//------------------------------// // All My Gallant Stars (Rewritten) // Story: SAPR // by Scipio Smith //------------------------------// All My Gallant Stars Ozpin had returned to his office after leaving the vault, and now he sat, alone in that sparse and empty space, brooding upon his deeds as the gears of the clock ground inevitably overhead. He could not say that he did not deserve the anger that had been vented upon him. He couldn’t say that he had not deserved the fear in Miss Nikos’ eyes, or the hurt and betrayal in the eyes of Miss Shimmer. He deserved it all, and far worse besides. That Miss Nikos was willing to go along with the procedure, even knowing everything that she knew about the risks … it both gladdened his heart and saddened him in equal measure. It gladdened him, because the fact that she was willing to stand up, back straight, and do this thing that was so very dangerous, and so monstrous even in its conception was proof in his eyes that she was worthy to be the next Fall Maiden. It brought him some small measure of comfort to know that the next soul to bear the mantle would be composed in some part of Pyrrha Nikos and all her splendid virtues. It saddened him because in doing this, he was condemning the font of those same virtues; it saddened him because the thing that might have stopped all this and saved her was Pyrrha’s refusal to go along with it, and that refusal, she would not give, no matter how much he urged her to think carefully, to take time, to consider before she answered. Her answer would be the same at the week’s end as it was now. Because she was a good girl, a sacrificing girl, the kind of girl who would have been a splendid Maiden … because of that, she would give up her life so that another being could bear that honour. There was no proof that that was going to happen, it might yet be that Pyrrha Nikos would emerge intact and fully herself … but Ozpin doubted it. He would have to be a man of great optimism to believe that all would proceed for the best … and it had been a long time since he had last had that much hope. It had been a long time since he had any hope at all. He sat in his tower while the waves rose up and battered the walls of Vale, recruiting children to be his weapons and sending them out to fight and die, and the best he had ever hoped for was to hold the levees, keep things in stasis, perhaps see the gradual improvements in the world that his predecessors had set in motion through their work on faunus rights, but even that yielded only the expectation of minute changes for the better. And in the meantime, he bought time and paid for it with the blood of so many worthy young men and women, children whom he watched train and learn, live and in some cases love, grow into themselves within the walls of Beacon. He watched them become the best versions of themselves with the support of the faculty and of one another, and then when the best of them were at their best, he brought them into his circle, made them his agents, and sent them out to risk their lives against the power of Salem. He could not escape the feeling that he had become over these long ages the kind of man whom Ozma, that great hero, that warrior mage, that shining paragon of all things good, would have held in contempt. But he had not been Ozma for a very long time. The Ozmas of this age were the children he sent to their deaths. His fingers moved almost independently of his dark thoughts, bringing up Miss Nikos’ permanent record. Her picture, occupying the entire upper left hand quarter of the screen, stared out at him, her green eyes vivid and a faint smile upon her face. Around the image were the functional details of her time both at Beacon and at Sanctum before that: excellent grades, nothing but praise from all of her teachers, especially her sparring instructors, only a single incident of rule-breaking, and that being the battle at the docks against the White Fang and Roman Torchwick, which hardly seemed like something to hold against her. There had also been the foodfight of course, but he had made sure that didn’t make its way onto any of the records of the students involved. They had expected her to choose Haven, if she chose at all; she didn’t have to attend any of the four academies; to be honest, her skill was probably already on a higher level than the average qualified huntress, and she didn’t need to graduate to continue on the tournament circuit either. But, if she had decided to go and attend one of the four academies, they had expected — the whole world had expected — her to choose Haven. She was the champion of Mistral, after all: the Princess Without a Crown, the pride and glory of Mistral reborn. But she had chosen Beacon. That had been the first surprise. The second had come during the personal interviews that he conducted with every student before offering them a place. He had thought that a young woman of Miss Nikos’ skill at arms might be useful to him, but it wasn’t until she sat down in front of him in his office that he had begun to see her as the next Fall Maiden in waiting. “As honoured as I am that so illustrious a fighter as yourself wishes to attend my institution,” Ozpin began as he poured out a cup of cocoa. “Please, Professor,” Miss Nikos interrupted him. “A man of your stature and reputation has no need to be honoured by me, and no need to flatter me by pretending otherwise.” Ozpin sat down, and his eyebrows rose. “No, Miss Nikos?” “You are Professor Ozpin,” Miss Nikos said. “You saved Vale from the grimm, you were the youngest headmaster ever appointed to a school, you’ve done such incredible things for humanity. All I’ve done is win a few tournaments and get good grades in my combat school. Someone like you could never be honoured by someone like me, and to be honest, I would much rather you didn’t pretend that it was any other way.” Ozpin leaned back in his chair. “You don’t expect any special treatment on account of your celebrity status?” “I don’t want any special treatment,” Pyrrha replied, with a certain emphasis upon the word ‘want.’ “I just want to be treated like any other student.” “Even though you are not any other student?” Ozpin asked. He picked up his mug and took a sip of the scalding hot cocoa. “Tell me, Miss Nikos, why do you want to become a huntress? You would become far more famous and much wealthier if you stuck to participating in tournaments in Mistral.” “I don’t fight for wealth or fame, Professor,” Miss Nikos said. “Or at least, I don’t wish to do so anymore.” Ozpin leaned forward. “Then what do you fight for, Miss Nikos?” “For the world,” Miss Nikos said. “For humanity. For the four kingdoms and all who dwell in them. Professor, do you know what the name Nikos means in Old Mistrish?” “Victor of the people,” Ozpin said. “Exactly,” Miss Nikos said. “It comes from the days when my family were … emperors and princes; do you know that in the great Mistralian epics, a common epithet for kings is Shepherd of the People?” “I do, Miss Nikos.” “Surely, the victor of the people has an obligation to fight for the people?” Miss Nikos asked. “To stand at the forefront of the battle against their enemies, as my ancestors did of old. That’s what I want to do, that … that is the reason why I want to come here to Beacon.” That had been partly a lie, but as he had watched her, Ozpin had come to understand the other half of the reason why she had wanted to attend Beacon for all that her skills made attendance superfluous. But he did not begrudge her wanting to live a normal life and forge friendships that she hoped would last a lifetime, and she had never given him any reason to believe that she had not been genuine in the motive that she had revealed to him. As he had watched her, Miss Nikos had revealed herself to be so much more than just a skilled warrior, more than just another Qrow in the making. She was a true paragon, a font of virtues worthy of Maidenhood. She had all the nobility of her ancestors and little of their overweening pride and arrogance. In her gentle grace, she reminded him of the very first Fall Maiden, who had taught him to be thankful for the gifts that the world had bestowed upon him. Would that he could have been merely thankful for having been given Pyrrha Nikos, instead of having to ask her to hurl herself into the fires of her own destruction for him. So much would be lost if, as seemed so likely, she accepted his offer. And Ozpin was not thinking of an old Mistralian family wiped out or the rather pompous idea that such individuals carried the history of that ancient city with them in their blood; kind hearts were more than coronets, and simple faith than Mistralian blood, for all that Miss Nikos possessed all four of those. Ozpin’s fingers tapped upon the virtual keys, and Miss Nikos’ file — and with her faintly smiling face that seemed to mock and to torment him — disappeared, replaced by that of Ruby Rose. Unlike the faintly smiling Miss Nikos, Miss Rose looked like she was trying to look serious in her photograph, although she was not managing it particularly well: glee was tugging at the sides of her mouth, and she seemed hard put to resist it. He could still remember the day he had offered her early entry into Beacon as though it was yesterday. He could remember how Qrow and Tai had both urged against it — let her wait until she’s seventeen like everyone else; let her have two more years at combat school before getting thrown in at the deep end; she doesn’t have the grasp of the academics to skip two years without consequence — but he had ignored them both. The allure of a silver-eyed warrior had proved too great … and someone who could already show not only such skill but such courage when still so young was wasted at Signal. There was so much of her mother in her, though she had her father’s sense of humour too. It was partly for Summer’s sake that she was not his first choice, partly because she reminded him more of the first Summer in her nature, and partly because, however fair, it was Miss Nikos had impressed him more. But partly, it was because he didn’t wish to do this to Summer’s only child. He might wield her as a weapon, but this … did he not owe her more than that? And yet, he would do it if he had no other choice. And he would need no other choices because Ruby would not refuse him. He scowled, not at Ruby’s picture but at himself, at the knowledge of what he had to do and to what excellent people he had to do it to. Miss Nikos, Miss Rose … and Amber. Amber most of all. Uncle Ozpin! Uncle Ozpin! Did you bring me back a present?! When he thought back to the day they’d found her, the only survivor of the grimm attack that had destroyed her village, a baby shielded by her mother’s body and by the rubble of the church that had fallen in just the right way to cover her without crushing her; when they had pulled the debris away, and the sunlight through the shattered window had fallen directly on that squalling, shrieking child … it had seemed like a sign that the God of Light had not wholly forsaken him. She had been a miracle, sent to remind him at his lowest ebb that not all he did was in vain, that even if he could not save the world, he could at least save a life this day. He had broken down and wept, with Qrow and Summer and Merida and Glynda all watching him; he had wept for this poor miraculous child as he thanked all the powers of heaven for the deliverance of them both. He had known ever since that day that she was destined for something special, and he had suspected even then that that something might be Maidenhood; that was why, when Summer and Merida had both offered to take the girl and raise her as their own, he had taken Merida’s side. With his head, he had thought that perhaps Summer had the better argument — she was already raising one child with another on the way who would be as sisters to Amber; she knew what she was doing, unlike Merida, who was childless; she had Tai to help raise the girl, to be a father to her, while Merida was alone — but, quite apart from the fact that Merida would not give way to Summer upon the point, and the justice to her claim that Summer already had two daughters and could hardly begrudge Merida one of her own, quite apart from all of that … he had felt that, raised as the daughter of a Maiden, Amber might grow to possess a greater destiny than as one amongst the daughters of Summer Rose. And so, Merida had taken the child and raised her in a little cottage in the woods, with only a small village nearby in the way of neighbours, and even they rarely trespassed into the forest. They were — they had been — in many ways as isolated from civilisation and humanity as the Warrior in the Wood had been. It had been just the two of them, and Ozpin, who had been a visitor whenever time and duty allowed, an honorary uncle whose visits were always welcome. And in that capacity, he had watched Amber grow and blossom into a lovely young woman, kind and gentle, with the most beautiful singing voice. The way that she would run to him when she was young, shrieking his name in delight, were etched into his memory. Those pleasures which Salem had denied to him when she murdered his children — their children — out of spite to keep them from his hands, he had enjoyed, in some part, through Amber. And when Merida died, who should be in her thoughts but Amber, her own beloved daughter, the girl who had shared her life in ways no one else had for fifteen years past? Amber had become the Fall Maiden. She had become the Fall Maiden, and Ozpin had smiled at it because he could think of no one more worthy to bear the mantle. He recalled that she had wept when he took her away to Beacon, to be kept safe and to train in the use of her new magic. She wept at her going, and then she fled from Beacon, and then, while Qrow searched frantically for her … the creatures of Salem found her first. Ozpin found himself wondering what Amber’s life would have been like if he had sided with Summer that day, all those years ago. Perhaps Summer, with another child to look after, might not have gone on the mission that had claimed her life. Even if she had, Amber would have grown up with two strong, loving sisters. Amber might have felt overshadowed by those sisters and their prowess in combat, but other than that, she would have grown up an ordinary, happy — if Miss Rose and Miss Xiao Long were any indication — girl, unnoticed by anyone, in no danger at all. Instead, Ozpin had given her to Merida, and so, she had become the Fall Maiden, and so, he had condemned her to be hunted by a ferocious predator knowing neither pity nor remorse. And now, though Amber had not even seen the change of seventeen years, he would have to kill her because of that same mantle in order to keep it from the monster who had sought her death. He was beginning to wish — no, that was not true; he had often wished it before now, though less often since the last of the usurpers had been put down and the line of virtuous Maidens restored — that he had never granted his magic to the four sisters. They had thanked him for it, at the time, and he had told them that he ought to be thanking them for the way that they had restored his faith in humanity and its potential. They had been such sweet girls, all of them, and kind and generous besides; they had to have been to share their time and the blessings of their company with a recalcitrant old man who wanted nothing to do with the wider world beyond his walls. They had been so lovely, they … they had reminded him of the kind of girls he would have wished his own sweet babes to have grown into if they had been allowed to grow. And so, out of gratitude, he had bestowed upon them power that they might spread joy and hope throughout the world; he had forgotten that they had not needed power to bring both joy and hope and so much else to his door in the first place. But he had hoped … he had dared to dream that, together with himself, they might finally be able to fulfil his quest from the God of Light and bring mankind together in peace. Instead, the brutish instincts of men had corrupted the beautiful gift he had sought to bestow upon them, and he had been forced to watch as the spiritual descendants of those perfect girls had been hunted down for their power the way that animals were hunted for their pelts, as the power that he had given to those who so reminded him of his daughters fell into the hands of murderesses and tyrants, the very best of whom were nothing like he had imagined or desired the Maidens to become. And now, because of the system he had established, he was forced to send a girl worthy to be admired and respected to her ignominious demise in darkness beneath the earth. He would take it back, if he could. He would take back the whole system. But such a feat was beyond his power now, and had been ever since he had established it, casting the greatest part of his power upon the Maidens. How often the decisions that we make with the best of intentions are the ones that return to destroy us. The elevator door opened — which surprised Ozpin, as he thought he had made it clear that he did not wish to be disturbed — and Miss Shimmer walked into his office. She was carrying a rather large book beneath her arm, old and leatherbound by the looks of it. She moved with a mixture of diffidence and wariness, but she did not seem quite as angry with him as she had been when he left her. Ozpin doubted that she would have gotten over it quite so quickly. He didn’t ask her to leave. After what he had done to her, she had the right to stay, at least a little while. Rather, he turned off the screen on his desk and sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Miss Shimmer,” he said, “what an unexpected pleasure. And what can I do for you?” Sunset approached his desk, but did not sit down in the chair before it. She looked down at him, and took a deep breath. “You can give me a chance to save Amber, Professor.” Ozpin found himself sitting up straighter in his chair, completely involuntarily but irresistibly at the same time. Uncle Ozpin! Did you bring me back a present? Yes, my dear; I brought you salvation. His voice trembled a little in spite of his control over it. “I … I beg you, Miss Shimmer, for all that you have cause to hate me, I beg you, do not taunt me with false hope.” “I have many faults, Professor, but I hope I am not become so cruel,” Sunset said. “I’m serious. I think that I — that we — can save Amber and avoid the need to transfer her aura to Pyrrha.” Ozpin frowned. “Forgive me, Miss Shimmer, but knowing you as I do, how can I be sure that this is not simply a way to save Miss Nikos?” “It is a way to save Pyrrha, but you could at least hear me out before you assume that makes my idea worthless,” Sunset said, with an edge of sharpness entering her voice. She was right, of course; while he wouldn’t put it past Miss Shimmer to have put more thought into the saving Miss Nikos aspect of her plan than of the healing Amber, it was churlish of him to dismiss the possibility simply because of who was bringing it to him. And could he really dismiss out of hand any chance to save Amber? Any chance at all, no matter how slim. The moment those words had passed Sunset’s lips, there was a part of Ozpin, the part that still remembered what it had been like to oh so briefly be a father, that had wanted to leap to his feet with a loud cry of exultation and give Sunset everything she needed. But there was another part, the larger part, the part that had been a leader in a shadow war for so many generations, that recognised that he could do nothing that would jeopardise the chance of successfully passing on the Fall Mantle to Miss Nikos, or to one of the others if — unlikely, but nevertheless — she would not go through with it. He could not risk the Fall Maiden upon a desperate throw for double six, not even for Amber’s sake. But nor could he ignore the chance. He sighed. “You are quite right, Miss Shimmer, and chide me well. What is your plan?” Sunset raised her free hand, currently encased within a white silk bridal glove. “You know that my semblance allows me to enter the souls of those I touch?” “I do not think you’ve ever told me that, Miss Shimmer,” Ozpin observed mildly. “Congratulations on unlocking your semblance.” “It’s actually been a little while, but thanks anyway,” Sunset muttered. “The point is, I want to use my semblance to enter Amber’s soul, and once I’m in there, I think I can use my magic to tie-off the frayed edges of her aura and stabilise her condition. Then Jaune can use his semblance to amplify her existing aura until her strength returns. And then, if necessary, I can try and wake her up from where I am in her consciousness.” Ozpin’s face was neutral, but inside, he could not help but feel a little disappointed. Miss Shimmer offered him nothing but conjecture and a gamble. “And what makes you think you can accomplish these feats?” “Because there is a tradition of dreamwalking and lucid dreaming amongst my people, and lore around it,” Sunset said, “and the lore agrees that when you walk in dreams, you can do things that would be impossible even by Equestrian standards. I believe that the reason Amber’s aura cannot repair itself naturally is because of the means used to steal her magic; I believe that the method of the theft — some dark magic almost certainly — has left a residue that is continuing to attack Amber even now, but in her soul, I can purge her of that darkness, and even if that’s not enough, I’ll be able to do magic that is beyond me in this world to bring her back.” “Perhaps,” Ozpin said. “You have no proof of your theory, no proof that this can be done. You have never done it before, and to do it, you would have to remove Amber from the machine that is all that is keeping her alive.” “It’s not as though the machine is going to heal her ever,” Sunset said. She took a deep breath and calmed her voice. “Forgive me, but I believe that by keeping Amber’s core temperature low enough, we can replicate at least some of the functions of the stasis pod and continue to keep her alive long enough for me to fix her. She will not die immediately if the pod is cracked open, Professor, there is time enough; I know there is.” Ozpin closed his eyes. Uncle Ozpin! Did you bring me back a present? I’m afraid not, for it was only fool’s gold after all. “I would give almost anything to see Amber safe and sound again,” he said. “Then—” Sunset began. “But what you propose is too risky,” Ozpin said. “If Amber dies while under your care, then all of the Fall Maiden’s powers will pass to Cinder Fall.” “Yes,” Sunset admitted. “But … Professor, in its best outcome, your plan will certainly kill either Pyrrha or Amber, and possibly both. My plan at its best will save them both. I’m asking you to have the … the decency to let me try before you put my friend into that machine and turn it on.” “I cannot act on optimism,” Ozpin said. “I must think of the larger picture of this war.” “Then don’t call it optimism; call it faith,” Sunset said. She looked down at the book in her hands and slammed it down onto Ozpin’s desk. She opened it up to a blank page, took a pen out of her pocket, and scribbled something onto it. She slid the book over to Ozpin’s side of the desk. “If you won’t listen to me,” Sunset said, “then please, listen to someone much wiser than I am before you dismiss me in favour of your … your terrible idea.” Intrigued despite himself, Ozpin pulled the heavy book a little closer towards him. Princess Celestia, the time has come. Ozpin was about to ask what that meant, or what it was supposed to signify to him, when to his somewhat amazement, he saw writing spring without visible source onto the page beneath the words that Miss Shimmer had written. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Professor Ozpin of Beacon Academy? Ozpin’s eyebrows rose. He glanced up at Miss Shimmer. Sunset smiled faintly. “That book is connected by magic to another identical book in Equestria. The person writing on the other side is Princess Celestia, Equestria’s ruler and my teacher. It was she who gave me the idea that we don’t always have to choose between the world and the people we hold dear. Sometimes, we can have both, and do good for strangers too. Please, write back to her. You have my word; I won’t read a single thing that passes between you.” Ozpin considered it. He could refuse. Perhaps it would be easiest to do so, but then what? Send Miss Shimmer away and resume his brooding? It might be good to unburden himself to someone who would not judge him for it and whose judgement made no difference either way in any case. And perhaps, just perhaps, a ruler might even understand. He picked up a pen of his own. “I simply write?” Sunset nodded. “You just write and wait for a reply. I’ll … give you some space.” She turned away and walked to one of the windows overlooking the docking platforms. Ozpin looked at her for a moment, her back to him and to her book, and then he looked down at the words written on the page before him. He gripped his pen in his hands. I am Professor Ozpin, as I am given to understand that you are Princess Celestia. Is it Your Majesty or Your Highness? Please, I am resigned to obsequious formality from my little ponies however much I may detest it, but you are certainly no subject of mine. Celestia will do. I would like to start by saying thank you, for taking such good care of my little sunbeam. Ozpin could not help but stare at that a moment before he replied. May I ask what you think Miss Shimmer has been doing here that you believe I have been taking good care of her? I am aware of what Sunset is training to become, what it seems she already is, for you seem to blur the lines between training and practice somewhat, and I will not deny that there are times when my heart beats harder with concern for her in a world as violent as yours. But though our conversations are nowhere near as frequent as I should like, I have nevertheless noticed, and Twilight has noticed the same, Sunset growing into a fine young mare, the kind of mare I always hoped she would become but could not make of her. I think you are owed thanks for that, Professor. You will not bear ceremony as a princess regnant, but you will stand on it before a mere headmaster? I know enough to know that you are more than just a mere headmaster, Professor, and I am of the opinion that there is nothing mere about being a headmaster, but even were those things not so, should I not show a little respect towards my daughter’s teacher? Thank you for teaching her, and raising her, and helping her to become that which I always knew that she could be. Ozpin stared down at the words written on the page before him, and he … he found he could not help but smile abashedly. Miss Shimmer has certainly grown into a formidable young woman, but her friends deserve far more credit for the transformation than I do. Something makes me suspect that you arranged for her to find those excellent friends who now surround her. And what makes you suspect I am so devious? I have done as much in your position when I felt the student in question required it. Recently, in fact. I am sometimes a teacher myself, you know. Miss Shimmer mentioned that you were not only a princess but her teacher. I had assumed some kind of apprenticeship. Sunset was my personal student for a time, but beyond that, I am also the head teacher of a school of magic, where the brightest unicorns may study the arcane arts. Indeed? I am surprised you find the time while ruling a kingdom. Says he who finds time to run a school while also leading a war. Ozpin chuckled. Yes, it is miraculous what one can find time to do if one is willing to forego sleep, isn’t it? He felt as though he could feel Celestia’s amusement on the other side of the book. Indeed. I, for one, know that I will always find time for my school and my teaching. There are times when I consider vesting myself of crown and state and royal dignity, but I would never give up teaching my little unicorns, mentoring those special sparks and helping them fulfil their potential to shine bright across all the land. There is nothing quite like it, is there? Nothing in the whole world. I was the youngest person to ever be appointed a headmaster, as I am never allowed to forget, and I very much regret that my early promotion has left me so removed from the everyday lives of the majority of my students and gave me so little time to truly teach. What subject did you teach, if I may ask? I taught three subjects: History, Fairy Tales, and Grimm Studies. There was a pause. Please do not take it the wrong way, Professor, if I say that I feel sorry for you. I have the privilege of teaching my students how to unlock the wonders of the world; you must teach them to defend against its horrors. I do not resent you feeling sorry for me, Celestia; how can I, when I so often feel sorry for myself? Ozpin. I beg your pardon? No more Professor, please. As one teacher to another. Very well, Ozpin. Thank you, Celestia. He paused. I fear that, now I have your attention, I must chide you somewhat for the way you have misused this land of Remnant as your exiling grounds. Yes, well, I would say that the worst of that was done in the time of my own teacher, Starswirl the Bearded. In my time, I have tried to deal with our difficulties by ourselves and on our own soil. Forgive me just a moment; one such perennial problem has just entered the room and looks bored. The seconds ticked by before Celestia began to write again. Thank goodness Fluttershy was not far behind. As I was saying: I recognise that you have grounds to be upset with us, and so on his behalf and on behalf of Equestria, I offer you my most sincere apologies. I hope that our discarded troubles have not been too much trouble for you and yours. Compared with the troubles that we have brought upon ourselves, I’m sad to say that the troubles that Equestria has brought upon us are far from the worst. Knowing the nature of some of what we have banished through the portal, it makes me shudder to read that. Are things really so bad as Sunset has made them out to be? I fear it may be worse than she has conveyed to you. Or why else would I train generation after generation of students to battle an unending tide of darkness, sending them forth to gleam so brightly, like stars against the night that is constantly threatening to engulf us, until one by one the darkness snuffs them out, one way or the other? Has this war raged for all your life? This war was old when I was young and yet will be young when I am gone. There was a pause on the other side of the journal. Ozpin, I trust you have your reasons for deceiving Sunset and her friends, but surely, you have no need to lie to me. What harm can I do you with the truth? Ozpin’s eyebrows rose. I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you mean. I mean that, as one immortal — or close enough, at any road — to another, your secret is safe with me. For a moment, Ozpin did nothing but stare down at the words that had picked their way across the page before him. He could have done nothing else even if he’d wanted to. How did you know? It takes one to know one. You write with the sadness of one who has seen more than a mortal’s life of sadness. You write in a way that I can recognise. That said, I wasn’t sure until you confirmed it; had I been wrong I would have looked rather foolish, wouldn’t I? As it is, you look very wise indeed, and quite perceptive; only the very closest of my confederates know that about me. I am cursed by the gods never to find peace until I have completed my quest to vanquish Salem; I begin to think that I will never find peace. I simply endure. Walking a long and lonely road, joined at times by fellow travellers and noble companions, but only for the briefest of moments when compared with the span of the road down which you walk, how far you have gone, and how far you have yet to go. You understand perfectly. How can I not, when I have lived it? In my youth, my sister Luna served as the companion of my labours; now, thank goodness, she is able to be so again. But for a thousand years in between, when she lay banished, I was all alone. I have always been alone, and so I envy you to have even a sister to share your burden and your experience. And I am sorry that that is a comfort denied to you. And yet to speak true, we have never truly been alone, have we? Have you always been a teacher? No, that is quite recent. But before then, I was often a mentor, although I often coupled that role with another mask. As we both couple teaching with another role. But, and I say this as one who is both, being a mentor to one and being a teacher to a class or a school are not so very different save in scale. It is a role that blesses and curses us in equal measure. It is our tragedy that we must raise and train these remarkable young people, kind and brave, blessed with rare talents and more blessed besides with rarer virtues; I have never had any children, and yet, at the same time, I have had so many, far more than any mother in Equestria ever brought into the world. Ozpin smiled. I had children of my own once, a very long time ago now, and yet, I understand your meaning perfectly. So many wonderful students and protégés have touched my heart. Ruby’s mother, Summer Rose; Ruby herself now, and Pyrrha too; Amber; Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall; so many of them, I could fill up this book with their names. So many, and all of them gone now, or almost all. Only the latest generation remains, and in a blink of my eye, they will be gone too. I will send them out, as I sent all the rest, to gleam so brightly for a moment and then, nothing. All my gallant stars snuffed out by Salem or by time. And yet, do they not shimmer and sparkle so wondrously in the time that is given to them? When they shine, does their light not touch the very corners of the world, and are we not blessed to share in that light, however brief? Yes, it is our tragedy that we must lose all whom we love, but it is our glory that we can know and love them in the first place. I will never forget a single one of my beloved students, nor would I cast those memories aside merely to assuage the pain of having lost them all. Some went out into the world and found their happiness there; some lost their way — I think we both know the taste of that quite well. Indeed. It is a bitter draught, but one that it seems very difficult to avoid ahead of time. I have drank of it, and I have no doubt that I will drink of it again. It is the taste of our failure, is it not? It is, every time. I am glad to say that some whom I failed, Sunset being one, find their way by other paths to a place in the world they can call home. Others are not so fortunate. Some, I have been forced to call my enemies. And some have traced their courses across the sky and left the world a better and a brighter place than they found it. Yet I have loved them all. Even those who became your enemies? The sting of betrayal is deep and painful, but it would need to be deeper still by far to poison all the love that had gone before, would it not? To any other, I would be ashamed to confess it, but I agree with you. I am glad to see we are of one mind in this. It gives me hope that you will understand when I say that I fear you have forgotten one of the most important principles of being a mentor. And what is that? That there comes a time when we must accept that we are not only the teachers, but have in some degree become the students also. You refer to Miss Shimmer’s plan. It is an immense risk she asks of me. Is any risk too great to run to save, or even try to save, those students whom we love so well? Miss Shimmer places all her hopes in hope itself. It has been a long time since I had so much hope to wager. That is one area where we must be the students, not the teachers. We are old, and having lived a long time, we have acquired some wisdom and much knowledge, but we err if we confuse our faults with our wisdom, if we confuse our aged weariness and caution with our hard-won wisdom, if we confuse our lack of youthful confidence with greater knowledge instead of greater years. It is our part, and for my part it is the most rewarding part of my life, to guide these young souls on their way to the fulfilment of their destinies, but there are also times when we despair and the flames of our will gutter low and the bitter watches of the night threaten to freeze our hearts with fear when we must be guided by them in our turn. They are stars, just as you named them: so many stars so bright and beautiful. Yes, they burn all, all too briefly, but do they not light up the sky most beautifully before they go out? And will their light, shining and shimmering and sparkling, not serve to guide us homeward to salvation in the meantime? You say you have no hope; Ozpin, there is no better source of hope in hopeless hours than to look at your students and realise that the world is safe with them. Trust them and let their light redeem your errors. Ozpin closed his eyes. Ruby, Pyrrha … and Amber too? Remnant was blessed with them, and would be more blessed if the third name were joined with the other two. If Pyrrha were not forced to sacrifice herself for the sake of the Fall Maiden, but instead were joined with her as a guard and a companion in the inevitable battle … with Ruby and Pyrrha by Amber’s side, would Cinder not fall for certain? Would such a second battle not redeem his mistake in letting the first battle be fought at all? Be guided by their stars, Celestia urged him, not to snuff one out. Sunset offered him a chance to reignite Amber’s star. Could he ignore that simply because he was afraid? You have convinced me, as I think only you could. If it please you, might we talk again another time? I would like that very much. I will discuss with Sunset and see if there is not a way that we might produce another book, for you and I to use exclusively. That would be much more convenient, wouldn’t it? Thank you. If Miss Shimmer’s plan works, my gratitude will be boundless. It will be Sunset who deserves the gratitude, not I. Until next time, Ozpin. I will look forward to it, Celestia. Ozpin put down his pen. “Miss Shimmer?” Sunset turned around, an expectant look upon her face. “Professor?” “Save her,” Ozpin said. Sunset straightened her back. “Yes, Professor.” Uncle Ozpin! Did you bring me back a present? Yes, my dear, I brought you a chance.