Chapter Text
RWBY x Reverse: 1999 – The Pantomime Who Fell Through the Storm
Prologue: The Pantomime Who Fell Through the World
It had been a long fall—one that seemed to stretch across the very boundaries of existence, eroding the memories of the girl who had begun the descent.
Ever since Neopolitan plunged into the Tree of the Ever After, time had ceased to function as a linear progression. Following her theatrical, wordless yet grudgeless farewell to "Little Red," she had descended into the golden depths of the Great Tree, her parasol—Hush—furled out like a silk parachute.
She expected the Blacksmith, a rebirth into someone new, or perhaps a final, quiet end to the role of the vengeful jester she had played for so long. She thought of the stories she’d read as a girl named Trivia back in Vanille’s Manor, where heroes found peace in the roots of the world.
But as she drifted deeper, the amber glow of the Tree began to curdle at the edges like burning parchment. The warmth was replaced by a suffocating, ink-black darkness, and a strange, rhythmic chanting began to vibrate in her very marrow, as if the void itself were trying to rewrite her soul's rhythm into something mechanical and cold.
“Hush now, hush now, don’t make a sound,
A girl in pink is falling down.
Through silver glass and shattered light,
She tumbles out of day and night.
No voice to cry, no hand to hold,
Her story fractured, heart grown cold.
A smile remains, too sharp, too wide
A mask with nothing left inside.
Down past roots that twist and creep,
Where broken tales are laid to sleep,
A borrowed soul for a world in pain,
To walk the path of the upward rain.
Little girl with eyes of two,
Tell me now, what makes you you?
Drop your faces, one and all
A guest on loan until the Call.
She answers not—she never could,
But lets them sink like splintered wood.
The script is paused, the ink is dry,
Until the Storm returns the sky.
Tick-tock, tick-tock—hear time unwind,
A suitcase waits for what it finds.
A world reversed, a tale misplaced,
A temporary shield for the Zero’s grace.
Click goes the lock, the seam undone,
A quiet stage for anyone.
But every act must have an end,
The Stranger leaves what she cannot mend.
So hush now, hush now, shut your eyes,
For truth is just the best disguise.
The rain will sift, the thread will pull,
To leave the case, but make her full.
A crown of felt left on the floor,
As she steps through the Blacksmith’s door.
A jester laughs, a phantom weeps,
And home the secret finally creeps.”
Neo’s heterochromatic eyes widened in a rare flash of genuine panic.
The mirrors of her past shattered in the dark, reflecting fragments of Roman’s hat, Cinder’s flame, and the frozen sky of Atlas. This wasn't the fairy tale the old stories promised. This was something colder—a mechanical unravelling of reality that ignored her pleas for rest.
A storm of frantic thoughts swirled in her head until the weight of the void became too much to bear, and the darkness gave way to the sudden, freezing shock of a lake.
Chapter 1: In Our Time
Episode 1: Fractured Visit
07:30 | Feb. 14th "You cannot alter your fate. However, you can choose either to wait or to go yourself or make it more stylish."
Standing amidst the rain-slicked landscape of the "Storm," where the air tasted of copper, ozone, and old memories, Vertin pulled a shimmering line from her Spinning Wheel. The sky above was a bruised purple, and the raindrops didn't fall—they drifted upward, defying the gravity of a world that was being systematically unmade. A path formed in the heavy, grey mist, and the fabric of reality rippled visibly as Vertin anchored her companions to the present, shielding them from the temporal erasure.
"The lake is overflowing," a voice whispered, sounding dazed and brittle. "It’s like a flowing line… Wait, where am I?"
"Sonetto?" Vertin turned. The Italian girl blinked, her eyes clearing of the Storm’s haze as she recognized the Timekeeper. "I was just thinking about how to find you. Did you use an advanced Arcane skill? No, that shouldn't be possible given the atmospheric interference and the mana instability..."
Before Sonetto could dwell on the logistics of their survival, a loud, rhythmic snore echoed through the fog. Nearby, Regulus lay sprawled in the shallow, rising water, clutching a rock as if it were a precious treasure salvaged from a shipwreck. The water lapped at her sailor cap, but the pirate remained blissfully unaware of the apocalyptic reversal occurring around them.
"Regulus?!" Sonetto gasped, moving toward the sleeping girl with a mix of exasperation and relief. But a sudden, sharp dizziness overcame her, the world tilting at an impossible angle. "I feel… quite lightheaded… the mana in the air is far too dense, it's like breathing liquid lead..."
Vertin caught her as she slumped. "…Why did you all black out? I don’t seem to be affected..."
She prepared to move them back toward the rooms in the Suitcase, but the Spinning Wheel behind her began to hum—a low, violent vibration like a violin string stretched to its breaking point. The device spun with impossible velocity, glowing with a frantic, pulsing white light, yet there was no shimmering line to pull. Instead, the lake water began to swirl into a violent vortex, illuminated by a kaleidoscopic explosion of pink, brown, and white that cut through the grey gloom.
"…This isn't a summoning," Vertin whispered, her hand tightening on the golden thread of the Spinning Wheel. "Something is… breaking through…it is forcing itself to reach here!”
With a sound like a thousand mirrors shattering at once, the light detonated. A figure hit the water hard, the impact sending a spray of iridescent droplets into the air. It was a petite girl in a feathered fedora with a long hair in two colours – pink and brown. Her upper body was framed by a long, chocolate-brown tailcoat that flares out behind her. Beneath the heavy coat, she was wearing a crisp white waistcoat, cropped high to expose her midriff, and form-fitting white trousers that tuck into a pair of striking black-and-white heels. One of her hands, in white funnel-cuffed gloves, there was a pink lace-patterned umbrella.
The stranger coughed, dragging herself to the surface, her dual-coloured eyes scanning the void with a predatory sharpness. She didn't find the Tree; instead, she found a stoic girl in a top hat watching her with unwavering intensity. Neo froze, her heart hammering. The girl before her had hair the colour of mist and eyes of shimmering silver—a haunting, muted echo of the "Little Red" who had haunted Neo’s nightmares. But where Ruby’s eyes were filled with frantic, desperate light, this girl’s gaze was like a calm sea—deep, ancient, and impossibly steady.
Instinctively, Neo reached for the handle of Hush, pulling the parasol close like a shield between herself and this new, silver-eyed ghost.
"…Who are you?" Vertin asked, her voice calm despite the impossible nature of the arrival.
Despite her muteness, Neo opened her mouth to speak, to lash out, to demand where she was—but the weight of the fall and the trauma of the Ever After finally took their toll. Her strength evaporated, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed silently into the shallows.
Episode 2: The Silent Illusionist
08:00 | Feb. 14th "Buying the loyalty of a great, inspiring, and legendary rock pirate is far easier than you think. But I am not sure if this applies to that silent stylish girl over there."
Neo awoke on a velvet sofa that felt far too soft to be real. The room was warm, filled with the comforting, heavy scent of mahogany, expensive tobacco, and old books. It was a lounge that seemed to exist in a bubble of frozen time, safe and still while the world outside dissolved.
"Oh! You are awake as well, Miss! A marvellous recovery, truly!"
Neo looked up, her eyes narrowing as she processed the sight of a floating, talking apple wearing a bow tie. Even the Ever After wasn't this weird, she thought, a small, cynical smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. She stepped into the lobby with feline grace, her boots making no sound on the polished floor.
Sonetto and Regulus were already at a standoff. Sonetto was rattling off reports about the Foundation Committee and the ethics of recruitment, while Regulus looked like she was ten seconds away from jumping out a window while carrying her precious collection of the remaining records. Neo ignored the tension and hopped onto a leather armchair, perching flawlessly on the narrow backrest like a gargoyle.
"Ms. Vertin! They are all returned to the land of the living!" APPLe announced as the Timekeeper entered.
Vertin’s eyes immediately locked with Neo’s heterochromatic gaze. To Neo, those silver irises were a haunting echo of Ruby Rose, yet Vertin’s demeanour was the polar opposite—reserved, stoic, and radiating a gravity that commanded the room.
As Neo’s gaze drifted lower, she noted a Victorian-inspired formal ensemble: a sharp tailcoat, dark vest, and ruffled white jabot pinned with a jewel. It was a near-mirror of her own preferred style back on Remnant, though stripped of her usual flamboyance in favour of a monochromatic Prussian blue.
The most striking departure was the headwear; while Neo had a feathered fedora with red ribbon, Vertin wore a tall top hat accented by a light blue ribbon and a large, trailing bow.
"…You’re all awake," Vertin said. "Any discomfort from the transition?"
"Timekeeper... you made it!" Sonetto stood at attention, her face lighting up with relief that bordered on adoration. "I heard that you gained the trust of Regulus. When I returned to the research centre, the committee informed me she would join us as a colleague. I am here to convey their commendation and deliver your next mission."
She paused, her eyes sparkling with a rare, youthful curiosity. "I did not expect that you would just summon me like that... In the future, if it's possible, I hope you could show me the incantation! I would very much like to learn it myself."
Vertin offered only a stoic silence in response, her gaze drifting back to the strange newcomer.
Sonetto turned to the room, her professional mask slipping as her brow furrowed at the sight of Neo. "Also... who is she? I find no record of her in any Foundation intel or Arcanist registries. To appear during a Storm... it is highly irregular, even by the standards of temporal anomalies. We cannot be certain she isn't a plant from the Manus Vindictae."
Neo didn't bother with a verbal defence. Instead, she raised a hand. With a soft, crystalline clink, a small, pink illusionary question mark manifested in the air before shattering into sparkles. She then manifested a bucket of illusory popcorn and began pantomiming eating it with exaggerated relish, her eyes shifting between Sonetto and Regulus as if they were the afternoon matinee.
"Blimey! She’s got style!" Regulus grinned, her earlier annoyance forgotten. "I like her! Vertin, did you nick another one while I was napping? She’s like a walking silent film, only more colourful!"
"May we know your name?" Vertin asked, her voice softening as she stepped closer to the armchair.
Neo hopped down silently, tapped her own throat, and gave a nonchalant shrug.
Swiftly, she reached for a memo pad on a nearby table and scribbled in elegant, looping script:
[Neopolitan = Neo. (I'm mute, don't ask.)]
"I won't ask further, Neo," Vertin replied, accepting the note with a nod of respect. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
Neo tipped her fedora, then summoned sparkling text in the palm of her hand that glowed with a soft, pink light: “Nice to meet you, too.”
"She isn't with the Manus," Vertin added, addressing Sonetto's lingering professional worry. "Her abilities don't follow the patterns of their Arcanum. She is something else entirely..."
Neo rolled her eyes playfully and leaned against Vertin’s side, her head tilted toward the taller girl. It was a subtle, physical claim of territory, a gesture of alignment. She had seen enough to decide who the "Boss" was in this strange, avant-garde world.
Sonetto sighed, finally letting her shoulders drop as she accepted the Timekeeper's intuition. "…I will trust your judgment for now. But Regulus! You must report to the Foundation and the Scientific Computing Centre first to complete the registration process. As an Arcanist talent rated S, we will provide you with the best equipment for your... unique research."
"…Congratulations!" Vertin said, her tone dry and devoid of any actual celebration.
"Hey, congratulations for what!" Regulus barked. "That wasn’t the deal we made, Vertin! You told me this was a place where the 'Storm' can be avoided, where arcane skills are guaranteed, and most importantly—where Dr. Papper is free for three hundred and sixty-five days a year! I’m a pirate, not a civil servant!"
“Exactly,” APPLe added, while hovering nearby Regulus.
“If it is a place full of serious old men and rigid protocols, Regulus must not be interested in it. The pirate spirit does not thrive in a filing cabinet. Sorry for this APPLe’s interruption.”
Neo evaluated them silently.
- Sonetto: Rigid, disciplined, easily provoked. Orange hair, white A-line tunic, and crystalline glass wand.
- Regulus: Loud, chaotic, likely a headache. Newsboy cap, light hair colour between blonde and brunette, oversized black sunglasses, and navy-blue dress with orange bomber jacket. Also, a backpack of LP records.
- APPLe: Floating, Fruity Scholar. Tasty perhaps?
- Vertin: The boss of this crew.
At the same time, although she didn't get the full context of their 'Storm' or their 'Foundation,' the conversation was quite amusing to watch. It was a theatre of the absurd, and she felt right at home.
Sonetto’s eyes went wide, her face flushing with sudden, frantic indignation.
"What…?! No, no, no! The Foundation is definitely not a place for serious old men! That... that is where Vertin and I grew up! There are many other interesting, young people! Vertin, don’t just stand there. Explain that! Tell them about the workshops, or the training grounds, or... or anything!"
"Who knew Ms. Sonetto could be so easily rattled by a nursing home comparison," APPLe commented dryly. "Well, at least the prospect of the Foundation being a nursing home is slightly less daunting than a prison."
"...I should have more training," Sonetto murmured to herself, bowing her head as if reciting a penance. She whispered a quiet mantra under her breath—Over shoes, over boots.
Vertin stepped forward, taking charge of the chaos. "Let me explain. Regulus, APPLe... what I invited you to join is the St. Pavlov Foundation. It is a place of safety, but it is also a place of responsibility. As for the Dr. Papper... I think Sonetto will find a way to navigate the requisition forms."
"I... I will definitely make an application to the administration," Sonetto interjected, sounding exhausted but determined. "I will mark it as an essential component for 'S-rank Arcanist stability.'"
Regulus tutted, though a smirk tugged at her lips. "Fine. For the sake of free drinks and a roof that doesn't reverse, I’ll join. It shouldn’t take too long, right? I’ve got belongings to pack on my ship. Vertin, you... come and help me move the heavy crates!"
"Sure," Vertin nodded.
She then turned to Neo, her silver eyes softening with a look that was both protective and inquisitive. "And Neo, follow us. We will help you get settled here as well. I think we will have more time to get to know each other soon. This world is... complicated. You'll need a guide."
Neo remained behind for a fleeting heartbeat as they moved toward the door. She looked around the warm, safe interior of the suitcase—a world that defied the very laws of the universe she had known. For the first time since Roman’s death, she didn't feel like a hunted animal or a weapon of vengeance.
She smiled—a small, genuine tilt of the lips. A new world meant a new stage, and finally, the first chapter for her renewal as the new self.
Episode 03: To the New World
08:30 | Feb. 14th "They say an apple a day keeps the doctor at bay—a most vital doctrine in an era where the cost of a cure is often deadlier than the disease"
The atmosphere in the lounge had shifted, the earlier chaotic energy of Regulus’s demands cooling into a heavy, contemplative silence. Vertin stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the strange, impossible light of the suitcase’s interior light that didn't seem to come from a sun, but from the very air itself.
"I’m sorry," Vertin said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of a burden she hadn't asked for yet refused to set down.
"It turns out the Foundation doesn’t fully trust you," APPLe observed, his red skin catching the amber glow of the lamps. "Just as you don’t trust them. You acted privately, yet they foresaw the outcome regardless. If you don't mind, perhaps you could tell us stories of the past. After all, that is where our Captain is headed."
Neo sat on a nearby armchair, crossing one slender leg over the other with practiced grace. She rested her chin on her hand; her heterochromatic eyes fixed on Vertin with an intensity that bordered on the predatory. She knew that look—the look of someone who lived in the spaces between secrets, someone who had built a home out of shadows.
"The Foundation is currently the best charity that can provide treatment for Arcanists," Vertin began, her gaze distant as if she were reading lines written on the horizon. "There is no doubt about it. Every few years, they select talented children from orphanages, detention centers... even prisons. I was one of them."
She paused, the shadows under her top hat deepening. "Since I can remember, I have known what it is to be alone. Until 1999, when the first 'Storm' came... I thought I saw my mother."
"So, you have a mother!" Regulus blurted out, breaking the sombre mood with her usual lack of tact.
Neo rolled her eyes, a sharp, cynical thought flashing through her mind: Of course everyone has a mother. Though, finding a good one is the real trick.
She thought of Vanille’s cold, gilded upbringing—the oppressive silence of a manor that felt more like a tomb than a home, the locked door, and parents who saw her as a defect rather than a daughter.
The irony wasn't lost on her; Vertin was searching for a ghost she loved, while Neo had spent her life running from ghosts she hated.
"…I wasn't sure," Vertin continued, ignoring the outburst. "Our memories of 1999 are blurred, like ink running in the rain. I can only remember her on a laboratory bed, surrounded by staff shouting her name and mine. Later, the official answer was always 'No such person.' I have no intention of making enemies of the Foundation... I just want the truth about 1999."
As Vertin’s past unfolded, Neo’s smug expression vanished.
The word alone echoed in her mind, vibrating with a frequency she knew intimately. It was the hum of a silent house, the sound of a heart beating in a void. She remembered the desperate, frantic escape with Roman, the only person who had ever made "alone" feel like a choice rather than a sentence.
Neo hopped off her perch and walked over to Vertin. She reached out, lightly patting the Timekeeper’s shoulder twice. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture for a woman who lived for the kill, a silent acknowledgment of a shared weight.
Neo offered a soft, understanding nod before twirling her parasol and returning to her stoic stance.
Vertin glanced at her, momentarily surprised by the comfort. "…Thanks."
Then she turned back to the pirate. "I know what you said to Sonetto was just for the moment, but I can still help you get out of here if you wish."
Regulus tutted, adjusting her sunglasses. "Never mind. If they can find the first one, they can find the rest. It never ends, does it? You can’t send all your partners away, Vertin. I’m joining you."
"Also, I won't lose anything by going with you," the pirate added, trying to regain her swagger.
"Just don't forget the great kindness of the Pirate! Besides, the 'Storm' never stops. Real freedom doesn't exist out there. Better to sneak into the Foundation and use their fancy research devices for my own little studies."
APPLe dipped in the air. "In this volatile situation, joining the official institution is the most logical path. We are not on opposite sides, after all. Though, back in yesterday we were still wanted pirates… We’ll have to be careful on this trip."
“Huh? You don’t have to go with me,” Regulus replied, “I’ve actually got something very important for you to keep. …Mr. APPLe, come here.”
Vertin nodded, her resolve hardening. "Then return as soon as the registration is finished. The Foundation is open to the public, but it remains heavily guarded."
Sonetto suddenly called Vertin from the corner of the lobby, her posture rigid. “Excuse me. Could I talk to you for a second, Timekeeper?”
Episode 04: Hello World
09:00 | Feb. 14th, 1929. I bid my regards to this reversing era; a traveler from across the void, stepping onto a brand new stage.
It had been some time since Neo had tumbled into this world, and she found herself struggling to keep up with the "boring talks."
The standards here were alien compared to Remnant’s; the idea of "years" having such distinct, immutable boundaries was a foreign concept. On Remnant, the world moved forward until the Grimm or the next disaster pushed it back. Here, time seemed to be a series of rooms one could enter and leave—or be locked out of.
It seems like the timeline used in this world is far from the standards at the Remnant, Neo mused, tracing the wood grain of a mahogany table.
“I did not expect that there is such a big place in your suitcase. I never knew it before," commented Sonetto, her voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the lobby.
“Not too late to know now,” replied Vertin.
Neo’s eyes blinked in genuine surprise as she explored.
Is this a suitcase? Not a manor? Even her family’s old Vanille estate, with its sprawling gardens and marble halls, was no match for the impossible interior of this suitcase.
It reminded her of the Ever After—a place where the inside and the outside had no logical relationship, where you could walk through a door and find a forest in a closet. Except this place is much more organized and dandier.
"I am very happy to be invited over," Sonetto added, her face lighting up with a rare, youthful enthusiasm.
"Huh? You didn't call me 'Timekeeper'?" Vertin teased.
"So-sorry! I got carried away!" Sonetto squeaked, her face flushing a deep crimson that rivaled Neo’s pink streaks.
Neo rolled her eyes. Sonetto was rigid, disciplined, and painfully earnest—the exact type of person Neo loved to prank. The girl was like a perfectly aligned row of dominoes just waiting to be tipped over with a well-timed illusion.
Sonetto quickly regained her composure. "I’ve been promoted. The committee recommended me as your chief assistant. We are now in charge of all investigations regarding the 'Storm' and the Manus Vindictae. The authorities will provide us assistance in all aspects."
“So, you have seen what the 'Storm' was like?” asked Vertin.
Sonetto hesitated, her gaze fixed on something far away.
“The world outside... it’s nothing like I imagined. To think the 60s could just be erased—that we could be cast back into an older era like this.” replied Sonetto, her voice dropping to a somber whisper. “As the Timekeeper, you’ve always carried such a secret for us. Thank you.”
Neo caught every word, her head tilted just enough to look curious without looking like she was eavesdropping.
On Remnant, a storm was just a hassle—lightning, gale-force winds, maybe a few unlucky Grimm getting tossed around by a hurricane. They were part of the sky's natural rhythm.
But the way these two talked about the "Storm" made it sound like something else: a disease of reality itself.
The scale of it didn't make sense. How do you fight a piece of weather that doesn't just knock down trees, but unspools time? To erase an entire decade and drag everyone back into the past—it wasn't just power. It was a glitch in the world that shouldn't be possible.
If the sky could just decide to delete the future, what was left to actually hold onto?
“Please take a look,” said Sonetto, handing over a mission capsule.
“We have our first mission: a massacre against Arcanists in Chicago, February 14. We must rescue the victims before human gangsters arrive at the underground parking lot."
"Rescue the Arcanists?" Vertin asked.
"… It doesn’t conflict with the Foundation’s purpose, right? Preventing confrontations between races defends the peace of mankind," Sonetto recited dutifully, as if reading from a manual she had memorized. "Although this is different from all the missions before. The authorities would probably want us to recruit new Arcanists for the Foundation as much as possible."
“I see,” replied Vertin, “The forces of the Manus expand dramatically year by year. To stop the trend, we do need additional manpower. But … Sonetto, did you have oranges just now? There is a scent of orange on the capsule.”
“How come? I did not,” replied Sonetto, “And… I will definitely wash my hands after eating.”
"…Maybe that’s my mistake," Vertin replied, her brow furrowing. "If there are no questions, we are ready to… “
"Whoa! You guys, help!" A muffled shout from above interrupted them, followed by the sound of something heavy dragging across a wooden surface.
"Regulus?" Sonetto looked up, bewildered. "Why is her voice coming from the ceiling?"
"Ms. Vertin! Sonetto!" APPLe’s voice was frantic, vibrating with a panic that seemed odd for a piece of fruit. "Our suitcase has disturbed some imps in the forest! The Captain went out to check but got trapped!"
Neo didn't wait for the orders. A slight smirk tugged at her lips as she casually twirled her parasol, stepping gracefully past the panicked Sonetto.
She was tired of the talking, the incantations, and the bureaucratic handwringing.
Popping her parasol open with a crisp thump, Neo strolled toward the suitcase exit with the unbothered confidence of a brawler returning to the streets of Vale. It was time to see if the "critters" of this world could bleed as well as the monsters of their own.
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They emerged into a thicket of tangled roots and shifting mist to find a swarm of hostile critters attacking.
They were small, pitch-black, and fluffy—resembling a cuter, cotton-ball version of the Grimm though they lacked the bone-white masks and the soul-crushing aura of the pools of darkness.
“Come here, help me! They are trying to take the suitcase to make a nest!” screamed Regulus, who was currently being swarmed by a dozen of the biting shadows.
“That's quite a lot of critters! Timekeeper, we must do something to turn things around!" Sonetto cried out, clutching her glass pen as if it were a wand. "Remember the instructor's words! Afflatus is the way to hunt! Use an incantation that is strong against the enemy's Afflatus - "
Before Vertin could even begin to direct the flow of the battle, a blur of pink and brown streaked past the group. Neo didn't recite an incantation. She didn't wait for a ripple of Arcanum to manifest. She gracefully vaulted over the rusted hood of a nearby car, dropping into the center of the swarm like a stone dropped into a mirror.
With blistering, acrobatic speed, Neo swung her closed parasol like a dancer’s baton. She delivered a swift, elegant sweeping kick that sent the frontline of critters flying into the mist. As a volley of attacks came her way, she snapped Hush open to block the impact, the silk canopy shimmering as it absorbed the blows. She then used the blunt tip of the parasol to deftly strike a flanking critter, knocking it unconscious with a sickening, heavy thud.
Her movements were a fluid, lethal waltz—calmly dismantling the threat with a relaxed, confident posture that made the life-or-death struggle look like a rehearsal. Every strike was precise, every movement calculated to maximize impact with minimal effort.
The Arcanists stood frozen in collective culture shock. Sonetto nearly dropped her pen; Regulus slid her sunglasses down her nose in awe; and APPLe observed the kinetic display in a stunned, unblinking silence.
"W-what incantation was that?" Sonetto stammered, her voice trembling. "I didn't sense any Arcanum ripple! There was no chant, no mana surge... she's... she's fighting them hand-to-hand?!"
"Blimey!" Regulus grinned, a look of pure delight crossing her face. "She’s a bloody one-woman army! That parasol is more dangerous than a cannon!"
"…Her physical prowess is astounding," APPLe noted, his skin glinting. "Arcanists rarely engage in such direct combat without a defensive array or a medium-range spell. It is highly irregular. It’s as if she herself is the medium."
Vertin watched the lethal dance, her silver eyes narrow and calculating.
She detected no mana surges, no incantations, and no ripples of reality bending to Neo’s will. It was pure, visceral mastery—the result of years spent in a world that offered no luxury of hiding behind a shield of words. Yet, for a heartbeat, the parasol’s canopy shimmered with a faint, crystalline pink as the creature’s strike connected. The glow vanished too quickly for her to be certain, leaving her to wonder if she had glimpsed a force that existed entirely outside the laws of Arcanum.
“…She didn't use any magic at all," Vertin murmured, a strange sense of respect coloring her voice. "It seems we don't need to worry about Neo holding her own. If anything, the critters should be the ones worried."
Neo finished the last of the critters with a flourish, twirling her parasol shut and snapping it against her palm with a satisfying click. She turned back to her new crew and offered a deep, theatrical bow, her dual-colored eyes twinkling with mischief.
This was her debut in this brave new world, and she was already making sure she was the only star the audience remembered.