A FEW WEEKS LATER…

The man had been lurking in the cemetery for far longer than any sane person would dare at night. But the invitation, left in his hotel room and written in an elegant hand, had piqued his curiosity.

He had been a named 'Enemy of Atlas' since the age of seventeen. Roland Ney had 'found him' (purchased him) in Mistral when he was barely fourteen. The Iron Circle had made a small fortune with him thanks to his semblance, and he had killed a number of his Commander's (Owner's) rivals for Captaincy. And when Ney's coup attempt failed, he'd fled with the man into the darker parts of the world. A quarter of a century later, a quarter of century filled with blood and murder and blackmail, and he was one of the most infamous assassins in the world. A far cry from the slave he once was.

After the contract he'd accepted to bomb the hospitals, he'd assumed he'd need to go to ground before Atlas caught you with him again. But nothing in his wildest dreams could have compared to what his current offer was:

Serve the God-Queen and never fear the Grimm again.

Serve the God-Queen and you'll never be bored again.

Serve the God-Queen and you'll never need another contract again.

He had, at first, dismissed it as fake. Monarchy was a concept that had been dead for the better part of a century, and there was no one on Remnant that could make offers like those he now had. But in the end, he had gone to the stated meeting point. He could easily slay whoever was there when it inevitably turned out that it was a trap or the contractee was a charlatan.

They had asked for Ney to come along with him, but there was a rather large…issue with that request..

It was the slight prickling under his skin that heralded the fact he had company. It both relieved and alarmed him. Relieved that the company was either human or Faunus, but alarmed because he hadn't intentionally activated Mindblind..

..but his semblance had activated.

"Slate Blanc."

The voice was polite, and almost cheerful. Slate turned to view the owner of the voice. The man was wearing Mistralli-issue combat gear and a warm looking brown cloak. His dark brown hair was short and wild, and his green eyes were alight with gleeful malice. "It is good to meet you."

"I like to think myself open-minded, " The assassin paused with no small amount of hesitation. "But you..do not look like the Immortal God-Queen of the Grimm."

"She isn't here." The man said, stating the obvious. "I am Ambrose, her…Voice, I suppose you could say. Ooh! I like the sound of that. Ambrose Ozpin, the Voice of the Queen."

"As in-"

Ambrose's gaze narrowed, although his smile never faded. "To my eternal annoyance, yes. I am related to that Ozpin."

Not willing to question that last statement further, and potentially irritating the man, Slate chose to ask a question. "...Out of professional curiosity, how did you know it was me?"

"Your semblance of course!"

That wasn't worrying at all.

"You appear to be alone." Ambrose commented, tilting his head in mocking curiosity. "I do not see Captain Ney."

"Unfortunately, He is not here." Slate explained. "He had an…accident ten years ago. It involved a run-in with a chainsaw, very tragic."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"How disappointing." Ambrose sighed. "But in all honesty, it is no real setback. Information and advice was all he was going to be good for. I assume that his death will not be tracked back to you?"

A brief look of faux-offense crossed Blanc's face. "Please, my friend. I am a professional. I'd never be as sloppy as to leave a trace."

A pleased smile appeared on the man's face. "Wonderful. The Queen will be glad to hear it. A shame we've lost a former Captain in the Atlesian Military. He had knowledge that would have been useful, along with codes we could have had fun with."

"I know of a few people that might interest you in that regard." Slate replied. "They aren't weapons, but.."

"Go on." Ambrose urged eagerly. "Tell me!"

"One is likely a long shot, but given the right motivation, he is undoubtedly a worthy recruit. Another is a crazy, murderous psychopath. But if one were to break him in a certain way, I am certain he would make at least an adequate enforcer of your Queen's will. The last is…well, I'd prefer to discuss her with your Queen, and not her 'Voice'. No offense meant, of course."

"That's pretty cryptic! But fair enough." Ambrose grinned, and looped an arm around Slate's shoulders as they proceeded to depart the cemetery. "You should be aware however, that any Left Hand of the Goddess must be a Faunus."

"That's fine."

The other man raised an eyebrow. "Does the mystery man have a name then?"

"Tyrian Callows." Slate smiled. "His name is Tyrian Callows."

___________

Cinder cheerfully hummed to herself as we walked to her first day of school, a few steps ahead of me. It's early Fall (and by the Brothers it is hard not to call it Autumn. Twenty odd years of calling it that is a habit that's hard to break.), so the mornings are still warm enough to walk around in. Although I fully intended to drive her there and back come winter. Even up in Atlas, with all its technologies, winters are cold, and as warm and cosy as it is, Cinder's treasured red scarf can only warm her up so much.

Everyone (plus a few of the students we saw regularly) had given Cinder cards, and they now took pride of place atop the chest of drawers in her room. There had been tears (on both sides), but with the promise of being welcome to come back during the holidays, Cinder had been smiling when she'd left the Archives.

Right now, my daughter's hair hung at her back in a messy ponytail, and she wore her school uniform: a white blazer (stamped with the logo of the school, an Oak Tree) over a navy blue shirt (with matching trousers) and a red tie. Her black buckle-up shoes were neat and shiny, and her bag had been packed and repacked many times in the last few days.

Gradually, we began to see other children with their parents. Cinder's soon-to-be classmates. The nattering and laughter of school slowly washed over us, and before long we'd reached the front gate. I let out a sigh, and knelt down to hug Cinder before she headed off on her own. The moment every parent both dreaded and looked forward to and arrived. And I had absolutely no idea how to react.

"Don't worry Dad!" She all but chirped. "I'll be fine! I'm your daughter, remember?"

I couldn't help but smile.

That you are, Cinder.