Chapter Text
The mountain trains from Mistral to Argus were always quiet in the First Class section—especially when you were the only living passenger. Weiss Schnee, Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, sat alone in luxury. Her signature white hair was tied in a side ponytail beneath her silver tiara—the only gift from her father she actually cherished. It earned her the nickname “Princess,” usually spoken with envy or spite, but she wore it anyway. Even in Argus’s icy climate, Weiss insisted on her formal white dress that faded to blue at the edges with its snowflake motifs that matched her icy blue eyes, the SDC insignia of a giant snowflake on the back of her matching bolero.
She watched the blizzard outside through the frosted window which clouded the daylight, the cabin perfectly temperature-controlled. Pristine service robots waited on her, efficient and silent—programmable servants that required nothing from her except commands.
“Another glass of water,” she murmured. A nearby unit chimed in acknowledgement.
Better alone than back in Atlas, she thought. At least here she could breathe. At home she was always an image—never a person.
She rose, smoothing out her dress, and walked the carpeted aisle. One hour until Argus, then an airship home to the mansion she never asked for. The door buzzed open at her pass, and a blast of freezing air bit at her cheeks as she pulled her bolero tighter before she hurried into the next carriage.
This one was starkly different: unheated, metallic, dark and shadowed by crates stacked to the ceiling, each branded with the SDC snowflake. Dust shipments. Constant targets. Bandits sometimes stole for profit, but others… others were driven by ideology.
The White Fang. Faunus terrorists, her father called them. Humans with the features of animals sick of prejudice and ready to spill blood in retaliation. Too much blood, in Weiss’s memory.
She pried open a crate, revealing dust crystals in vivid colours—red for fire, yellow for lightning, blue for ice. She could recite every Dust type by heart. She even carried a pamphlet titled Dust for Dummies to distribute during trade negotiations. Holding up the red crystal, she wondered what kind of SDC she would run someday. One that didn’t fuel hatred? One that wasn’t built on… this?
A loud thud struck the roof above her. Weiss gasped and nearly dropped the crystal—she barely caught it in time. One crystal explosion could chain-react and destroy the whole storage unit.
Another bang came from the door leading to the rest of the cargo carriages.
Quickly returning the Dust to its crate with it's lid not fully closed, she drew her rapier, Myrtenaster. The train’s wheels clattered against the frozen tracks beneath her feet, echoing the steady pound of her heart.
Weiss listened at the door. Muffled combat sounds—metal against something heavier. The robotic guards were engaged and would deal with whatever was boarding them.
A moment later: silence.
Then voices.
The robotic guards had failed, it was all up to Weiss.
Then came the mechanical hiss of separation—the clunk of couplings unlatching. The rest of the cargo carriages detached… leaving Weiss alone with this single cargo carriage and the very front of the train..
She exhaled sharply.
“Breathe,” she whispered. Remembering Winter’s voice in training:
Left foot forward. Eyes up. Mind clear.
The door slid open.
Weiss expected three, five, maybe a dozen attackers.
Instead—just one.
A Faunus girl, tall and lithe, dark-haired and cat like ears untop her head, froze halfway through her step—equally startled to find Weiss standing there with a drawn blade.
“The White Fang?” Weiss asked in fear, breath visible in the frigid air.
Recognition flashed in the girl’s eyes.
Before either could speak further, Weiss lunged—determined to defend her family’s cargo, her legacy… and possibly her own life.
- - - - -
Blake never liked being this far north. The cold gnawed through fabric and fur alike, no matter how tightly she wrapped herself. Her outfit — black vest, white cropped undershirt, white fitted leggings, thigh-high stockings — was made for agility, not warmth. Snowflakes clung to her hair and lashes as she sat perched on a tree branch above the hidden track, a lone shadow in the snow.
Her ears twitched before her eyes detected anything — metal on rails, distant but increasing. Right on cue.
She leapt silently down the cliffside, landing lightly in snow that swallowed sound. The others in their white wolf-marked jackets were already gathering, eyes hidden behind masks. Blake slipped through them like a shadow until she reached him.
Adam.
Black coat, red shirt, the bone-white mask across his eyes, and those heavy horns breaking through his red-and-black hair. He didn’t have to speak to command a room — his presence did it for him.
“There you are, my darling Blake.”
The words wrapped around her like chains disguised as silk.
“The train’s arriving,” she answered, voice flat.
Immediately, the others began tightening straps and readying weapons. Adam’s hand lingered on her shoulder — just enough pressure to remind her who she belonged to.
“Well done. With this shipment, the White Fang will have the tools to strike half a dozen facilities.”
It was what he always promised: results. impact. power.
And once, Blake drank that promise like fine wine.
She’d followed him when she was young — when she’d run from parents who wanted peace, patience… patience that gave them nothing but second-class status. Adam was different. Adam fought back.
But years went by. Facilities and homes burned. Humans and Faunus died.
And nothing changed.
His voice sliced into her thoughts:
“Blake? Don’t tell me you’re backing down now.”
She swallowed.
“No, Adam.”
They descended together, snow swirling around them as they landed atop the moving train near it's front. Inside the guard carriage, the dormant Atlesian robots lit up — eyes blooming red, washing the space in ominous crimson.
“INTRUDER. IDENTIFY—”
Adam’s sword silenced the first one, and then it was a dance — brutal, disciplined, familiar. Blake and Adam moved like two halves of a single killing blade, weaving through metal limbs and sparking wires until only torn robots remained.
Adam wrenched open a crate and grinned at the colours of raw Dust.
“Move up. I’ll set the charges.”
Blake paused.
“What about the crew?”
He didn’t even look at her.
“What about them?”
There it was.
Simple. Cold. Final.
She turned and climbed forward through the train. With each step, the truth crystallized:
her parents’ passivity had failed —
Adam’s violence had failed —
but there had to be another way.
At the connector, she glanced back one final time. He sensed it immediately, eyes narrowing behind the mask.
“Goodbye,” she whispered.
Her blade cut cleanly through the coupling.
The rear half of the train — Adam and his followers — were swallowed by the storm.
Her heart hammered. Her breath misted. She was free.
Free… and alone.
Turning, she opened the door to the next carriage — only to find herself face-to-face with a girl in white, rapier in hand, blue eyes wide with shock and fury.
“The White Fang?” the heiress breathed.
Blake barely had time to register her — the immaculate outfit, the poised stance, the cold regal bearing —
—before Weiss lunged.
- - - - -
Despite Weiss’ limited field fighting experience, Winter’s training served her well. Her strikes came fast and precise at first, like a dancer attacking with steel. To Blake, it was like being attacked by an angry snowstorm — sharp, cold, relentless.
Blake blocked rather than struck, stepping back again and again. Her voice rose above the clash of blade and bullets “Stop! I’m not trying to hurt you!”
Weiss snarled — actually snarled — a sound Blake never expected from someone so composed.
“As if I’d believe ANYTHING a Faunus says!”
That word — Faunus — hurled like an insult. Blake’s eyes narrowed, flicking to the emblem on Weiss’ bolero.
The SDC snowflake. “That’s rich coming from a SCHNEE.”
Weiss’ face flashed red with fury.
“You violent extremists attack innocent workers and MURDER people!”
Blake’s temper finally ignited.
“Because your family treats us like slaves!”
Their fighting grew more wild, more emotional.
Technique dissolved into raw instinct. Steel on steel. White on black. Privilege on protest. Snow on shadow.
Then — silence.
Weiss dodged a shot — Blake hadn’t even meant to fire — the bullet hitting the red dust crystal in the crate Weiss had left open.
Both girls froze.
A single crack of splitting crystal.
A red glow blooming like a heartbeat.
Then—
BOOM.
The first detonation set off another.
And another.
Each crystal ignited like a firework in a coffin.
Blake was first to the door on the far side — she could have escaped. She should have escaped.
But Weiss — frozen in disbelief — was too far behind.
She’s going to die. Blake’s mind shrieked.
Weiss saw Blake pause, hand outstretched.
She interpreted it as gloating.
Mocking.
Cruel.
Her father’s voice echoed in her head "Faunus don’t save humans."
But Blake wasn’t mocking. She was offering her hand.
Weiss hesitated half a heartbeat — every instinct screaming don’t trust her — but something deeper whispered that she wanted to live.
She grabbed Blake’s hand. Blake pulled. The explosion hit.
A wall of fire consumed the cabin as it erupted, spraying dust flames into the blizzard. The shockwave threw both of them violently off the train and down the snowy mountainside, tumbling through ice, branches, and shattered air.
Their hands parted mid-fall.
Blake slammed into a snowbank and skidded to a stop, pain rippling through her body. The burning wreckage flared above her through the storm. Her vision faded.
Her last thought before darkness took her was not of Adam. Not of the White Fang. Not of her cause.
But of the white-haired girl she might have just saved.