natsumi's usual fire. It was crying. Unrestrained, broken, childlike crying.

Weiss froze in place, her chest tightening.

She told herself to turn around, to give them privacy. But she didn't. She stood there, listening to the muffled sobs, and the more she heard, the more the ice in her veins started to feel like something else entirely.

Shame.

For a moment, she didn't feel like a Schnee at all.
She felt like her father — that same cold, callous cruelty she swore she'd never repeat. The same monster who'd taught her that weakness was something to exploit.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

She'd wanted to prove a point. She'd wanted to show she could win.
But all she'd really done was become the thing she hated most.

An hour later, Weiss stood outside Ozpin's office door, knuckles hovering just shy of knocking.
She'd already replayed the scene in her head a hundred times — the bucket tipping, the fake eels spilling, the way Natsumi had crumpled to the ground.
The way she'd cried out for her mother.

Weiss swallowed hard, then knocked twice.

"Come in," Ozpin's voice called, calm as ever.

She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. The Headmaster sat at his desk, pen in hand, looking over a stack of reports.
"Miss Schnee," he said without looking up. "This is… unexpected. What can I do for you?"

Weiss clasped her hands behind her back, forcing her voice to stay steady.
"I… may have done something that caused unnecessary distress to another resident here. Natsumi."

That got his attention. Ozpin set his pen down and regarded her over the rim of his glasses.
"Go on."

She drew in a sharp breath. "I orchestrated a prank. I intended to startle her, nothing more. But her reaction was…" Weiss faltered. "It was not what I anticipated. I may have… triggered something deeper. And for that, I take full responsibility."

Ozpin leaned back slightly, studying her. "That is a rare thing, Miss Schnee — for someone to walk in here and admit fault without being dragged in."

"It isn't right," Weiss said, her tone quieter now. "I thought I was… getting even. But seeing her like that—" She hesitated, her voice tightening. "It wasn't victory. It was cruelty."

For the briefest flicker of a second, Ozpin smiled — faint, but genuine.
He could tell: deep down, Weiss Schnee was far more like Nicholas Schnee than her father. Any day.

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "There are… chapters in that handbook you were given that detail Natsumi's history. I suspect you did not read them."

Weiss stiffened. "…No. I didn't."

"I think you should," Ozpin said, sliding a fresh copy toward her. "Not as a punishment. As perspective."

Weiss took the binder without a word, her gloved hands tightening around it.

"Learn her story, Miss Schnee," Ozpin continued, "before you decide what she deserves from you."

She nodded once, quietly, and left the office — the weight of the handbook suddenly far heavier than its actual size.

Weiss sat at her desk in the quiet dorm room, the lamp casting a small circle of light over the thick binder Ozpin had given her.
She'd been flipping through it for over an hour, looking for anything — anything — that might explain what had happened in the hallway.

Finally, her eyes caught on a paragraph under the "Behavioral Notes" section:

Young dragons are known to experience heightened anxiety compared to their older kin. This can manifest as defensive posturing, rapid breathing, or avoidance behaviors when startled. These symptoms are temporary and usually resolve quickly once the perceived threat is removed.

Weiss read it twice, frowning. "High anxiety…" she murmured. That part made sense, but—she shut her eyes briefly, remembering Natsumi on the floor.
Curled in on herself.
Tears.
That voice breaking into a plea for her mother.

No… that wasn't a quick flare of nerves. That wasn't pacing or snapping at someone out of stress.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the page. "That was… a complete shutdown," she said softly, almost to herself.

The handbook didn't say anything about eels. In fact, there wasn't a single mention of that specific fear. There was even a line in the margins:

Unknown origin — no documented incidents prior to Beacon. only person would will know is Glynda. she will not share this information.

Weiss closed the binder slowly, staring at the cover. She'd wanted this to be a puzzle she could solve, a neat little answer she could tuck away to justify what happened. Instead, she was left with more questions… and the uncomfortable certainty that she'd poked at something no one truly understood.

For the first time all day, her usual ice-crisp certainty wasn't there. All she could think was:
What the hell happened to her?

Weiss sat at her desk, the binder still closed in front of her, when a faint shff made her glance toward the door.
Something white had been slid under it.

She stood, crossing the room and picking it up — a small folded note in plain paper. No name, no flourish. Just a single sentence written in quick, almost rushed handwriting:

Page 214. Read it.

Her eyes narrowed, flicking to the binder. She sat back down, flipping quickly through until she landed on the marked page.

"Dragon Biology – Lifespan & Cognitive Development"

She skimmed the opening paragraph, then slowed as the text became more specific:

*Dragons age differently than most species of the world. While they may appear physically mature at an earlier stage, their true biological and cognitive age follows a far slower track.

In the case of Natsumi Goodwitch, she is sixteen in human years but the equivalent of six years old when compared to her species' lifespan and brain development.

Dragons at this developmental stage experience emotional regulation similar to human children, but with the amplified instincts and power of their species. Prolonged fear responses are common, and traumatic triggers can result in complete shutdowns rather than standard anxiety reactions.*

Weiss stared at the words, her mind replaying the image of Natsumi curled on the floor, sobbing and calling for her mother.
Not a proud warrior.
Not an unshakable dragon princess.
Just… a child.

She leaned back in her chair, the page still open. Her earlier satisfaction over the prank felt sickening now. She'd thought she was needling a rival — but what she'd actually done was terrify someone whose mind wasn't nearly as grown as her strength suggested.

For the first time, Weiss found herself wishing she'd never pulled that string at all.

Weiss sat frozen at her desk, the binder open to page 214.
Her eyes stayed locked on the paragraph, but she wasn't really reading it anymore — the words were already burned into her mind.

Six years old.

The equivalent of a six-year-old child.

Her gloved hands rested lightly on the edges of the binder, but she hadn't moved in minutes. Even her breathing was shallow, her normally composed face drained of color until she looked almost as pale as her namesake.

Ruby's voice broke through, hesitant. "Uh… Weiss?"

No response.

Ruby stepped closer, frowning. "Weiss." She reached out and shook her shoulder lightly.

Weiss blinked once, as if coming out of a deep trance. "…What?" Her voice was quiet, distant.

Ruby glanced down at the page but didn't try to read it. "You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Weiss's eyes flicked back to the line about dragons' mental age, her throat tightening. "…I didn't know," she murmured. "I didn't… realize."

Ruby tilted her head. "Realize what?"

Weiss shut the binder slowly, the sound of the covers closing louder than it should have been. "That what I did wasn't petty. It was cruel."

Ruby's brow furrowed, but before she could ask more, Weiss stood abruptly and set the binder aside. For once, there was no fire in her movements — just a kind of heavy resolve.

late night

The cool night air hit Weiss as she stepped onto the rooftop, binder still tucked under her arm.
She'd intended to be alone, to sort out the knot in her stomach without an audience.

But she wasn't alone.

Professor Peter Port was leaning against the railing, pipe in hand, looking out over the quiet grounds. The smoke curled lazily upward, catching the moonlight.

He turned at the sound of the door, smiling warmly. "Ah, Miss Schnee! Couldn't sleep?"

Weiss stiffened. "Professor. I… didn't realize anyone would be up here."

"Old hunters rarely sleep through the night," Port said with a chuckle, tapping his pipe. "We've seen too much to find rest easily." His eyes studied her for a moment, softer now. "But I'd wager your lack of sleep has nothing to do with age."

Weiss hesitated, then walked to the railing beside him. The binder felt heavy in her arms. "I… made a mistake. A very serious one."

Port nodded slowly. "Then the question, my dear, is what you intend to do about it."

She looked down at the courtyard, voice low. "I thought I was getting even. I wanted to see her rattled. But…" Her grip tightened on the binder. "…she's not who I thought she was. Not… what I thought she was."

Port puffed his pipe thoughtfully. "You've read something in that guide of hers, I take it?"

Weiss nodded.

"Then you know dragons are not just scales and fire. They are, at heart, creatures of instinct and bonds. Young ones are… fragile in ways they can't admit." His gaze drifted back to her. "You frightened her in a way that hit deeper than pride. And now you carry the weight of that knowledge."

Weiss closed her eyes for a moment. "…Yes."

Port smiled faintly, but it wasn't mocking. "Then you have two choices, Miss Schnee. You can let that weight crush you… or you can use it to build something better. Respect. Trust. Perhaps even friendship. The path won't be short — but it will be worth it."

Weiss looked at him, surprised by the quiet wisdom under the usual bravado. "…You think she'd ever forgive me?"

Port gave a small shrug. "I've seen dragons forgive worse. But only when they see that the one seeking forgiveness means it with every bone in their body."

The words settled in Weiss's chest, heavier than the binder but steadier, somehow.

Weiss glanced at him, curiosity edging past her guilt. "…How did you even learn so much about her?"

Port's laugh came deep and booming, the kind that seemed to echo in his chest. "OH! Oh-ho-ho! Miss Schnee, let me remind you of something most of the students have forgotten — when Glynda found that young rascal, she wasn't the stern, seasoned professor you know today. She was just a first-year here!"

Weiss blinked. "…Just like me?"

"Exactly like you!" Port said, jabbing the stem of his pipe toward her for emphasis. "Only instead of polishing her family name and collecting perfect scores, she was out there wrangling the most stubborn, sharp-toothed, fire-breathing bundle of trouble the kingdoms had ever seen!"

His grin softened into something more nostalgic. "At some point, Glynda stopped being just a caretaker… and became a mother. It happens before you realize it, in cases like theirs."

Weiss tilted her head. "…And where do you fit into that story?" a smile formed. Having more respect for glnyda really.

Port puffed on his pipe, chuckling again. "Well, someone had to keep the child entertained while Glynda was in class, hm? They needed a babysitter — and yours truly was the only one with enough courage and enough patience to survive the job!"

Weiss almost smiled despite herself. "…I'm guessing she wasn't easy."

Port's eyes twinkled. "She once bit a broom in half because I tried to sweep around her feet. And that was on a good day."

The humor faded only slightly as he tapped the binder she held. "That dragon has been fighting to grow up in a world that doesn't understand her. Remember that, Miss Schnee — you'll see her differently."

Weiss stood quietly for a moment, looking out over the moonlit campus. The question had been sitting on her tongue since she'd first stepped onto the roof, but it felt heavier now.

Finally, she turned to Port. "…You've known her longer than anyone here besides Glynda. You've seen her at her worst. How… how can I apologize to her?"

Port tapped his pipe against the railing, letting the ash fall away. "Ah… the million lien question." He gave a short, knowing hum. "Dragons are not like us, Miss Schnee. Words alone? They're wind. They hear them, but they don't feel them. thats if they even understand them"

Weiss's brow furrowed. "Then what do they feel?"

"Action," Port said simply. "Consistency. A dragon's trust is built in what you do, not what you promise. And when that trust is broken, it's only rebuilt one stone at a time."

She frowned slightly. "So you're saying… I can't just walk up and tell her I'm sorry?"

"Oh, you can," Port chuckled, "but it will mean nothing unless you show her, over and over, that you mean it. You took a swing at her heart, Miss Schnee — not her pride. You don't heal that with a single conversation."

Weiss looked down at the binder in her hands, feeling its weight in a new way. "…Then what would you do, if you were me?"

Port's smile was faint, but genuine. "I'd start by standing beside her when no one else expects me to. Defend her once without her asking. Offer help without her needing to beg. And do it without keeping score." He leaned on the railing. "Eventually… she'll see the truth in your actions. And maybe then, she'll let your words in."

Weiss nodded slowly, absorbing every word. For the first time since the incident, she felt like there might be a path forward — but it was going to be a long one.

He caught her look and gave a small nod. "One last thing, Miss Schnee."

She paused, waiting.

Port's voice softened, losing the grand storytelling tone he so often used in class. "Taking fault when you've done wrong… that's no small thing. Especially when the one you've wronged belongs to a prideful species." He tapped the side of his pipe for emphasis. "Dragons do not forget slights easily. But they also do not forget those who have the courage to own their mistakes."

Weiss's grip on the binder tightened just slightly. "…You think she'll see it that way?"

Port smiled faintly. "If she doesn't see it today, she might tomorrow. Or a month from now. But pride recognizes courage when it stands in front of them — even if it takes time to admit it."

Weiss let out a slow breath, the weight in her chest shifting just enough to make it bearable. She gave him a polite nod. "Thank you, Professor."

With that, she left the rooftop, making her way back to her dorm. By the time she reached her bed, the binder sat on her nightstand, unopened again… but now it wasn't just a handbook. It was a reminder of the path she'd have to walk.

The next morning, Beacon's courtyard buzzed with the usual shuffle of students heading to breakfast or first period.

Weiss spotted her before she even stepped outside.
Natsumi was standing by the fountain — a tooth absent for now, but her presence still towering — chatting animatedly with a few brave first-years. "Cheerful," Weiss thought… though for most, it was the kind of cheerful you'd expect from a predator that probably wasn't going to eat you.

The younger students laughed nervously at something Natsumi said, then quickly excused themselves, leaving the dragon princess stretching her shoulders in the morning sun.

Weiss's steps slowed. She could've walked right past, could've waited another day… but Port's words from last night echoed in her head.

She drew in a breath and crossed the courtyard.

Natsumi noticed her approach, her molten-gold eyes locking on her immediately.
"Schnee," she greeted, voice casual but edged with that ever-present dominance. "What brings the Ice Queen to my sunny morning?"

Weiss stopped a few feet away, posture straight, voice even. "It was me."

One brow lifted. Her golden eyes shifted — orange, then slowly to red. Oh, yeah… Natsumi knew exactly what she meant.
"What was you?"

Weiss didn't break eye contact, her heart pounding but telling her to own what she'd done.
"The… eel prank. Yesterday. That was me."

For a moment, Natsumi just looked at her — unreadable. Her red eyes locked with Weiss's blue. Claws slid out, poised and ready.
"…I figured."

Weiss's chin lifted a fraction. "I'm not here to justify it. I'm here to say I did it… and to say I'm sorry."

The dragon tilted her head, studying her like she was trying to see what Weiss wasn't saying.
"Bold of you to admit it, Schnee. Most wouldn't."

Weiss held her ground. "I owed you the truth."

Natsumi's smile came — just enough for the faint glint of her half-grown fang to show. "Truth noted." She stepped past Weiss, her voice low as she added, "Let's see if you can match it with actions."

Weiss didn't turn to watch her leave, but her grip on the binder tucked under her arm tightened.
That's the plan, she thought.

Her eyes drifted toward the pages inside, remembering Ozpin's quiet warning: Learn her story before you decide what she deserves.

And for the first time since yesterday, Weiss wondered if she actually wanted to know

Chapter Text

Hey everyone — I’m really sorry for the long silence. Life’s been heavy lately. One of my closest friends has been diagnosed with cancer, and their surgery is scheduled for October 9th. I’ve been streaming on Twitch to raise money for their medical expenses, and it’s been taking most of my time and energy.

If you’d like to help out or just hang out while I stream, I’m at twitch.tv/timbobbytim0
— everything from donations to ad revenue is going directly toward supporting my friend. Even just sharing the stream means a lot.

Thank you all for your understanding and patience. I’m hoping to get back to monthly updates after November. 💛