As Jaune faced his father in an arena open for teams to practice at all hours of the day, he found himself slowly accepting the fact that his father had not been turned into a grimm puppet, but was in fact just acting strange.

Very strange.

“It’s no Crocea Mors, but it does the job pretty well.” His dad said as he pulled his new blade from the scabbard on his waist. The sword looked like it belonged in his hand. Like it was an extension of his body. It was like training with Pyrrha all over again, and those initial feelings of inadequacy that he thought he’d gotten over started to well up once more, compounding on the awkwardness of the whole situation. “Come on then, bring him out and we can get started.”

Any random passerby might consider it normal. Just a father wanting to spend some time with his son. But to be acting like this with these circumstances? It was like he had lit the fuse on a firecracker but no explosion had followed. Was it a dud? Or would the slightest disturbance set it off now?

Do I really have to do this? His semblance whined.

This is not a normal reaction to the situation! You can act as a meat shield when he finally decides to flip out on me.

There’s no meat in me, how can I be a meat shield?

Jaune knew that his semblance was right, but instead of admitting to a small error in phrasing, he forced Second out of his head, his blue friend appearing at his side.

Aurelius looked him up and down, inspecting him to a degree that made Second fidget uncomfortably. “Doesn’t look any different from what I’d expect…” The man muttered. “I’ve seen a handful of semblances like this in my time. You two know anyone with cloning semblances? Might make this easier if you have something to base your knowledge off of.”

“Blake has one-” Jaune began.

“The Faunus girl, right?” His dad interrupted.

“Uh, yeah?” Jaune hesitantly continued. “Our friend Sun has one too, but he went back to Haven after the Vytal festival and I didn’t really get to see it in action very much…”

“Haven, eh? Shame what happened there.” Aurelius’ eyes gained a far off look for a moment, but he quickly snapped back to reality. “But two examples is a great starting point! You probably know Blake’s semblance better, so let’s start there. How does she use it in combat?”

“She uses her clones as distractions,” Second answered for him. “Something to draw the eye, and hopefully enemy fire, while she gets out of the way. She can also… imbue them with dust, I guess? I’m not really clear on the details for that part.”

“That’s an efficient use if the clones are on the weaker end,” Aurelius praised. “Have you two tried anything similar?”

Jaune and Second shared a look.

“I may have… taken a blow intended for Jaune once,” Second explained, majorly downplaying Cinder’s assassination attempt. “But I can’t say that I’d be eager to just tank hits. I may not have flesh, blood, and nerve endings, but getting attacked is still… unpleasant.” Jaune watched his counterpart shiver, probably remembering their last attempt at training. Nora really had been way too eager to put him to the test…

His father frowned, but nodded. “You don’t necessarily need to just take the blow in order to distract your foes. Once you’re out in the world, most of the combat you see is against grimm, and they’re not exactly expert strategists who will target your weaknesses. For most of them, just being present would be enough to make the job easier. What about the dust? Tried that out yet?”

“No, we haven’t,” Jaune answered. “I’m not sure how it works for Blake, and I don’t have any idea of where to begin with testing it on Second. Plus with how expensive dust has been lately…”

“I might have an idea or two,” Aurelius assured them. “Do you have any dust we can use? I’ll give you its value in Lien, don’t worry about that.”

Jaune wasn’t sure why his father would ask that after he’d just explained that he hadn’t been using dust.

Until he realized that his dad was looking off to the side and subsequently heard a squeak.

“S-spying?! I’m not spying! No spying here!” A familiar, panicked voice cried out.

Aurelius sighed, but as a father of seven daughters, he knew how to handle one young huntress. “That’s odd. I don’t recall accusing anyone of spying…”

As the blushing leader of team RWBY came out of her apparent hiding spot in the bleachers and tried to defend her actions to his dad, Jaune and Second shared another concerned look.

His dad wanted to try incorporating dust into Second, and the weapon nut Ruby was getting involved?

Jaune’s mind went back to the first day of Beacon, the explosion that had gone off near the airship drop off point, and he had a sinking feeling that this was going to end in an explosion that was far too close for comfort. The only addition that could make it worse was if Nora showed up, and if Ruby was already here…

“Hey, why don’t we get started already? We’re burning daylight!” Second hurried them along.

Maybe if they rushed they could use up all the dust and move on to something else before the ginger arrived.

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As Winter was led into the largest tent of the bandit camp, she found herself bewildered by the design choices. Transitioning from the lavish halls of the Schnee manor to the utilitarian rooms of the military had been jarring when she was younger. Learning how the average civilian decorated their homes had done the same the first time she visited a fellow soldier at their house. But this was still… bizarre.

The many criss-crossed rugs draped across the floor made sense at least. Something relatively soft for their feet to rest on when a carpet was out of the question. But the giant feathers hanging from a huge… what was it even supposed to be? She thought it vaguely resembled a dream catcher, some superstitious nonsense a few far flung villages clung to, but the shape was different from the designs she’d seen and what sort of bird were the feathers even meant to be from? The only thing that size would be a Nevermore, and these weren’t even black! They were a striped pattern of 2 different shades of grey. Had the Branwen tribe discovered and slaughtered the last of some hitherto unknown species to fit their strange aesthetic? It would explain the bones she had seen earlier as well…

But that was when she noticed a grandfather clock against one wall of the tent.

For what possible reason could a bandit tribe have need of a grandfather clock? It was big, bulky, and probably not all that accurate. Even if they avoided the use of scrolls to prevent being tracked down, a watch would make much more sense than the behemoth of a time piece in front of her.

There was an actual treasure chest in one corner of the room, a barrel of what she could only assume was alcohol of some sort, and a huge map of Remnant that seemed to be made of leather on the wall opposite the clock.

The discussion hadn’t even begun yet, and Winter felt a headache coming on from dealing with the Brawnwens.

This was Qrow’s fault somehow…

Though with her surroundings properly cataloged in her mind, she should probably focus on the new face in the room.

Red eyes tracked her every subtle movement, the intent to kill lurking just beneath the surface.

“Well this is a surprise,” Raven remarked with a casual smirk on her face. “What’s the matter? Did old man Oz finally kick the bucket? Can’t imagine any other reason someone like you would be here.”

“Headmaster Ozpin is alive and well, but I fail to see what that has to do with me. I serve Atlas, not Vale.”

“Of course. I’m sure that Ironwood has suddenly developed an interest in me after all these years for reasons totally unrelated to his dear friend Ozpin.” Raven rolled her eyes.

“May I suggest that we cease these games and get to the reason for my visitation?”

“I’ll be turning down any offer from Oz, but feel free to state your case so you can tell your masters that you tried and your failure is all big bad Raven’s fault.”

Winter's eyes darted to her guide. “I’m afraid that I require more privacy than this if we are to continue.” She knew nothing of this girl, and the less people involved the better.

“Vernal stays. I get that professing your love to a beautiful woman can be intimidating in front of a crowd, but if you can’t handle a bit of pressure you’re not good enough for me.”

The girl, Vernal apparently, snickered as Winter frowned.

While this was vexing, her experience dealing with Qrow over the years had left her well prepared for such crass remarks. “This is about rather sensitive matters, and I must insist on privacy.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. So you’ve been trusted enough that they started to spoon feed you scraps of information then? Hmph. Anything you know, I know and then some, and Vernal does as well. She probably knows more than you do.”

Winter grit her teeth. “I highly doubt that she is aware of everything, and I see no need to involve-”

“What is it then?” Raven interrupted. “Salem? The Maidens? The Relics?”

Winter's eyes widened in surprise at how casual the woman was being about it all.

“Get over yourself,” Raven reprimanded her. “You’re not the first one to be let into the secret club, you won’t be the last, either. Spit it out already so we can be done with this and you can go back to living in ignorance.”

If Vernal already knew, then there was no point in dancing around it. “We wish for you to open the vault of the Spring Maiden.”

Raven didn’t react to those words, but Vernal tensed.

“...is that so?” Raven slowly drawled. “And what makes you think that someone in the camp is capable of such a thing?”

“Our information source is not something we’re willing to share at this time.”

“And why not? Clearly it’s not a very reliable one if you’re trying to open that vault in particular. Perhaps I should have the vault opened for myself so I can find out? I’m sure dear old Oz would love that, wouldn’t he? Although…”

Raven paused for a moment, a cruel grin stretching wide over her face. “...you’re not working for Oz at all, are you?”

How could she possibly have gleaned that from this short conversation? Winter hadn’t been that obvious, had she?

“You can relax,” Raven continued. “I’m not exactly the poster child for playing nice with Oz, now am I? I can’t fault you for going behind the bastard’s back.”

Could this be a trick? A method of lulling her into a false sense of security, trying to get her to open up about her true intentions? She shouldn’t divulge anything she didn’t need to, not now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone. If you truly know Ozpin, and I do, it’s not hard to see that he isn’t behind this. He would never allow someone else the mere opportunity to use the questions. He would insist on being present for the Relic’s removal from the vault, and he wouldn’t entrust a job like this to one of Ironwood’s lackey’s. He’d send my idiot brother instead… or maybe team STRQs replacements…”

Winter wasn’t quite sure who Raven was referring to with that last remark, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “Why do you think that?”

“Because the only way that Oz can get people to trust him is to keep them in the dark,” she all but spat the words. “The Relic threatens that. First he refuses to tell you it exists. If you find out, then he tells you it can’t be accessed. Someone at the point you’ve reached… well, I’m not sure what sort of lies he’s cooking up right now, but I wonder…” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Oz’s house of cards isn’t far from crashing down, is it? He’ll stack them back up once it falls, but I imagine he’ll be pissed that he needs to start from scratch.”

Winter didn’t know how to respond to that. How much did Raven know compared to her? How much of what she was saying was true as opposed to her own musings fueled by her dislike of Ozpin? What was safe to talk about? She needed to convince her to open the vault, but what was truly necessary to reach that goal?

As Winter’s thoughts swam, Raven walked over to a low lying table, taking a seat on a cushion. “Vernal, fetch us some tea. I think the Schnee and I have some things to discuss.”