The elevator ride to the top of Atlas Academy was close to silent. This late at night, the lights of Atlas were twinkling below, washing out the stars overhead, giving the cityscape a pale glow that illuminated the clouds, almost like the moon.
Winter admired the view for the short amount of time it was available on her journey up to the highest floor, before stepping out. The headmaster had called for her, and considering the hour, it was likely something urgent, considering that it was her that was being called on top of that, it was something important.
She knew that her official role in the Atlesian Army wasn't much greater than any other Special Operative, but she could recognize that she was handed particularly sensitive and dangerous work far more often than many others.
As the elevator doors closed behind her, she began to walk across the empty corridors, heels clicking loudly on the polished stonework. The sound seemed to echo throughout the building, her only companion for a while, until Winter arrived at her destination.
She stopped in front of the ornate double doors to the Headmaster's office, and rapped her knuckles against it before stepping back, the sound of the knocks reverberating through the hall. Silence fell once more.
And then, the doors swung open.
The office was a spacious place, with a window on the far side that offered a similar view as the elevator, though far greater in scope. A number of bookshelves and cabinets lined the walls. There were no paintings or portraits on the walls, the only non-utilitarian decorations were the statues of Atlesian knights from the olden days which Winter knew were located to the sides of the door, and the emblem of Atlas emblazoned in the centre of the floor.
Winter was familiar with the layout. It was the same as it had been the last time she had visited, and the time before that. She was just as familiar with the Headmaster of Atlas Academy and the General of the Atlesian Military, General Ironwood, who was sitting behind a large, oak desk.
She was less familiar with the other five people in the room, but she recognized them nonetheless.
After all, what member of the Special Operatives Unit wouldn't recognize the Ace Operatives?
She could feel them assessing her as she stepped into line and ignored it, instead standing at attention, hands clasped behind her back, gaze straight ahead, her face a mask of discipline.
General Ironwood nodded, his expression having not shifted from the slight frown he wore when she entered the room. "At ease." He announced.
Winter relaxed, ever so slightly, and allowed herself to shoot a glance to her left, where the Ace Ops were still watching her with varying levels of scrutiny.
Most of them were giving her the once-over. Marrow, their most recent recruit, looked even more confused than the rest, though he straightened his expression when he saw her looking back. Their leader, one of the few who'd kept their composure, gave her a polite nod and a smile, the former of which Winter returned.
Ironwood gave the group and Winter a few moments of silence to work out their initial impressions of each other, before he began.
"Welcome." He greeted, straightening in his chair. "You're probably wondering why we've gathered you all here."
Winter could sense the Ace Ops stifling a glance in her direction, and the feeling was not entirely dissimilar to her own reaction.
After Tortuga's passing, she had been one of the Special Operatives considered for the vacant role. In the end, the position went to Marrow. Possibly because of her own role in the administration of the Atlesian Military being more valuable than her combat prowess, possibly because of her father and his influence, possibly for reasons she would never be privy to.
Still, the thought did not bring bitterness to her. She'd been prepared for that outcome when she'd submitted her application, and though she had a small amount of envy towards Marrow, she knew that the role she had now was just as important, even if it wasn't as public or prestigious.
Which made the question of what possible operation would require not only her, but the Ace Ops as well, all the more intriguing.
Ironwood leaned forward, hands clasped together as his voice grew solemn. "Before we begin, you must understand the seriousness of what I'm about to ask of you." He met the gazes of the gathered soldiers in turn. "You are the finest the Atlesian Military has to offer, and the mission I'm about to give you will require the very best. But that is not all." His expression hardened. "The nature of the mission, and the information you will need to do it will require the utmost secrecy. You must not tell anyone of this operation. Not even the Council."
A spark of unease flickered in Winter's chest, and judging by the shifting only audible due to the grave silence that had befallen the room after the general's proclamation, she wasn't the only one. To be sworn to secrecy to such a degree that even the highest civilian authority in Atlas wouldn't be privy…
It reminded her of the rumours about Fort Arrowfell. Winter quashed the mental digression as the General prepared to speak once more. "If you cannot accept these conditions, speak now, and I will find other suitable candidates." Ironwood continued, his voice steady and confident, despite the severity of his words.
The silence persisted, so heavy it seemed to crush the air. Winter's unease was snuffed out, replaced with the same ironclad conviction that had brought her here in the first place.
General Ironwood looked around the room, waiting. After a long moment. He finally nodded. "Very well. I'm sure you're all curious as to the specifics. The information I'm about to share is classified at the highest level. None of you may write anything down. You will not be permitted to carry any documentation pertaining to this assignment on your persons. You will not speak about this outside the confines of this room. Is that understood?"
The chorus of conformations wasn't uniform, but it was close.
"Good." The General reached down, and tapped the side of his desk. A number of holographic displays flared into life above the desk, revealing several windows, each showing a different view of the same thing. A cargo train, rattling its way across the countryside. A few engineers and soldiers seemed to be sitting in the engine car, their attention squarely focused on a game of cards.
"Several months ago, a shipment of Dust from Atlas to Vale suffered unusual losses." Ironwood explained. "Between one station and the other, several containers of Dust vanished, along with several android soldiers, an Atlesian Brachyura, and all but one of the soldiers that had been assigned to guard the shipment." He rattled off the facts, his face grim. "The crew could not explain the incident, and the security footage was altered, with the footage for the period surrounding the incident completely missing. What you see before you are the records from the train before the incident." There was a pause, and a flicker of something in his eyes that Winter had trouble identifying. "This is the footage after the incident."
The footage changed. The view was identical. The train was much the same, and it rolled on, the view shaking and swaying from the movement.
The only sign that something was wrong was the lack of even a single, solitary person. The train, without warning, was utterly devoid of any sign of human life. Even the game of cards had vanished without a trace.
As General Ironwood continued to speak, Winter felt her unease growing as she studied the footage for any sign of where the crew had gone. But no matter how much she looked, all the footage showed was an empty train, rolling through the night.
"What wasn't lost was the footage from the android piloting the Brachyura, from which we have the only recorded evidence of the creature responsible." He noted, and then reached over and pressed a button. The windows on the desk rearranged themselves, and the window in the centre enlarged.
The video began. It was a little shaky, and the camera itself was pointing to the ground, the view shifting as the Brachyura flipped from its hidden position on the ceiling of the train's storage car and landed on the ground, weapons at the ready.
The interior of the train was dark, but there was some illumination provided by the red glow of the Atlesian knights as they fought something humanoid in stature. The poor lighting made it difficult to make out any details, but Winter could see the creature covered in black chitin, and it moved with a strength and speed that was unnatural, even for a creature of Grimm. It was small compared to most species, roughly equivalent to the size of a person, but it tore off heads and torsos with ease.
She watched impassively as an Altesian Knight approached from behind the creature, ejecting its wrist-mounted blade, only for its arm to be ripped right from its socket in a shower of sparks and used to disembowel the Knight with its own weapon. There was an unnecessary amount of cruelty in the way it fought, Winter noted. A weakness that could be exploited.
As the Brachyura's cannons wound up, illuminating the car in a brilliant glow, its head whipped around for a moment before it lunged for its life.
Plasma struck metal, scorching the steel, but the creature was faster, leaping away from the blast, and landing on the wall. The Brachyura's cameras whirled as they attempted to follow it, before there was a flash of red and one half of the display suddenly dissolved into static, and then the other.
There was few seconds of activity as the Atlesian Knight followed it's preprogrammed problem shooting subroutines before a flurry of sparks showered the footage, as a pilfered wrist-blade was stabbed through the gaps in the Brachyura's armour plating, carving through hinges and servos
Claws dug into the gap and tore the hatch open, the force of it breaking the hinges and sending the hatch flying, and the thing exposed itself to the camera, the General paused the footage, right at the perfect moment that spoke of practice from many previous examinations.
In the light of the Brachyura's internal systems, its silhouette was highlighted. Its body was human-like in proportions, but the creature was clearly not human, with its chitinous plates and claws illuminated by the flying sparks. The thing had insectoid features that made her skin crawl, but it was the face that was the most striking feature. Or rather, the eyes.
The image was distorted and a good deal was covered in darkness, especially from the torso upwards, but from what little Winter could see, there was no sign of any white mask or blood red markings. The only thing visible was a pair of glowing blue eyes with inhuman slits staring out from beneath a curtain of darkness.
Winter couldn't help but narrow her eyes. The Grimm's eyes seemed almost human. She'd seen humanoid Grimm before, as a result of her military career. She'd fought hoards of Apathy, Imps and other such creatures in person, but their eyes were more like hellish red orbs. She'd seen blue hues on Grimm as well, indicating those which had adapted to live in the icy climate of Atlas.
She'd never seen such blue, human eyes on a Grimm before.
Ironwood tapped the table, drawing attention to himself. "The surviving crew had no recollection of the events that transpired. They could not recall the creature at all, they could not explain the changes that occurred to the security footage, and they could not remember how several members of the Atlesian Army had simply vanished." His voice was tightly controlled, and his gaze was steely, but there was no denying the tension in his jaw. "The original investigation searched for signs of foul play or sabotage, and was unable to find a viable explanation. When we recovered the footage from the Brachyura's pilot, the subsequent investigation discovered the desiccated remains of the missing soldiers stuffed into the ventilation shafts."
There was a long, heavy silence in the room.
"The crew, and the soldiers, had been... hollowed out." General Ironwood spoke the words like a curse. "Evidence suggests that the creature, or creatures, has the ability to affect the memory of its victims not only to hide their own presence, but also to manipulate them into erasing any sign of their existence." He gave them a heavy look. "Put simply, this creature is capable of manipulating minds to a far greater extent than any other species of Grimm previously documented."
There was a muted horror in the back of Winter's mind as the implications of such a creature began to sink in, not just the security threat it represented, but also the danger the mere knowledge of its existence posed. The panic it could cause if improperly presented to the public… the resulting Grimm Tides could be huge. The knowledge of the supernaturally quick evolution of Grimm in recent years was already raising concerns which Atlas was struggling to come up with answers to. Without a successful operation proving that the Kingdoms had things under control…
The thought was ruthlessly crushed as she turned her attention from the frozen footage to the General as a cold resolve settled over her. That would not be allowed to happen.
And she wasn't the only one. The rest of the Ace Ops seemed to feel the same, though it was harder to see on their faces, with the exception of Marrow, who had a slight green tinge to his complexion that was slowly fading.
Ironwood turned to regard the Ace Ops, a severe look on his face. "Officially, the five of you will be off-duty for the next two months for the purposes of recuperation and psychological recovery. Unofficially, you will be working under the direct supervision of myself and with Specialist Winter Schnee to track down the creature responsible for the incident. If possible, you will bring in the target alive for study, but if that fails, you will eliminate it with extreme prejudice. Above all, you will not allow the public to learn of the truth. Is that understood?"
The Ace Ops snapped to attention, and barked a confirmation in unison.
"Good." The General's mouth twisted, as if he was fighting the urge to grimace. "I'll brief you further later. For now, return to your quarters, and await further instruction." He turned his attention to Winter. "Specialist Schnee, a word."
"Sir." She acknowledged. The Ace Ops filed out of the room, and Winter watched them leave with a carefully concealed apprehension, before the doors swung shut behind them.
General Ironwood stood and walked around the desk to stand next to her. "You will have a similar task to theirs. However, your primary role will be to coordinate their efforts, and assist the investigation as best as you are able. Your secondary role will be to be present during the capture or elimination of the target, in order for your Semblance to be put to use in helping identify and study the creature."
Winter stiffened. The Schnee hereditary Semblance and its uses were many and varied, with one of them being the summoning of defeated foes to fight by the user's side. She'd suspected that was the reason why she was here, but it was good to have confirmation. "Understood."
Ironwood considered her for a moment, deliberating on his next words. "Your part in the mission will also involve a more extended period of time away from Atlas, should the Ace Operatives fail to uncover the target in a timely manner."
That caught her by surprise. Winter couldn't help but glance in the general's direction, and was met with a serious, but calm expression. A part of her wanted to note her administrative duties, but it was silenced quickly.
"As such, you will be given a different cover story." He passed her a folder, and Winter took it.
She flipped it open and read the first page.
Her eyes widened as she realised where she was being posted. "Beacon Academy, sir?" She asked, looking up. She had only heard of the place in passing through correspondence with Weiss, with it being the Huntsman Academy her sister had chosen after her father had made it clear that he could not suffer the indignity of having another of his children join the Atlesian Military.
Ironwood nodded. "The headmaster has been informed, and has agreed to provide any support necessary."
Her mind began working furiously. The Headmasters of the Academies often coordinated responses to Grimm Tides and other such disasters, but judging how even the Atlas Council was being kept in the dark… Did the Headmasters know? Should they know? "How aware is he of the situation?" Winter inquired in a moment of weakness.
"He knows what he needs to." Ironwood's tone brooked no argument.
Winter only allowed herself a moment of hesitation before she nodded and returned her attention to the folder. It wasn't her place to question orders, only to prevent disaster as the General best saw fit. She read through the folder quickly, scanning its contents, before a pen was slid into her line of sight. She signed the papers without a word. The General accepted the file, and tucked it under his arm. "Your new assignment will begin in five days." Ironwood concluded. "That will be all."
Winter saluted and turned to leave the office, before the general called out. "Specialist."
She stopped in place and turned, still managing to keep her composure despite the late hour and the sudden weight of expectations on her shoulders.
The General's eyes were unreadable. "I know I can count on you."
"As always, sir." Winter Schnee gave him a firm nod, and left the room, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the halls.
Ironwood watched her leave, and waited for a few moments after the door closed. He listened carefully for the telltale hum of the elevator as it descended. Only when he was sure that the Schnee was gone did he walk over to the window and stare out at the city, and the ruined moon above.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Ozpin." He murmured to himself.
----------------------------------------
-"You're telling me that you can actually spin straw into gold?" The miller's daughter said in disbelief.
The imp nodded with a grin.
"Very well, then. But I must know this. What is your price?" She asked, for she knew that what the Fae could ask for things that would ruin her in impossible ways.
But the choice between certain death and unknowable misfortune was no choice at all. And so she could only hope the strange spirit would ask for something she could bear to give.
And so the imp rubbed it's curling beard and waggled it's eyebrows and grinned to itself before snapping it's fingers. "In exchange, I want-
Emerald shut the book with a snap and a sigh, before placing it back where she'd found it. She didn't know why she'd bothered reading even a sentence after seeing all the pictures. All the books she had looked at had been decently thick at a glance, but each and every one had been thoroughly filled with illustrations and big letters clearly meant for children. Really, was there nothing other than fairy tales and fables in this store?
Well, other than all the clothes and tapestries, of course. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the other side of the store, where mannequins bore clothing so excessively designed it could only be for Huntsmen.
This place had been one of the closest bookstores to the hideout that she'd managed to find, but for all it's convenience, it clearly didn't have a great deal of variety, and that certainly wasn't helped by the fact that it's cramped floor space was forced to share room with half a tailor shop.
After Cinder had brought the local White Fang cell to heel, Emerald had found herself remarkably bored, being cooped up in a warehouse all day with only her scroll to distract her. Unlike some self-absorbed idiots, she couldn't just spend all her time kicking sandbags or yelling at people.
A nice book to curl up with sounded like just the thing, but if these were the featured list, she dreaded to see what she'd see on the rest of the shelves. She surveyed the rest of the display. "Sleeping Beauty", "Alice in Wonderland", "Humpty Dumpty and Other Nursery Rhymes", and an assortment of others all circled the display at the center, "The Well of the World's End".
Yeah, nope. Nothing for her here. But she didn't want to give up yet, maybe other sections of the store would have something better. She glanced at the tops of the shelves as she walked past them, feeling a slight surge of irritation as she saw an entire shelf dedicated to "Fairy Tales". She eventually came to a stop at "Myths", and began to brush her fingers over the book spines.
Half of the stories she recognized, "The Tale of the Two Brothers", "The Shallow Sea", even "The Circle of Eternity", which made her want to snicker, but others she failed to recognize. "The Epic of Gilgamesh", "Journey to the West", "King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table"...
Hold on. Emerald paused, and traced her fingers back over the previous three books she didn't recognize. She pulled one out, and looked at its title, and then the back, sides, and even the first page.
But as much as she looked, she couldn't find the author for "The Epic of Gilgamesh". She placed it back, and looked over another book, feeling a hint of curiosity fill her. No author for "Journey to the West", either. She began to scan through the shelf, and then another shelf, and quickly realized that nearly every book she didn't recognize was missing an author. Faintly, she heard the sound of a bell ringing as the door opened, but she ignored it for the moment, focused on finding answers.
As she continued to look, an old, weary voice spoke up. "Pardon me, miss. But I couldn't help but notice you seemed rather annoyed, earlier." Emerald turned to look, and blinked when she saw a slouched, wrinkled old man who looked like he was practically dead on his feet. "How can I help?" There was a tiny note of politeness in his voice that was completely overshadowed by the look of exhausted apathy in his eyes.
"Oh," She glanced back to the shelf, before gesturing at it. "Well, I was just wondering who wrote all these books. There's…" She looked at the row shelves to her side, where dozens upon dozens of books were stored, half of which were missing an author. "...A lot of them."
"Ah, yes. Those books." The old man said dryly as he scratched his gray hair. "I'm afraid I have little idea, myself. The author of these books is a rather secretive fellow. Assuming, of course, they are the only author involved." He stiffly shrugged, an audible clicking noise coming from his shoulders.
How remarkably unhelpful. Emerald sighed as she pulled out her scroll for the time, and winced. Only a few minutes before she had to start making her way back. She looked at the book in her hand, before flipping it open. There were still some illustrations in an artstyle she failed to recognize, but also a great deal more writing, and what little she saw seemed more mature…
Hopefully it'd tide her over while she was waiting for something to do. She looked at the old man and raised the book. "Can you ring this up for me?" She asked.
"Of course, of course." He began to trudge towards the counter, where there was already a portly man waiting, tapping his foot impatiently.
As the pair of them approached, the man turned around. He was clearly a Huntsman of some kind, leaning on a mechanically complicated staff, and the way he dressed also suggested that he had a great deal more money than sense. There was at least one ring on each of his fingers, as well as a golden pocket watch that he was tapping in an agitated manner, along with a top hat with a golden belt.
Emerald, for once in her life, found herself at a loss of what to steal. There was so much wealth practically dripping off the man she barely even knew where to begin. She knew that Cinder wanted her to keep her nose clean, but she was already reaching out with her Semblance while the man focused elsewhere, keeping him from noticing her presence as she snuck up behind him.
"Ah, Stilton, my good man!" The Huntsman called out, loud enough to turn the few other heads that were in the shop. He strode forward, before clapping the old man on the shoulder with enough force to stagger him, not that the Huntsman seemed to notice as he forced a chuckle. "You didn't seem like the sort that would keep me waiting. My time is precious, you know."
"Ah, apologies. Sir." The old man lowered his head, his slouch wobbling downwards for a moment in the approximation of a bow, though his voice remained mostly flat. Once he stabilized himself, he made his way behind the counter. "How can I-"
"Now now, there's no need for any more shows of regret, I graciously accept your apology, though I do request that you hasten to aid me, next time." The man cut him off with a wave of his cane, while Emerald quickly unclipped the pocket watch from his belt and stuffed it into her pocket. "What I need is a very special service from you, Stilton. For you see…"
The man looked to the left, then to the right. And then he flattened his chest to the counter, and raised his hand to the side of his mouth, before he began whispering in the most conspicuous way possible. "I have a particular need for your secret talents once more."
A long silence passed as Emerald quietly teased the man's bulging wallet from his pocket. Eventually, the man spoke up again, loudly whispering. "Your dustweaving talents." Emerald blinked as she looked at Stilton, looking him up and down. Dustweaving? Him?
Well, he certainly looked the part of an expert of some kind. But even so, Emerald had her doubts. Dustweavers were rare, and their work was often bespoke and always expensive. The only person she knew personally who could manage that sort of thing was Cinder, and from what little she knew, her only real friend had learned from someone else, someone she seemed almost… afraid to talk about.
And Cinder was never afraid.
"I-" The old man's face pinched, before he continued, squeezing his words out. "...Yes. I had surmised. What… what do you want, Mister Aurus?" He sighed.
The Huntsman's face brightened, and he stood up straight right as Emerald realized that the wallet was far too thick for her pockets and shoved it into one of her chaps instead. "Please, just call me Reginald instead! Anyways, the Schnees have set up this marvelous little shindig-"
Emerald tuned out the rest of the Huntsman's blabbing as she considered the tapestries and clothes to her side. Now that she looked closely, even though most of the tapestries seemed like they just showed fantastical depictions of knights and dragons, she could faintly see patterns resembling the designs on Cinder's dress.
She took one of the dresses and rubbed the patterns with her fingers, no dust that she could feel, which made sense. If this entire storefront was filled with dustwoven fabrics…
Well, dustweaving was supposed to make dust less reactive as far as she knew, but she'd rather not stand next to an unarmed bomb if she could help it, let alone inside of one.
She looked back at the two as the Huntsman reached the end of his long, passionate explanation. "-And that's why I need a handkerchief that will cause dust gems to fall out when I unfold it, see? But I don't want them spilling on the floor, however. Wouldn't want to be seen as boorishly wasteful, after all." He chuckled, looking absolutely chuffed with himself.
The old man, on the other hand, looked like he was being stretched out on a rack. "I see. And just to be clear, you mentioned you were flying to Atlas… tomorrow?"
The Huntsman nodded. "Ah, yes. I understand that time may be an issue, but rest assured! My flight departs at ten in the evening, and I am more than willing to pay for the loss of revenue from closing this shop immediately, as well as the day after! If that is what you need to get my order done."
The old man sighed, and seemed to gather himself up, lessening his slouch and stiffening his back. "I have some good news, and some bad news." He slowly said. "I presume you would like the bad news, first."
The portly Huntsman waved him on, and he began. "The bad news is that your order would take… time. A great deal more time than I can accrue, even if I closed the store and worked throughout the night. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the item you requested could not be ready in time for the Gala at all, considering the difficulty of your request." He stated, with what seemed like a genuinely sorrowful look on his face.
Emerald could faintly feel the mood shift as the Huntsman's disappointment quickly grew apparent on his face. He began to draw himself up, his jowls quivering in indignation. She glanced at her scroll again. She doubted the arguing would be done any time soon, maybe she should just sneak out the door? It's not like there were any sensors, unlike some other stores.
"However." A jolt ran up Emerald's spine at the sudden silk in the old man's voice, and she whirled around on instinct, as something uncannily resembling Cinder's measured words and sly smile seemed to seep into the old man. He began to murmur, and she subtly shifted closer, straining to hear. "It is a good thing that I keep my finger on the pulse. For you see… I am well aware that the Schnees have been preparing something marvelous, and I presumed that you would want something… special for such an event."
Something slid onto the counter, though Emerald couldn't see what, but judging by the way the Huntsman's voice caught in his throat it was something impressive. "A remarkable design, on its face. Well suited for a high-society event. But if you wish to impress…" There's a sound of rustling fabric, and a brief shimmer of prismatic light that played out across their faces. "Then this will flaunt your means in a way no other guest will manage."
The Huntsman seemed awed to the point of tears. "It's even in the shape of my crest." He breathed. "You are a marvel. A genuine marvel."
The old man chuckled. "I prefer to think of myself as terrific."
"Terrific doesn't even begin to describe it, Mister Rumple! I-" He seemed to shake himself, standing up straight. "What do I owe you for this excellent show of service?"
"Oh, I wouldn't feel too comfortable charging you beyond the usual price." Stilton said with an audible smile. "Do take care, Reginald. It's rare to see one who appreciates my work so much."
A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and Emerald backed off as the Huntsman spun around and swaggered off, a new eye-catching handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. She walked to the counter, looking at Stilton with a newfound wariness
The old man had returned to his slouch, and when he looked away from the Huntsman to meet her stare, his friendly smile widened ever so slightly. But it didn't seem to match his eyes, which had changed from sharp and gleaming to dull and apathetic once more. And yet, something about them gave her the feeling of being dissected, or perhaps devoured, as they stared into her.
She placed the book forcefully on the counter, dispelling whatever impression of Cinder the man gave off in her head. "Just this, please."
The old man looked at the title with interest. "King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table." He read out loud, before nodding to himself, his movements stiff and jerky. "Yes, it seems like a book of your caliber."
There was no price tag, but the old man seemed to know the exact amount to charge anyway. For a moment, Emerald was tempted to pass the man some illusory bills, but her sense of caution won out and she pulled a few notes from the wallet she had stolen. As he slowly gathered her change, curiosity gnawed at her until she eventually spoke up. "What was that all about?"
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
The old man looked up from the counter, blinking slowly even as he grinned with delight. "I'm afraid you'll have to elucidate, young miss." He said, his feigned confusion paper-thin.
"The… whatever that was with that rich guy." Emerald replied, making sure not to look the old man in the eye.
"Oh, a few days of work made to shine with a few moments of showmanship." The man chuckled as he slid the change across the counter. "Funny, isn't it? You can put in all the effort you want, but it's the presentation that really matters. Then again, what better first step to a lasting friendship is there, other than your best foot forward?"
Something seemed to itch in a way she couldn't place. She knew the value of coming across as disarmingly friendly as anyone else, but there was something else to the way he spoke, something that seemed almost sinister. Was it because she hadn't noticed earlier? "So, you just fed him a line, then." Emerald said bluntly, taking the change and the book. "Sounds like a great way to start a friendship. Not."
"Just a bit of flair, I'd say. After all, what is the world without a little bit of wonder?" As he spoke, Emerald noticed that the old man's eyes seemed to glint as they were narrowed in her direction in a way that felt hostile, and Emerald immediately glanced to the side, feeling a shiver run up her spine.
She turned away. The conversation had already dragged on way too long, and she was still on the clock, and she needed to go. But before she could leave, the old man called out. "Wait, young miss."
Emerald paused, and turned to look at the old man. He looked a little more tired than he did earlier, but the grin was still there, like a mask he'd forgotten to take off. "I do appreciate the chance to do something special for my customers, so I wish to offer you a little something. I saw you reading 'Grimm's Collection of Fairy Tales' earlier, so why not have a copy?"
She looked at the book the man was holding out, before glancing between the old man and the door. He didn't seem to be doing anything weird, or acting strange. Was he trying to get on her good side, or something? The thought made her want to draw back, but she was never one to turn down anything offered for free…
After a moment's hesitation, she took the book, and backed away a few steps before she turned around.
As she stepped out of the shop, Emerald couldn't help but feel a little disturbed. There was something off about the old man, and while it wasn't as unnerving as, say, meeting Cinder for the first time, it was still disconcerting.
She shook her head, and began to make her way back to the hideout, hoping that Cinder wouldn't mind her delay.
She was never going back there again.
And as "The Wishing Well" faded into the distance behind her, the old man sighed, his slouch deepening as the little light remaining left his eyes. His fingers drummed the counter as he slowly let his gaze roam over the store, passing over people like they weren't even there, his mind far, far away.
----------------------------------------
Cinder glared at the piece of paper she'd just picked up, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the date and the time, only to find it conspicuously blank. Again.
She set it down as she resisted the urge to set it alight, the air around her fingers beginning to smoke as her Semblance slipped out of her control. She took a moment to breathe slowly, focusing on channeling her rage once more, harnessing it into something useful. Then, once she considered herself ready again, she began looking through the rest of the report.
It was mind-numbing and infuriating, trying to parse report after report into an actually useful record of the dust they had collected thus far, but there was nobody else she could trust with this task. Though she had some trust in Emerald and Mercury's loyalty, their talents clearly lied elsewhere.
So here she sat in her office, glaring at barely-legible writing and wishing she could gut the ones responsible.
As much of a blowhard Roman was, the man at least had the decency to properly report the amounts of dust he had stolen, when he had stolen it, and from where with only the occasional threat to keep him in line. The White Fang cell under Adam, on the other hand, had been causing headache after headache.
The problems with corralling an extremist cell were multifaceted, each more irritating than the last. The most obvious being that they clearly promoted loyalty to the cause first, and ability second, which meant that even filling out basic forms properly was somehow beyond far too many of them.
Which was made even more infuriating by the fact that some improperly filed forms were most likely the work of malcontents in the White Fang, seething over the fact that a human was giving them orders. Cinder's display of power to Adam and his lieutenants had clearly been effective, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that while she was out of sight, they had grown more… willful.
And on top of everything was Adam, the loose cannon making demand after demand even as he threatened to jeopardize everything she was working for, attacking shipments of dust that were too well-guarded and bringing attention to her whole operation. She dearly wished that she could remove him from the board, but the unfortunate reality was that no-one else she knew had the sheer brutality and fervent hatred of humans necessary to keep Vale's branch of White Fang in check.
Even now he was sending messages about the thief making away with yet another fraction of the lien set aside for their use, even as he demanded information on his runaway lieutenant. Cinder couldn't help but grit her teeth as she thought about the incidents.
Three separate times, pallets of lien and even a truck filled with dust had been filched from under their noses due to some careless buffoon being so bafflingly incompetent as to be unable to identify a stray thief from their own men.
They were Faunus! They were supposed to have senses beyond humans! How?! How was it possible that some complete nobody could pull the wool over their eyes three times with the same trick?!
The scent of burning plastic reached her nose, and Cinder unclenched her grip on the desk as she settled into her seat, the place where she had gripped a smoldering, dripping mess. She allowed herself to sigh, and pinch the bridge of her nose as she considered the next course of action.
…It was clear that the White Fang had forgotten who held their leash, so she'd just have to remind them. Emerald had been complaining about her boredom recently, and Mercury had a violent streak he hadn't satisfied in weeks, so why didn't she make it an outing? A bonding experience, even.
Yes, that seemed like the best course of action. Even setbacks could be turned into opportunities, with the appropriate perspective.
She got up from her chair, stretching languidly. Now was about the time that Emerald and Mercury were supposed to be back from their time outside. She doubted they'd be able to arrange transport for this time of day, but tomorrow seemed as good of a time as any to demonstrate exactly what it was she expected from her subordinates.
As she exited her office, however, she could already faintly hear their bickering.
"-as I already said, I don't want to talk about it." She heard Emerald hiss as she slowed down, keeping her steps quiet.
Mercury spoke up, sounding only a smidge more arrogant than usual. "And as I already said, don't care, want details." She could almost hear him crossing his arms and smirking. "So what will it be? A satisfying answer? Or an even more satisfying chat with Cinder about being punctual?"
"You little- if we hadn't come for you, you'd be behind bars right now!" Emerald growled.
Mercury snorted. "Like you were looking for me anyways. And are you going to pretend like that was your decision to make?" He goaded.
Cinder stifled her annoyance before it could reignite her fury. Emerald and Mercury had been excellent finds, and a massive boon to her efforts, but their immaturity grated, sometimes. Still, Salem had made it clear that learning to inspire loyalty was as important of a lesson as inspiring fear, and there really were no better candidates that she could ask for.
They'd learn maturity in time, though she planned to expedite the processes where she could.
Emerald's outraged silence was shattered by a click of her heels as she came out from behind the corner. Mercury's smirk froze as he noticed her presence, and he swung his legs off where they had been crossed on the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cinder stopped him with a raised finger. Emerald, meanwhile, had wheeled around in wide-eyed panic, eyes flickering between Mercury and her as she tried to think of something to say.
Cinder cleared her throat before she addressed the two of them. "Mercury, if you want a practice bout, ask politely." She turned to look at Emerald, giving the books under her arm a brief glance before deeming them as unimportant and looking her in the eye instead. "What is it that you don't want to tell me, Emerald?"
Emerald winced as she averted her gaze, "I… sorry, ma'am." She took a moment to gather her nerves before she spoke. "I was a few minutes late coming back."
When she hesitated to continue, Cinder raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head. "And why were you late, Emerald?"
Emerald shifted uncomfortably. "I found a bookstore owner who seemed to be some sort of dustweaver, and I ended up staying a short while to… verify!" She forced a smile as she explained haltingly. "And… I didn't manage to find any actual evidence. All I have is a huntsman calling whatever he did dustweaving, but…"
Cinder felt her interest pique. Salem had taught her many things, from the true history of the world to the powers hidden behind the facade of society, and had given her strength as well as the training to use it, but there were only so many skills she could be taught before she'd been asked for results.
To most it was an archaic art, clearly surpassed by the illusion of safety technology could provide, but to her, dustweaving was a potent skill, even if it's only place in her regiment was to prepare her for the power that she would obtain in the future. The clothes she now wore were one of the few gifts from her teacher, to help channel her fragmented magic and Semblance into something more useful, something only made safe through the skill of an immortal who had centuries to perfect the art.
The prospect of obtaining more intrigued her to a degree, even if she doubted it'd be useful for anything other than to study. "But?" She prompted, tilting her head slightly back.
"But the other clothing in the store was stitched like your dress was, so maybe there's something to it." Her words drifted off into a mumble as she fidgeted, looking away. Cinder considered the matter for a moment, thinking about the choice she had. Yet another tedious hour of improperly managed paperwork, or some fresh air and a chance to stretch her legs.
…It would be for the best if Emerald accrued some skill in accounting, she supposed. In case she couldn't be present in the future, or something along those lines.
"How interesting." She murmured, more for their benefit than her's. Emerald's face brightened with a figment of hope- "Though that does not entirely excuse your lateness." -which abruptly faded. "I will verify your discovery with Mercury. You, on the other hand, are to speak to Roman and to register the amount of dust he has obtained since the last time we spoke."
Mercury pumped his fist slightly as Emerald visibly fought the urge to sigh. "Yes, ma'am." She said as she bowed her head.
Cinder stepped forward and placed her hand on her shoulder, and Emerald blinked as she noticed. "Well done, Emerald." She said with a smile. "If you have uncovered something useful, you will be properly rewarded."
Emerald grinned back, her previous downtrodden expression nowhere to be found. "Thanks, Cin-" Her expression froze. "-Ma'am, I mean." She said with another quick bow.
Behind her, Mercury shifted impatiently from side to side. "So, where to?"
"Indeed, Mercury." Her grip tightened ever-so-slightly as she smiled at Emerald. "Where is this dustweaver you've found?"
----------------------------------------
"The Wishing Well." Mercury mused to himself. "Pretty swanky name for an old hole in the wall."
Mercury wasn't wrong in his assessment, Cinder thought to herself as she examined the half-bookstore half-tailor with a critical eye. Vale was a well-developed city, kept spick and span through well-founded public services and a culture of compliance, if not conformity. Buildings tended to be well-kept and bright.
It would be charitable to call the thing before her a relic. The light from the early hours of twilight failed to gleam off the windows, which were layered with dust that looked like it hadn't been swept in weeks, and she could see faint cracks in between the inconsistent gray paint job. It almost seemed to visibly curdle the more that she looked at it.
"Still open, though." Mercury observed, looking at the sign hanging off the doorknob. He reached out a hand, before pausing. As if just remembering Cinder's presence, he turned around. "How do you want to handle this, then?" He asked, jerking his head at the door.
She gave a confident smirk as she strode to the door and opened it. The bell rang softly as the door creaked open. "Let's start with a soft touch, and see how things go from there." She said with a wave as she stepped into the store.
The interior was marginally better kept than the exterior, though that didn't say much. There were still plenty of signs of age, from stains on the ceiling to cracked floorboards with shoddy repairs. Still, she could see what Emerald had meant. The stitching on the clothing did indeed look like the flowing, smooth lines that lined her clothes. One of the dresses even reminded her of her own, though it was slightly more ostentatious, with ruffles and frills more suited for a noble's wardrobe than a Huntsman's. She glanced at the counter, only to find it empty.
"Feels more like a rat's nest than a bookstore." Mercury muttered to himself as he walked ahead, picking out a book from the display. He flippantly pulled it open, leafing through a few pages with a hum.
Cinder couldn't help but agree. There'd clearly been some effort to maintain the shop, if only to keep it safe rather than presentable. Still, Cinder wondered how the owner even kept in business. Selling one's services as a dustweaver could make a great deal of income, but she doubted that the authorities would accept having such a decayed, dusty blight on the city streets remain open.
Maybe the store survived through lack of advertising. After all… "It would seem that we are alone." Cinder noted as she glanced around the shop. There was not a soul in sight, except through the murky windows. No shoppers, no employees, nobody at all. Not even a security camera.
"So we are." Mercury closed the book with a snap. "What a shame. Nobody to stop us from getting up to any… mischief." He said with a small smirk.
As Cinder gave him an unimpressed look, he sighed. "Alright, alright. I'll be serious." He said, tucking the book under his arm. He stepped up to the front desk, looking around. After a moment, he knocked on the countertop. "Hey, can we get some service here?"
His only reply was silence.
Wordlessly, he turned to look at Cinder as she approached. She looked at the door to the back with her arms folded, waiting.
"No wonder Emerald hated this place if the service was this bad." Mercury quipped, leaning against the countertop as he folded his arms.
As her patience wore thin, Cinder stepped around the counter and opened up the door to the back, her nose wrinkling at the scent of the warm and stale air, like she'd opened up a crypt rather than a staff corridor. She looked inside, and saw that the way split in two directions, though only for a short distance. There were a few more doors and a staircase down that she ignored for the moment.
She pulled open one of the doors, only to see what looked like a janitor's cupboard, though devoid of any cleaning supplies and dusty with disuse. She shut the door with a little more force than necessary, her irritation beginning to grow. Where was he?
"Think he's gone out for a bathroom break, or something?" Mercury asked, waving a hand in front of his nose.
"It's possible." Cinder curtly replied, pulling open another door to reveal a small break room that seemed like it had been left untouched for months, and utterly devoid of furniture. At this point, she was considering the merits of theft. Maybe she should take something her size from the storefront, just to make something of this pointless outing. "We'll give the way downstairs a look, if there's nothing there, we'll return to the front desk. If he doesn't show soon… well, I guess it would be a shame for him, and his business." She said with a twinge of mock sympathy, though her voice was frigid towards the end.
Mercury realized what she meant quickly. "Eh, arson's not really my thing, but thrashing the place seems neat." Mercury said with a dismissive shrug. "Maybe we can pick out a few extras for Emerald." He said, rubbing his chin.
Cinder hummed as she descended the steps, her heels clicking on concrete. Though it was no fault of hers, Emerald had sent her on a wild goose chase, and she wasn't in a particularly forgiving mood. Maybe if she had done a good job by the time she got back…
Well, maybe she'd start having her do more reports, first. Having somebody she could trust to split the workload with would be an immense help. Though, she probably ought to prepare some sort of reward to go with the new responsibilities. She'd have to think about it for a while, generosity simply didn't come naturally to her.
She reached the bottom and took hold of the handle, twisting and pushing it open with a bit of effort. The bell rang softly as the door creaked open-
…Hold on.
Cinder paused as she looked around the… interior of the shop, her eyes roaming over the stains on the ceiling and the cracked floorboards with shoddy repairs. Her eyes flickered to the same dress she caught sight of earlier, following the same flowing, smooth lines in disbelief.
She took a few uncertain steps forwards. Suddenly, the floor felt unsteady. Unfamiliar, despite having the same steps just moments ago. The lack of people suddenly seemed ominous, as if she was the only one who'd failed to notice an obvious trap. Behind the empty counter, the door was shut, just like when they'd entered the shop.
What was this? Guesses tumbled through her mind as Cinder slowly made her way to the center of the room, some sort of Portal Semblance? Or maybe an illusion of some kind? She can't have been teleported back to the shop door, she would have noticed something. Wouldn't she?
Cinder steadied herself, putting on a disaffected mask and folding her arms before she turned around. Behind her, the staircase that she had just descended was still visible through the doorway, as was Mercury. His lax attitude was nowhere to be seen now, and instead there was a look of tense focus on his face as he scanned the room, as if the books would jump out at him at any moment.
Slowly, rationality returned to her, and she began to cross out possibilities in her mind. Not a Teleportation Semblance, if she could see the stairs behind her. Whatever had happened to them, they still had a way back up available. Her eyes flickered to the windows, where she could see not just light, but also movement. She approached, wiping at and peering through the dusty glass to see a couple walk past the shop front, not noticing her presence as she watched them walk away.
She considered trying to draw their attention, but held off. She still hadn't decided what she was going to do to the store owner once she got her hands on him, and she certainly didn't want her face to be easily recognized. The sudden outlandishness of the situation had thrown her for a loop, and her distaste of the fact had her leaning towards something permanent, but there was still the matter of finding him.
She began examining the rest of the scene outside, looking for some sort of flaw or giveaway, only to find none. The old man feeding pigeons on a nearby bench, the small crowd of customers visible through the window of a nearby restaurant, the stream of pedestrians moving back and forth, nothing about them seemed even slightly off to her.
So either she'd been through an extremely subtle portal of some kind, or someone was feeding both Mercury and her complex, lifelike illusions. Neither of these options boded well.
Mercury came up behind her, his boots and metal legs combined making loud thumps against the patchwork wooden ground. "I'm getting some bad vibes from this." He muttered, his low tone easily heard in the silence that had suddenly enveloped the two of them. "We backing out?"
Cinder considered the question for a moment before making her decision, narrowing her eyes as she looked to the door behind the counter. "No." She declared. "This place had my curiosity, but now it has my attention."
Mercury visibly bit back whatever he was going to say as he let out a hiss, but he didn't protest, falling in line behind her as she made her way to the counter. As she passed by, she traced her finger over the wood and let her Semblance come to the fore, scorching a line of black.
Cinder placed her hand on the doorknob and pulled it open, revealing a familiar set of doors and a staircase. She pulled them open to a familiar set of sights, grimacing as the old man Emerald spoke of failed to appear. Coming to the top of the long staircase, she looked down to see the door at the bottom, conspicuously shut.
For a moment, she considered doubling back to check if the way back had closed without them noticing, but as it lined up with her cowardly desire to turn back and leave she quashed the urge. Whether this was some sort of spatial loop or something else, she'd figure it out by forging ahead.
There was a tense silence that was broken only by the sound of their footsteps as they made their way down the staircase. The journey somehow seemed longer than before, though Cinder didn't feel as though that the number of steps had changed. She stopped in front of the door at the bottom, taking a quick breath before grabbing ahold of the doorknob, twisting and forcing it open in one fluid motion as she looked in, Semblance surging in her other hand.
The bell rang loudly as she stood there, staring at the empty shop once more, taking in details quickly as calm settled within her, a pattern now established.
Though, rather than a perfect imitation of the shop she had entered before, this version of the shop was incomplete. The aging features were the same, as was the light coming in through the windows, but the shelves were empty, and the mannequins were bare despite being posed in the same positions.
Cinder glanced at the counter, and let out a slight breath when she saw the scorch mark she had left earlier wasn't there. Now she was getting somewhere. Though it suddenly struck her that if she wasn't being shifted in space, then she was two levels below the surface in unknown territory.
And wasn't that a comforting thought?
"Interesting. It appears that we've been making our way down all this time, yet there's still light coming in through the windows." Cinder commented, before turning her head slightly towards Mercury. "Find me an explanation."
Mercury still looked perturbed, but he obeyed her order quickly, making his way to the storefront. He examined the windows, but when he didn't find an opening of any kind, there was a quick glance and then a quiet crunch of glass.
As Mercury got her answers, Cinder searched the store floor, making sure that the old man wasn't hiding behind the shelves or anything, but there was still no sign of him.
She had to admit, she didn't know what she had been expecting, following up Emerald's lead, but it most certainly wasn't… this.
Semblances were rare things. To have one's Aura unlocked was a rare privilege, mostly for Huntsman and Huntresses, and other such sorts who took the fight to the forces of destruction. They were the ones who usually had their skills and understanding of their own abilities honed to the degree that they could use their Semblances with proficiency. Then there were those who had the wealth and status to pay for their Aura to be unlocked for the myriad benefits it bestowed, though the fines for such a service were hefty, and rarely did anyone with that level of privilege feel the need to hone themselves in such a way.
But then there were the exceptions. Sometimes, those outside the laws of the Kingdoms, whether through distance or by actions, found a way to unlock their Aura and seized the power it offered with both hands. The results varied. A great deal simply couldn't handle the increased attention from the forces of the Grimm and died. Others eked out a violent and brutal existence as bandits or mercenaries. And rarely, those who mastered their own abilities had the chance to form their own gangs, and sometimes even bandit clans through their might.
She doubted that she had found the latter hiding in a building fit for demolition, but there was a good deal of skill being demonstrated here. Then again, the resources it would take for an underground structure like this to be established… maybe it wasn't impossible that they were someone who'd exploited their Semblance for all the opportunities it could provide.
And on top of everything else, that made three illusion related Semblances she had encountered in nearly as many months. Cinder couldn't help but wonder about the chances.
Mercury stepped away from the window, and the new hole in its corner with a look of bafflement. "I think I felt a breeze." He muttered, flexing his fingers as he turned to her with a questioning look. "And sunlight. Are you sure we're underground?"
Less so, now that he mentioned it. Was it maybe a Semblance that could shape one's environment somehow? In any case, she got the sense that this room was somehow unfinished, so likely meant that setup time was required on the part of the user to properly utilize their Semblance. Vital information for if they came to blows. "I'm sure we'll find our answers if we continue our search." She waved the question away. "Come along. And do make sure that the one we're looking for doesn't slip by without you noticing."
She walked to the back of the store again in what was quickly becoming a rote action, and pulled open the back door, revealing a simplified musty staff corridor. Unlike before, the staff room and janitor's closet was nowhere to be found. Cinder even tried feeling the walls, to see if they were just hidden from her sight, but she couldn't feel anything besides the smooth concrete.
Mercury passed by behind her, heading towards the staircase before pausing. When Cinder turned her attention towards him, she noticed that his brow was furrowed.
"Notice anything?" She asked, approaching the top of the stairs.
He stood there, thinking for a moment, before shaking his head. "Dunno. Feels like the air's weird, but it might just be me. Don't suppose your…" He wriggled his fingers. "Is telling you anything?"
That was most certainly not what her magic did, but she understood his meaning.
She hummed, closing her eyes as she extended her senses. The world was made up of many forces. Fire, which she was most intimately familiar with. Lightning, the wrath of the skies given form. Earth, the bones of the world that lay below the surface. Air, which flowed from the lungs to the mouth and beyond, and Water, the lifeblood of the world, which made up every living thing.
The fragmented power she had, only half her due, only allowed her to manipulate one to any degree beyond her Semblance, but that had still been enough to allow her to rise above the rest. She was already more than human, and she would become so much more.
Cinder had never had the opportunity to learn the full extent of her talents, but she knew enough to tell that there was something amiss. Something was wrong about this place.
Not a physical wrongness. No, there was no poison in the air. Rather, what she could feel was the faintest of pressures. It was like the whole place was being pulled, dragged down into the earth. And there, in the center of it all, was the staircase.
She opened her eyes, looking at the stairs leading down to the third floor with a frown. The source was below them. She was certain.
Without another word, Cinder descended the stairs.
"So, is that a 'yes' on the weird air?" Mercury called out, before descending after her.
She ignored his question, instead focusing on her senses. As the pressure began to increase, she began to feel an uncomfortable sensation, like an itch at the back of her skull. A vague and formless feeling. She shook it off, and pushed on.
The door at the bottom of the stairwell wasn't just shut, but also... "Locked." Cinder observed, tugging on the knob. "Mercury." She ordered, stepping aside.
"Got it." Mercury said, stepping forwards. He examined the door for a few seconds, before striking the knob with a powerful kick.
The metal bent with a shriek as the wood splintered, and the door flew open. As it did, a blast of heavy, oppressive air hit Cinder like a wave, blowing her hair backwards as the itch began to take a clearer, more focused form. A prickling on the back of her neck, a ringing in her ear, a jittery feeling in one of her hands.
Cinder grit her teeth and forced herself to press forwards, making her way into the room.
Unexpectedly, rather than being yet another empty shop, the room they found themselves in was a workshop of some kind.
It was dimly lit, with most of the light coming from a battered dust-powered stove that glowed red in the back of the room. Cinder could make out the silhouettes of equipment and tools scattered about the space, as well as shelves and tables lining the walls, though it was hard to make out details in the gloom. There were several mannequins positioned all around the room, and each one was adorned with a different outfit, from shirts to trousers to full robes. Some were more put-together than others, and Cinder could spot some with patches, stitching, and even limbs missing.
But there weren't just clothes being made. As her eyes adjusted, Cinder could also make out what looked like sculptures and decorations. There was a row of small metal figures, each one twisted and warped in their own unique way that reminded her of the Grimm, and the walls were covered in paintings and sketches that seemed to be depicting various fantastical scenes, ranging from a pair of dragons locked in battle to a massive castle built at the edge of a massive cliff. One of the tables was dominated by a pile of papers that was stacked precariously high, and beside it were an out-of-place looking printer, though there was nothing nearby that looked like it would serve as a computer.
And in the center of it all, Cinder spotted a single mannequin that had a incomplete outfit, a half-finished suit of armor that exposed the rumpled white shirt and half-stitched trousers underneath, with a sooty black cloak draped over the shoulders that seemed to shimmer slightly in the low light.
The whole place was like a dumping ground for creative projects. Somewhat interesting, but ultimately inconsequential. The oppressive presence that was permeating the entire building was strongest here. There was no doubt about it.
"I don't get it." Mercury commented, snapping her attention back to him. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, looking around the room with a baffled expression. "Why put all this stuff down here, and not up on the shop floor?"
Cinder didn't answer, instead taking a few steps into the workshop. Her heels clacked against the stone floor, and suddenly, the itch in the back of her head vanished, like the pressure had been released.
She blinked, and suddenly, the world seemed... brighter. Sharper. She could make out the dust particles floating through the air, and the distinct smell of paint and oil in the air, though there was a distinctly smoky scent in the air that had been previously absent, a familiar smell that filled her with an odd sort of nostalgia.
For a moment, she wondered if perhaps the pressure had been her imagination, but then she heard a sound.
Tapping.
Cinder's head snapped around, looking for the source, but there was nobody there. Mercury didn't look like he'd seen anything, either, judging by the puzzled look on his face.
She listened intently, straining her ears, and she heard it. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was coming from somewhere further in. Tap. Tap. Tap. There, from one of the shelves, where the light didn't quite reach. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Cinder's eye narrowed, and she walked over to the source of the sound, Mercury keeping pace behind her. As she approached, the tapping seemed to grow louder and louder, the noise reverberating through the workspace. Tap. Tap. Tap. Cinder didn't know what was going on anymore, but she was ready to burn this place to the ground if necessary. Tap. Tap. Tap. Whatever it was, it was directly in front of her now. Tap. Tap. Tap. Cinder reached out, and grabbed ahold of the object- Tap- and pulled.
Cinder blinked. What was she looking at, exactly?
It was a vial, filled with an odd, viscous, dark liquid, sealed shut with a cork. The light of the room reflected oddly off of it, shifting and swirling like the surface was moving.
As Cinder watched, something emerged from the depths. A small, buglike shape dripping with black gunk crawled its way up the side of the glass, before pulling back and slamming its head against the glass with another tap. She narrowed her eyes, examining the insect closely. As the black substance fell away, she noticed something.
A tiny white mask, with two crimson streaks running across the face.
And then, everything clicked.
Cinder's grip tightened as her Semblance surged, and the glass melted in her hand, the Grimm essence pouring onto the floor, where it bubbled and churned. The tiny, malformed hornet-like Grimm dissolved into ash almost immediately, leaving only the thick sludge behind.
"What." Mercury's voice broke the silence. "Was that."
Cinder didn't have the time to respond before the sound of a body hitting the floor echoed out from behind them.
Both spun around, and saw an emaciated, hunched figure sprawled on the ground, wearing a worn white shirt and black pants stained with paint and oil. His arms were long, thin, and bony, ending in palid, spindly fingers. His shaggy white hair hung around his face like a shroud, and his skin was pale enough that he could have been mistaken for a corpse. Not the corpse of a wizened old man, however. Rather, he was more similar in appearance to a starving young man.
Then, his eyes cracked open. They were bloodshot, sunken and tired, and rimmed with gray bags, but there was no mistaking the bright, clear blue of his irises.
The figure stirred, slowly pushing himself upright with a groan. He raised a hand to the door…
And knocked twice.
"...Well. Whaddaya know." He turned his face towards them, and his withered lips curved into a wry smirk. "Looks like knocking still works."
----------------------------------------
Who.
The fuck.
Were these two dipshits?
And more importantly, why the fuck were they in my goddamned hideout?!
Okay, maybe I'd taken a little longer of a break than I'd planned. I'd wanted to prepare a meal, but then I'd had a flash of inspiration for the next painting that I had to note down first and then I'd realized that the ichor pit was overflowing again and- needless to say, there were plenty of things demanding my attention.
I hadn't been away from the front that long, have I? Then again, I couldn't exactly remember the time, and I'd spent so long typing out notes that my Scroll had run out of charge again, so maybe…
…Whatever, that wasn't what mattered now. Rather, the matter at hand was the two human pests wandering around my territory, laying their grubby mitts on my things, and tracking dirt all over my nice, clean-
I abruptly deflated with a mild snort that went unnoticed. Okay, I wasn't going to even try and pretend like the floor was even slightly dirtier than before. I'd tried, but trying to get every stain out of the floor was damn near impossible. Honestly, the only thing keeping my evil lair from becoming a junkyard in full was the pit of ichor.
As it turned out, a pit of malice from which the world's loathing and animosity overflowed in an attempt to destroy the works of man made for a remarkably convenient trash bin. Who knew?
But for all that my lair was a hole in the ground, it was my hole in the ground. This wasn't just my home, it was the place where I'd stashed my innermost thoughts and feelings, my sanctuary from the metaphysical stench of mankind and the rot of the world, the only place where I could truly be myself. This place was mine, from its skin to its bones.
And I wanted them gone.
But there were other parts of me that wanted more. Parts of me that demanded that I lunge down from above and break them for invading my domain, that pit of malice that demanded conflict. And then there was the other part. The showboat. The weaver of tales. The over-the-top fop that didn't just want dinner, but a show to go with it.
I crept along the rafters as I deliberated, examining the two of them a little more closely. One of them was gray all over, with gray clothes, gray hair, and… I paused, listening closely as he walked. His steps seemed heavier than they ought to be. Prosthetics of some kind, it seemed, most likely made of metal, and probably also a gun of some sort, and probably gray. That seemed par for the course with the never ending parade of thing-but-also-a-gun that every huntsman and huntress seemed to have.
Which was cool, don't get me wrong. It just happened to straddle the line of insanity most of the time. Honestly, what sort of person puts a flamethrower in their thermos?
I turned my attention to the woman, who actually had color in her outfit, wearing a red dress which made her look like she belonged more in a high society gala than an ordinary outing. I would know. I had to do research for Aurus for his appearance at the Schnee gala. Nearly a fourth of the time spent on his handkerchief had been making sure that it wouldn't somehow offend anyone's sensibilities, and considering the fact that the rest of the time had been spent on painstaking enchantment that damn near refused to work for several days in a row, that was a good deal of time.
Though, there's something strange about her as I crawled closer. Faintly, I can feel the expanded souls of these two humans causing something to stir in the back of my mind, but there's also something… else. Cloying and mild, a barely noticeable tinge at the edge of her soul. I narrow my eyes at her, eyes tracing the contours of her soul, willing for the truth to expose itself, but… nothing.
"I don't get it." The man commented, looking around. "Why put all this stuff down here, and not up on the shop floor?"
Because it wasn't ready yet! And chances were, it never would be! And… he just reminded me that if they're here, they've definitely seen the underground shop copies on the way down. The incomplete shop copies. I could scarcely contain a groan of embarrassment as I covered my face.
Fuck, this day just couldn't get any worse, could it? Had to pull an all-nighter to put together that damned handkerchief and of course this would happen today of all days.
I peeked out from a gap between my fingers, watching as the woman turned to look at the man, only to roll her eyes as she looked away. And I paused, the humiliation of someone seeing my unfinished work being pushed aside to focus on the strange new feeling worming its way through my skull.
Recognition. I know this woman somehow. But how? I've only been "around" for a handful of months, and anywhere near civilization for an even shorter amount of time. How on Remanent could I possibly know who this was?
I racked my brains furiously. The hunters that I faced at the edges of Vytal? I doubted it, they were so forgettable that I could scarcely even recall their weapons, though I was a little out of it, at that point… or maybe I'd seen her in an advertisement somewhere. She certainly had the looks for it.
I quashed the idea that she could possibly know me from that empty space before, that hole in my brain from which countless stories seemed to spring out of nowhere, flooding out from my mind and onto paper for the sake of recollection. I'd looked for those stories on my stolen Scroll plenty of times, and it was clear that either they were either born from the same place I was, or so unpopular they might as well be utterly alien to the people of Remnant.
Still, this changed things. I watched the two of them approach my shelf of exotic materials, making no move to stop them as they grew closer and closer to my stores of ichor. I was many things. Rakish. Terrible at timekeeping. A demented and vicious abomination.
But I never could resist a good what-if.
I scuttled towards the only door in, already planning out my entrance. They were home invaders, so whatever I came up with would have to take that into account, but not be so hostile that they'd immediately attack. Maybe something joking, to lighten the mood?
Yes, that seemed good, and I even had an idea! A knock on the door to draw their attention, and then… 'Apologies, just checking if knocking still works.'
Not exactly the apex of comedic genius, but cut me some slack, I was working under a time crunch here.
I reached the door, and gingerly lowered myself down from the ceiling, hanging by my spindly fingers. My stomach gurgled. Probably because I hadn't eaten anything recently, but I couldn't help but imagine that it was gurgling in anticipation, too.
Okay.
Showt-
My musings were interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and then doing... something else. I swung around, and saw the woman holding a burning fist aloft, molten glass dripping off her fingers onto the floor. The jar was broken, the ichor was bubbling, and the Grimm essence was spreading across the floor.
...Hm.
You know, on second thought, that looked like a pretty painful way to go. Maybe I was better served by just staying out of sight and waiting for them to leave.
Yeah, that sounded good.
"What." The gray boy said. "Was that."
Oh, the leftovers of a few experiments of my control over my lesser kin. Nothing to worry about. Just keep looking over in that direction while I climb back onto the rafters, thank you very much.
But unfortunately, it seemed as though the universe had other plans, and the shitty wood I was clinging onto chose this exact moment to fail, sending me plummeting to the ground facefirst.
I felt my jaw bounce off the ground, and my teeth clack together. My thoughts came to a grinding halt, but the pain was nothing to the mortification I felt.
...At least my glamour was still holding strong. I was pretty sure the thing could take a better beating than I could.
I let out an ugly groan and slowly, arduously, pushed myself upright, rubbing my aching spine as I gave them both a tired look, already feeling a headache coming on.
Wait. The joke! The joke was still salvageable!
I raised a bony finger, and knocked on the floor. Twice.
Here we go. "...Well. Whaddaya know." With effort, I forced a smirk onto my face, ignoring the ache in my jaw and the taste of iron on my tongue. "Looks like knocking still works."
The two of them stared at me blankly. The flames in the woman's hand had even sputtered and died like a particularly unimpressive candle.
…Okay, not going to lie, still really fucking proud of that one.