SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Breakdown (New)

Breakdown

Sunset’s jaw ached. It was all she could do not to keep her tongue feeling at the gap between her teeth where Bon Bon had knocked one of her molars out. It only made the pain worse every time she got near it.

Not that it didn’t hurt plenty all the other times, mind you. It hurt continuously, as did the jaw itself. They both hurt, and what was more, they both seemed to take a glee in hurting alternately; one would throb and then the other, with the outcome that she did not get a moment’s peace between the two of them. Just pain. Unceasing pain.

So, kind of what she was feeling emotionally then.

Still, she couldn’t say that she didn’t deserve it. She really couldn’t say she didn’t deserve it. What Bon Bon had done … it was the least that she was owed, for what she’d done to Sky.

For what she’d done to Sky… well, if Bon Bon had kept going until Sunset’s head was a paste on the ground, then no one in their right mind would blame her.

Not if they knew the truth, anyway.

Sky had belonged to Bon Bon, just as Pyrrha and Ruby and Jaune belonged to Sunset; if Sunset had any right at all to do what she had done, then Bon Bon surely had a right to murder Sunset with her own two hands. That was … just. That would have made things square. It would have been in the spirit of heroism. It was something that would have made the princes of The Mistraliad nod in appreciation.

Albeit, it would have made Princess Celestia blench in horror to hear Sunset say anything thus. Ponies didn’t think like that.

Ponies didn’t do things like Sunset had done.

Except that they do, of course, don’t they, Princess Twilight? They’re just lucky enough to get away with it all working out.

Sunset closed her eyes and swayed in place until she was leaning against the wall of the corridor. Somehow, her legs didn’t quite feel like supporting her at the moment.

They would have to start soon; she couldn’t stay here like this all day.

She had… well, she didn’t have anything to do right now, but she might. That was why it was, on balance, quite a good thing that Bon Bon hadn’t killed her; she might be needed to—

—to die at Councillor Emerald’s command if he came up with an assignment for her.

How am I going to explain that?

It was too much to hope that she would be able to get away with not explaining it. Unless the missions she was given all took place in downtown Vale — unlikely, to say the least — then her friends would notice that she was disappearing.

They aren’t the only ones. I wonder what Professor Ozpin will say?

He’ll say ‘good riddance’ and be as glad to see me in the ground as Councillor Emerald. He’ll find Pyrrha a more pliable team leader, no doubt.

The thought put a frown on her face. She had not … or perhaps it was better to say that she had avoided thinking about it that way, but…

She had promised Yang she wouldn’t run. She had promised Yang that she would be better than that, better than Yang’s mother.

She had promised herself that she wouldn’t run, not again; she would stick this out, for good or ill, she would stick by her friends, she would be there when they needed her, she wouldn’t run.

But what had she agreed to do but run from pillar to post at Councillor Emerald’s command?

I’m doing this to atone for my sins.

I’m doing this to make myself feel better.

I’m doing this because it’s what I deserve.

I’m doing this because it’s what I…

If she did not come back, as Councillor Emerald intended, then … well, it might be said that she had not technically run away; it might be said that she had died doing something noble, but how many times had Sunset argued with Ruby about that? Just because you died doing something noble didn’t make you any less dead, or those left behind any less bereft. Just because her intentions might have more in common with Summer Rose than Raven didn’t make much difference to the outcome.

More importantly, they would not only be bereft but weakened. If it had only been the first, then … well, it would have been rather self-pitying to go on about how sad people would be if she were dead when Bon Bon had just shown her how sad she was that Sky was dead thanks to Sunset’s actions.

Miranda had been pretty broken up as well.

Sunset flinched, and as she began to walk forward once again, she ran one hand through her fiery hair. That was … her thoughts were a whirling whirligig right now; they came and went without order or design. Her head felt as light as a feather, and not just because she’d just been knocked around.

Where … oh, yes, the team weakened. She’d promised that she wouldn’t run because she wanted to protect them, but who would protect them if she died? Pyrrha would protect Ruby and Jaune, or do her best to do so, but who would protect Pyrrha? It wasn’t even as though they could get Blake to make up the numbers, since it seemed more and more likely that she would choose Atlas in the end.

Yang. Yang can be the leader of my team — call it Team … Team … Team YARN. Yes, Yang can be the leader for Pyrrha, Jaune, and Ruby; Nora can fill Sky’s spot on Team … whatever, and Ren … well, who cares about Ren, anyway?

No, no, that was … that was kind of mad. Nora cared about Ren, for a start.

Still, it was a worry. She worried about what would happen to them without her.

Arrogance.

Maybe. Maybe the last arrogance which I am allowed.

Sunset flinched and winced at the pain in her mouth as she made her way back to the SAPR dorm room.

She used her scroll to open the door and stepped inside. Pyrrha was sitting in the window seat, the sunlight coming in from without gleaming off her gilded armour, her cuisses and the strip down the centre of her corset, the circlet on her brow. The teal drops hanging from the golden chairs that looped down from her circlet seemed to sparkle, and the sunshine illuminated her scarlet hair brilliantly.

The light shone down upon her and made it seem as though she gave light, as though the light would disappear and they would have day regardless.

Pyrrha had a book in her hands; it was resting gently upon her lap, casting the slightest hint of a shadow over her sash and cuisses, but as Sunset walked in, she was looking out of the window, with that slight melancholy in her expression that seemed to gather about her like a fine mist, nigh invisible but present nonetheless.

As Sunset shut the door, Pyrrha’s head turned towards her. Her green eyes widened in shock as a gasp escaped her lips.

“Sunset!” she cried. “What … what happened to your face?”

Sunset winced. “Is it that noticeable?”

“'Noticeable'?” Pyrrha repeated. “It looks terrible! What happened? What happened to your aura?”

Sunset rubbed her jaw with one hand. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Pyrrha set her book aside. “I see,” she said, her voice stiff and rather brittle-sounding. “Well, if you’d rather not talk about it, that is … rather irrelevant, considering that, as I see it, you have only two choices: you can tell me what happened, and I can help you cover up the worst of how it looks with some of my makeup, or you can explain to Ruby when she and Jaune get back. Which will it be?”

“That is…” Sunset trailed off. “Where are Jaune and Ruby anyway?”

“They’ve gone into Vale,” Pyrrha explained. “Jaune is going to cook dinner for us tonight. Something special to cheer us up. He and Ruby have gone to get everything.”

“They didn’t invite you to go with them?”

Pyrrha smiled slightly. “Jaune said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

Sunset smiled too, for all that it made her mouth hurt. “You know, I wasn’t too sure about him when you first told me how you felt, but he’s a real keeper, isn’t he?”

“I think so,” Pyrrha said. The smile died on her face, and her gaze sharpened. “I also think you’re trying to change the subject.”

Sunset groaned, and sounded probably more put out than she had intended as the pain mingled with her frustration in the midst of that same groan. “Bon Bon … Bon Bon was down by the memorial. Again.”

“And?” Pyrrha asked.

“And … she was upset,” Sunset said softly.

Pyrrha blinked. “She was … Bon Bon did this to you?”

Sunset let out a sigh. “Yes.”

Pyrrha got up from the window seat. “Excuse me,” she said as she walked towards the door.

“No!” Sunset said, her voice rising; she threw out her hands as she put herself between Pyrrha and the door. “You can’t just… do you really think that Bon Bon could beat me up if I didn’t allow it?”

Pyrrha stared down at her. “You … you lowered your own aura? Sunset, why in Remnant would you—?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters; of course it matters!” Pyrrha cried. “It matters because … because you’re my friend. Because you’re my best friend. Because I know that if I had come in here with a face like that, you wouldn’t just let it go because I asked you to. Because I know … I tried to talk to you about this—”

“I took what you said to heart.”

“Really?” Pyrrha demanded. “Did you really?”

Sunset frowned slightly. “Bon Bon has a right to her anger.”

“Does she?” Pyrrha asked. “Why? What have you … it doesn’t matter. This isn’t about Bon Bon; this is about you. And it’s about me and the fact that I’ve seen you falling to pieces, and I’ve ignored it, and it stops now. I’m so sorry, Sunset.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“How many of the things you meddle in are your fault?” Pyrrha asked.

Sunset snorted; it was less painful than chuckling. “So you admit that you’re meddling.”

“I’m being your friend,” Pyrrha insisted. “Sunset … what’s gotten into you? I know that the mission was tough, it was tough on all of us, but you… I don’t understand.”

“No,” Sunset said. “You don’t. And I don’t … I can’t explain it.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“No, I can’t explain it. I can’t tell you.”

Pyrrha shook her head, if only by degrees. “Sunset, you’re not making any sense.”

“I know,” Sunset admitted, “but you have to … you have to trust me, Pyrrha.”

“Trust you?” Pyrrha repeated incredulously. “Trust you while you let yourself get beaten on by Bon Bon, trust you while you shamble around Beacon like a ghost, trust you while your words are sad and solemn—”

“That’s not fair; your words are plenty sad and solemn themselves!” Sunset exclaimed.

“But yours are not, not like this,” Pyrrha declared. “Sunset … it’s like a part of you died under Mountain Glenn. You are not yourself. I could trust you. I could trust my friend, my team leader, but you… I’m not sure if that’s who you are anymore.”

“Pyrrha,” Sunset whispered. “I … I’m still me.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong?” Pyrrha asked, in a voice that was just as soft.

Sunset looked at her, at her eyes so green, her face so fair, her hair of so brilliant a colour. She could not say. She could not confess her darkness to the sun. She could not. She dared not.

Even if it cost her her friend — her best friend, as Pyrrha had said — to keep silent; still, it was better than losing a friend because Pyrrha had found out what she had done and what she was.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and teleported away.

There was a crack and a flash of green light, and Sunset rematerialised upon the cliffs overlooking the Emerald Forest.

The green trees stretched out for miles below her, concealing the grimm that lurked within.

For miles below. Below. So very far below.

Sunset was hit with a sudden vertiginous feeling, a dizzy spell that made her head spin, that made her whole body wobble as she lost the ability to balance properly. She backed away from the cliffside hastily before she fell. What had she done? What had she just done?

She’d run away after swearing not to. She’d run away from Pyrrha. She’d run away; she’d lost Pyrrha.

What was she going to do now? Keep running? Hide? Wait until Jaune and Ruby got back, slink in, and hope that Pyrrha didn’t make a scene?

How was she supposed to fix this? How was she supposed to make this better?

You can’t, you can’t make any of this better, you’ve ruined everything!

Sunset doubled up as a sudden cramp assailed her stomach, biting her gut, gripping her so tight that she physically couldn’t stand upright without intense pain like when Adam had stabbed her. It was exactly like Adam stabbing her; it was coming from the same place, the pain shooting out from the scar on her stomach, because it wasn’t bad enough that her face and jaw were killing her apparently.

Sunset doubled up, clutching her belly with both harms.

Pyrrha was right; she was falling apart. Everything was falling apart. And she had no idea how she was supposed to fix it.

She didn’t even know if she could.

And then her scroll rang.

She honestly considered not answering it. It probably wasn’t important. Very little seemed important right now. But some vestige or veneer of courtesy made her pull the scroll out of her jacket pocket and open it up.

It was a number, not one of her contacts. A number that felt familiar to her in the back of her mind, but which she couldn’t place.

If it had simply been an unfamiliar number, then she would not have answered it, not as she was feeling now, but because she felt that it was not actually as unfamiliar as it seemed at first glance, Sunset pressed the green button to take the call, and even tried to straighten up despite the pain in her stomach.

“Hello,” she groaned. Her mouth still hurt too, and it hurt more when she talked.

“Hello, Sunset,” Cinder said. Her face appeared on the screen, and her smooth, lugubrious voice fairly oozed out of the scroll.

Sunset’s jaw worked silently, though not — alas! — free from pain. She scarcely knew how to respond. She was amazed and astonished at the effrontery of it, effrontery which seemed enormous to her for all that — no, no Cinder could not fail to be aware of it too; she knew what she’d done. She knew exactly what she’d done! And yet, here she was, calling her up with that ‘hello Sunset’!

“‘Hello Sunset’?” She repeated. “‘Hello Sunset’? What do you mean ‘Hello Sunset’?!”

“There’s no need to be like that, I’m sure,” Cinder muttered. “Are you feeling alright?”

Sunset growled wordlessly through her teeth. “What do you want?” she snarled.

“Well, I had nothing better to do,” Cinder answered, with a casual shrug. “So I thought I’d call you and see how you were getting on.”

“Oh, I see,” Sunset replied. “You had nothing else to do, so you thought that you’d just call me up? Just call me and see how I was doing? Of course you did. HOW DO YOU THINK I’M DOING, YOU—?” Sunset cut herself off before she said something undignified. “How … how dare you? How dare you? After what you’ve done—”

“What have I done?” Cinder asked calmly.

Sunset let out a little involuntary gasp. “What have … you know what you did!”

“I know what I have done,” Cinder acknowledged. “I don’t particularly see why it should vex you.”

“Six people are dead!” Sunset cried. “Six people are dead because of you.”

“You pressed that detonator,” Cinder pointed out. “Not me.”

Sunset closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Yes,” she whispered, a whisper that was ragged and trembling, a whisper that was almost a sob. “Yes, I did. I did that, and now…”

Her breathing was as ragged as her voice. “Now, I…”

Perhaps she shouldn’t confess her weakness to Cinder, perhaps she shouldn’t confess her pain, perhaps she shouldn’t admit that she was crumbling, but why not? What harm was it going to do? If Cinder felt good about what she’d done, she would be about the only person who had gotten something out of this whole miserable debacle.

“I can’t sleep,” she said. “I can’t sleep for thinking about them. They haunt me by night, and by day, they press upon my shoulders, and I cannot … I cannot bear the weight.”

She opened her eyes to glare at Cinder. “Is this what you wanted? Is this why you did it? Was that what this was all about? You must have known that neither your grimm nor your White Fang could beat the Atlesians, so was it all just to make me feel this way?”

Cinder’s mouth was slightly open. Her amber eyes were a little wider than they had been before. “It was never my intent to hurt you, Sunset,” she declared.

Sunset laughed bitterly, despite the pain. “Didn’t you?” she asked. “Didn’t you?” she demanded, louder this time. “Then what was your ‘intent’ by it? You made me complicit in your crimes!”

“Oh, don’t be a scold, Sunset,” Cinder said. “Moralising is very tedious.”

“Six people are dead!”

“And?” Cinder asked. She smirked. “What were their names, that your heart so bleeds for them?”

“Sky Lark,” Sunset declared. “Pearl… Pearl… Pearl, Pearl, Pearl, Pearl…” Pearl, Miranda’s friend, what was her last name? Pearl who, Pearl what, what was her name? She was uncomfortably aware of Cinder’s smirk getting wider by the moment. “One was a waitress, one was a housewife, one was a carpenter, one was a clown, one was a butcher. Pearl was also a student, a literature student alongside Miranda, do you remember Miranda, Miranda Wells?”

Cinder’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “From the ice cream parlour, yes?”

“Yes, where we went, Jaune’s friend,” Sunset said. “She almost died herself, she was terrified, do you not care about that?”

Cinder was silent. “Is she dead?”

“No, but—”

“Then what are you complaining about?” Cinder demanded.

“Because what we did, it … it was wrong!” Sunset insisted.

“Why?” Cinder pressed. “Let us leave aside my part in this, and concede — merely for the sake of argument — that it is, indeed, wrong, as tiresome as that word is, for me to seek to deal out death and destruction. That was not your motive. You acted only to protect those whom you call your friends. Why is it wrong, then, to put the lives of those who are dear to you above anonymous strangers? Why should you love the man you’ve never met as much as your nearest and dearest? I don’t like Pyrrha, as you well know, but tell me why it is wrong that you should esteem her life worth more than that of a housewife whose name you cannot even remember; not for old Mistralian blood, not for the crown your princess is without, not for her mother or her potential or anything else by which you might qualitatively judge a life on, we leave all that behind, let us be egalitarians for the sake of this argument, yet tell me: why is it wrong for you to esteem her life worth more than any life in Vale for no other reason than because you love her?”

Sunset blinked rapidly. She shook her head. She took a step back as though she could get away from Cinder that way. “Cinder, that … that’s terrible—”

“Then explain why it is so,” Cinder demanded. “Articulate it, if you can.”

Sunset licked her lips. She swallowed, and the act of swallowing felt sharp against her dry, parched-feeling throat. “I…”

“Is not the alternative cold, heartless?” Cinder asked. “If we are to throw around the word ‘wrong,’ then does it not feel wrong to turn aside from the counsel of the heart and reject all human feelings? If you care not for care, if you make judgements based on pure numbers and the needs of the many and all the other rot and nonsense, then how are you better than a robot making calculations? I ask again, why is it wrong to esteem those dearest to you dearer than the rest?”

“Because … because I am a huntress?” Sunset suggested. “Because I … because I have pledged my life and sacred honour—”

“'Pledged my life and sacred honour,'” Cinder repeated mockingly. “Oh, please. Pyrrha could make those words sound stirring. Ruby could imbue them with conviction in spite of that squeaky voice of hers; from you, it sounds like amateur dramatics; you’re speaking words, but you can’t make them sound believable because you don’t understand them.”

“Yet better people than I tell me it is so!” Sunset cried. She wiped at her eyes. “Ruby would have made a different choice.”

“Ruby’s heart is hard as frozen rock.”

“Yet it is a heart heroic nevertheless,” Sunset insisted, her voice trembling. “She would have … Ruby would have—”

“Condemned you to death without a second thought,” Cinder said.

Sunset winced. “If they found out what I had done, they’d hate me,” she whispered. “They’d call me monster.”

Cinder leaned forward, her face filling up more of the screen. “Then damn them,” she said. “They don’t deserve you, Sunset.”

Sunset shook her head more vigorously now. “You’re wrong.”

“Why waste your time on people who do not understand, will never be able to understand—”

“You’re wrong.”

“You belong with me; none of them will ever comprehend what is in your heart the way that I—”

“I said YOU’RE WRONG!” Sunset bellowed down into the scroll. Her whole body shook with a mixture of fright and rage and incredulity. Her ears were pressed down into her hair. Her tail quivered behind her. “You … you want me to come to you? To join with you, after what you’ve done? After what you’ve done to me. You … you made me this. You made me a monster. You...” Sunset’s face twisted into a snarl. “You made me you.”

Cinder’s eyes widened. She spoke softly. “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.”

“No?” Sunset demanded. “And why not? I wish that I had never met you!”

“I know you don’t mean that either.”

“I was fine before I met you!” Sunset yelled. “I was doing great. I had great friends, I was respected, I was turning my life around, I was on my way! I was on my way to greatness! And you … you—”

“I saved your life!” Cinder snapped. “If I had wanted you dead, then you’d be a pile of bones under Mountain Glenn by now!”

“You spared my life but took my pride, my dreams, my honour,” Sunset shouted. “I am nothing now: threads and patches unravelling slowly, scratched bones shambling about. If you had killed me under Mountain Glenn, then at least I would have died as Sunset Shimmer, whose light shone brightly and most glorious until the end. Instead, I … your mercy spared my life, but stole my soul. And I will not forgive you for it.”

Cinder was silent for a moment. Even when she spoke again her voice was quiet, “That was not my intent.”

“I never,” Sunset snarled, “want to see you or speak to you again. I hate you!”

“Sunset, I—”

“Goodbye, Cinder,” Sunset, and hung up. The screen went black, the device went silent. There was no sound but the wind around her, blowing over the cliffs.

“Some might look with suspicion upon your receiving calls from an enemy,” Professor Ozpin observed casually. He chuckled. “Though perhaps not if they had heard you shouting.”

Sunset froze. Her tail went rigid. The scroll dropped from her trembling hand. Her ears pricked up straight.

She looked over her shoulder, her movements slow and sluggish, as if Professor Ozpin would only become real if she saw him and so she was putting off the act of seeing him because she did not want to conjure him into existence.

But he was there, and she did see him, with his Beacon mug in one hand and his stick in the other, the tip resting lightly upon the grass as he looked at her, his face calm and his expression inscrutable.

Sunset breathed in and out. “How much did you overhear, Professor?”

“Not a great deal,” Professor Ozpin replied. “Mainly the volume.”

Sunset turned to face him. “What … what are you doing out here?”

“Like you, I find the cliffs a very calming place to walk,” Professor Ozpin explained. “Outside of Initiation, they are somewhat lonely. A good place to get away from it all.” He raised his mug to his lips.

Sunset bared her teeth in a snarl. He stood there, speaking so casually, drinking his hot chocolate or whatever was in there? He stood there, speaking to her, in such a manner after what he’d done? After what he’d done to Sunset, after what he’d done to her friends, after what he’d done to Ruby’s mother? How… how dare he?

Sunset’s hand glowed green as she raised it, seizing the mug in the emerald embrace of her telekinesis, ripping it out of Ozpin’s hand and throwing it over the cliff. The magic ceased to glow around it as it soared out over the Emerald Forest, beginning its final descent down to the forest floor below.

Professor Ozpin glanced down at his empty hand. “Fortunately for both of us, that was just an ordinary Beacon Academy mug,” he observed. “The kind that is available for a very modest price at the souvenir shop. And, as I have spares, even that slight expense will not be necessary.”

Sunset growled wordlessly and stretched out her hand towards his staff. Maybe he’d feel differently if she snapped that in two on her knee?

Professor Ozpin’s grip upon the stick tightened, and more importantly, he infused the cane with his aura. Her magic could get no purchase upon it; it was like trying to grip something that had been greased; her telekinesis slipped and slid but could not grab on.

“I’m sorry,” Professor Ozpin said gently. “That was a poor attempt at humour on my part. Evidently, it was not appropriate.”

“Why?” Sunset demanded.

Professor Ozpin did not reply immediately. “I was hoping to defuse the situation,” he said.

Sunset shook her head. “You know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean. Why? That’s what everyone asks me: Councillor Aris, Councillor Emerald—”

“Yes, Councillor Emerald has posed me that particular question also.”

“Then what’s the answer?” Sunset demanded. “Why? Why us?”

Professor Ozpin did not meet her eyes. “Three of you are uniquely talented,” he murmured.

“Something can hardly be unique if it is shared between three,” Sunset replied reflexively.

Professor Ozpin chuckled softly. “Nevertheless, you are, collectively, a very talented group of students.”

“But still just students!” Sunset snarled. “Still students, still first year students! You couldn’t have borrowed some of General Ironwood’s forces? You don’t have any actual huntsmen that you could call on?”

“Without meaning to disparage the quality of an education at Beacon,” Professor Ozpin said, “the fact is that you and Miss Nikos are, in your own ways, as strong and skilled as many a graduated and qualified huntress.”

Sunset let out a bitter, incredulous laugh. “Without meaning to … then what’s the point? What are we even doing here? Why don’t you just make huntsman licenses the prize in the Initiation? We all have to make your way to a ruined temple, and at the end of the day, ‘congratulations! You’re a huntsman!’” She flung her arms up and out.

“As I told you, Miss Shimmer, this school does not exist to teach you how to fight, but how—”

“How to be a hero, I remember,” Sunset cut him off. “But it seems to me that you didn’t so much teach as just expect it, in the end.”

“Miss Shimmer—”

“We’re students, Professor!” Sunset cried. “We are first year students; we’re just kids!”

“You chose to be a part of this,” Professor Ozpin reminded her.

Sunset let out a sort of giggling sound, which probably sounded a little deranged. “You … is that what you mean to hide behind, Professor? That we chose this? That this was our choice, and so, it does not lie upon your head? Is that how you slough off the weight? Is that how you sleep at night?”

She shook her head. “You invited us in, you privilege us with your confidence, you take one girl with a martyr complex and another who’s been brought up to think she’s the world’s salvation, and you tell them that you need their help to protect the world from destruction, what do you think the answer will be? Look at me!”

Professor Ozpin did not look at her. His head was bowed, and his back seemed to be bending too, as if some force was pressing down hard upon him. “You are correct, of course,” he murmured. “I am sorry, Miss Shimmer, for all that has befallen you and your friends. I should not have involved you all so soon, so young.”

Sunset stared at him. Her tail went a little limp, drooping between her legs. Her eyes were wide. She had expected … she wasn’t sure exactly what she had expected, but that kind of humble apology had not been one of them. He looked beaten, as if she had attacked him with far more than words … or as if the words with which she had attacked him were particularly painful.

This must be a trick, to make me feel pity for him.

“You say that,” she said, her nostrils flaring, “but this isn’t the first time, is it? This is what you do?”

“Yes,” Professor Ozpin admitted. “Yes, this is what I do.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Gods help me, for the reasons you say,” Professor Ozpin replied. “Because you are young, because you are inexperienced and free from the accretions of cynicism and fixed thinking that afflict men as they grow older. Because you are still able to believe, to believe in magic and Salem, but also to believe that she can be defeated. Because you are at an age where you still have hope; it has not been driven out of you by experience of the world.”

“'Hope'?” Sunset asked. “Or arrogance? We were vain children, Professor, who saw our shadows lengthen on the wall and thought that we were tall as giants. We were not ready to join this struggle.” She closed her eyes. “I was not ready.”

“Too much humility is as bad as too much pride, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said calmly.

Sunset’s eyes snapped open. “You knew … on the night when you invited Ruby to come to Beacon, you knew that I’d risked the old man’s life for the glory of capturing Torchwick, didn’t you?”

Professor Ozpin nodded slightly. “I’m glad to see that you were not deaf to my implications.”

“But it seems that you forgot them,” Sunset replied. “You knew that I was not a hero; you sat across the table from me and told me so—”

“And I told you that you could learn,” Professor Ozpin said.

“And then you plucked me out and raised me up and sent me into Mountain Glenn!” Sunset snapped. “You need heroes to confront Salem, and I … I am not a hero. And you knew that once.”

“Yes,” Professor Ozpin acknowledged. “I knew.”

“And yet you chose me anyway,” Sunset declared. “Have I become so much better at fooling you over these two semesters?”

“No, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said, venturing a slight smile. “You have, for the most part, been defiantly yourself. Your development has been interesting to watch, but you are correct: you are not a hero.”

“Then why?” Sunset demanded. “Why me? Was I just the price you had to pay for Pyrrha and Ruby?”

Professor Ozpin shook his head. “No, Miss Shimmer, indeed not. You are…” He trailed off.

Sunset frowned. “Professor?”

Professor Ozpin did not reply, but rather, walked forwards, not straight towards Sunset but beside her, so that he was no longer looking at her but rather looking out across the cliffs. “I said that you were an extraordinarily talented group,” he said quietly. “The most talented to walk these halls since—”

“Since Team Stark,” Sunset finished for him.

“Indeed,” Professor Ozpin murmured. “Summer Rose, Taiyang Xiao Long, Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen.” He paused. “You ask if there was no one else I could have sent to Mountain Glenn, but the truth is that Qrow Branwen is the only man I have at my beck and call, and he is … not answering my calls at the moment.”

Sunset’s frown deepened. “In the sense that you had a fight or—”

“In the sense that I do not know if he is still alive, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said gravely.

Sunset swallowed. “I … I do not know the man, but I hope so, for Ruby’s sake.”

“I hope so too,” Professor Ozpin said. “Qrow is a resourceful individual, but … it is always a risk.”

“If he had been here, would you have sent him into Mountain Glenn?” Sunset said. “Would you have sent him instead of us?”

“Yes,” Professor Ozpin said quietly. “Yes, I would have. Believe me, Miss Shimmer, I take no pleasure in making warriors out of my students before their time.”

“And yet you made warriors out of Team Stark before their time,” Sunset pointed out. “They were students too, weren’t they? A little older than we were—”

“Events moved more swiftly for you, unfortunately,” Professor Ozpin said.

“Still,” Sunset said. “You started early enough, the extra missions, introducing them to your old friends; who were Auburn and Merida?”

Professor Ozpin looked at her, if only by turning his head ever so slightly. “I’m curious how you learned those names, Miss Shimmer,” he said.

“I’m curious who they were and how they did what they did,” Sunset replied.

“Are you too young and inexperienced to be involved in these weighty affairs, Miss Shimmer, or do you have the right to all my secrets?” Professor Ozpin asked. He did not say that it could not be both, but that was the implication nonetheless.

Sunset glared at him. “Ruby has her mother’s diary,” she said.

“Ah, of course,” Professor Ozpin said. “I suppose you found it when you were rummaging through the archives to dispose of Mister Arc’s transcripts.”

Sunset’s eyebrows rose.

“I have been doing this for a very long time, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that, Professor,” Sunset muttered, “but if Ruby had read further in that diary, she would find mention of Salem, wouldn’t she?”

“Miss Rose would find that I had called her mother into my office, just as I called you, and told her what I told you, yes,” Professor Ozpin said. “That is why, when Summer died, Taiyang gave the diary to me, so that his daughters would not find out the truth.”

“Before you judged them ready?”

“I think Taiyang would have preferred they did not find out at all,” Professor Ozpin said. “But you are right; I began to test Team Stark, to judge their potential, to see how they reacted. I did not have the time to do the same with you, although you seemed determined to prove yourselves to me regardless, what with your actions at the docks and your cooperation with Team Rosepetal.” He paused. “Summer Rose, Taiyang Xiao Long, Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen. Raven once asked me, as you did, why I chose her.”

“Did you regret it?” Sunset asked. “Is that why you didn’t want Yang to know anything about this?”

“Miss Xiao Long is very little like her mother,” Professor Ozpin said. “As I fear she will find out one day, to her sorrow. No, she has far, far more of her father in her: loyal, kind, brave, caring.”

“So what’s the matter with her?” Sunset demanded.

Professor Ozpin did not answer that. “Raven was of a different sort: suspicious, obstreperous, proud, vain … fierce, fearsome at times. I think she found it hard to love, but when she did … she loved with all her heart. No, Miss Xiao Long is very little like her mother.”

But someone else is a lot like her, aren’t they? “So the answer is that every team of your operatives needs someone a bit obnoxious, and Yang’s too nice?” Sunset asked.

Professor Ozpin chuckled. “Do you know why General Ironwood is a part of my inner circle?” he asked her. “The head of the most powerful force of arms on Remnant, and yet, I do not seek to make use of it. Why, then, do I not exclude him utterly? Why, since I dislike the army that he wields, do I allow him to be a part of my work, do I admit some of his own students as a sop to his vanity, do I give him my ear for all that he speaks words I would rather not hear?”

Sunset thought for a moment. “Is it … is it because his words are not ones that you would like to hear?”

Professor Ozpin smiled. “Precisely, Miss Shimmer. Glynda is my loyal staff, but she will obey any instruction that I give her; Qrow is blindly obedient to my will; Lionheart cringes before me; of my lieutenants, only James has the self-regard to push back against me if he feels he is in the right. I do not always like it, and I do not always listen, but I appreciate that he is willing to do so.” His mouth tightened, and it seemed almost that Professor Ozpin winced at some remembered pain. “Raven, too, pushed back against me, and in no uncertain terms. She would call me an old fool if she thought I deserved it. I … I do not think that I am reading too much into things when I trace the downfall of Team Stark to the moment when Raven forsook our cause.”

Sunset’s eyebrows rose. “You wanted me because I didn’t trust you?”

“I have never claimed to be omniscient,” Ozpin said. “I have made more mistakes than any man alive. I was glad Team Sapphire was led by someone who would use their own judgement instead of blindly following mine. In that way, you are likely to catch more of my mistakes than someone blinded by too much faith in the legend of my greatness.”

Sunset’s mouth opened just a little as she stared at this old man, this man whom she had thought such a spider but who now seemed so humble. “I fear I have misjudged you terribly, Professor.”

“Please don’t disappoint me by becoming a sycophant, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said. “The truth is that, aside from possibly thinking me colder than I am, you have judged me perfectly. I am dangerous to your friends, as is my cause and your association with it. As I was dangerous to Summer Rose. Which is why they are fortunate indeed to have you watching over them.”

Sunset stared at him as though it were the first time she had laid eyes upon him, which it almost was in so many ways. “I think my princess would approve of you, Professor.”

Professor Ozpin chuckled. “I would take that as high praise, Miss Shimmer, if I knew her better.”

“Take it as high praise in any case,” Sunset said. “There is no one whose good opinion is worth more.” She fell silent for a moment. “So I was right: you do know what I speak of.”

“I am aware of what you are, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin agreed. “You are not the first visitor from Equestria, although I must say you are by far the most congenial. Most of those who came from your land to ours … well, I’m bound to say that your world has a very bad habit of expelling its problems into ours. Or at least it did, at one time.”

“I am … sorry to hear that, Professor, but for what it may be worth, I do not think that has been the practice since my princess came to rule,” Sunset said.

“No, I have noticed a drop off,” Professor Ozpin agreed. “You are the first to come here from that land in quite some time, at least to my knowledge; I sincerely hope there have not been other visitors without my knowledge, but I have been wrong before.”

“Hmm,” Sunset murmured, as she thrust her hands into her pockets. “Professor … I misjudged you, but … but you misjudged me, in turn. I am no General Ironwood; I am … this is all my fault.”

“Miss Shimmer?”

Sunset turned away from him. “I … I am the one who caused the Breach,” she said, the words hurtling out of her, glad to spill out, eager to escape, so eager that they rushed from the gates in a great flood. “I got to the front of the train before anyone else and the detonator was there and there was no way out of the tunnel and everyone would have died, and so I…” She stopped, out of breath, panting a little. “Everyone would have died, and so I risked the lives of … everyone.”

Professor Ozpin stared down at her, his grey eyes unreadable. He looked away. “Well,” he said, “I suppose we’ll manage to keep house.”

Sunset blinked. “That … that’s it?”

“Would you prefer me to throw you off the cliff, Miss Shimmer?”

“This isn’t funny, Professor!” Sunset snapped.

“No, Miss Shimmer, it isn’t,” Professor Ozpin agreed. “Six people are dead, and you will have to carry the weight of that for the rest of your life. Just as I will. Just as Miss Fall will, if such things are capable of touching her conscience. But what good would it do to punish you for this? Is there anything that I or anyone else could do to you that would resurrect Mister Lark or any other victim of that day? Perhaps they would rest easier in their graves to see you caged or chained or worse, but I doubt it. In my experience … the dead are not so nearly so vengeful as the vengeful living claim to cover up their lust for bloodshed and retribution.”

Sunset shivered. “That cannot be it.”

“Is your guilt not enough?” Professor Ozpin asked. “Do you wish further punishment?”

“I…” Sunset swallowed. “I’d like something to be done to me so I could stop feeling guilty,” she confessed. Put like that, it sounded rather pathetic, not to mention stupid.

“There is nothing I could do to you that would achieve that, either,” Professor Ozpin said solemnly. “I’m sorry to tell you that it … never goes away.”

“'Never'?” Sunset asked.

“Never,” Professor Ozpin repeated. “Or at least … not for a very, very long time. Does anyone else know of what you have done?”

“Rainbow Dash,” Sunset said. “And … Novo Aris, and her daughter, and First Councillor Emerald.”

Professor Ozpin’s eyebrows rose.

“I thought … I hoped … Councillor Emerald would give me the punishment that you will not,” Sunset said. “I will undertake … assignments, on his behalf.”

“He has no right to do that,” Professor Ozpin said firmly.

“He is the First Councillor,” Sunset said.

“Nevertheless, he has no right,” Professor Ozpin declared, his voice rising. “I will—”

“No, Professor, you won’t,” Sunset insisted. “This is … what I deserve.”

Professor Ozpin frowned. “This will not bring you peace, Miss Shimmer.”

“Perhaps not, Professor, but it is better than nothing,” Sunset said.

“Your friends may not agree when you die to satisfy the First Councillor’s hunger for revenge,” Professor Ozpin said. “Have you considered that?”

Sunset swallowed. “I … I have, Professor. If I do not return I, give my voice in the succession to Pyrrha.”

“I mean no slight against Miss Nikos when I say that I would rather you returned, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said softly. “Your team needs you, and you … may I give you some advice?”

Sunset nodded.

“When Raven asked me why I chose her, I answered her as I answered you, but I fear she did not hear me as I would have wished,” Professor Ozpin said. “She saw it as her role to protect the others, and when she found — when she decided, when she realised, however you wished to say it — that she could not protect them, that she could not be their hero … she forsook them, taking flight from a duty she could not fulfil. Raven forgot that a team, ultimately, protects each other.”

“I cannot tell them,” Sunset whispered. “They would … they would think me a monster. I … I marvel, Professor, that you do not. Does this not go against all huntsman oaths?”

“You made a mistake,” Professor Ozpin said. “And you regret it. And the next time, you will do better.”

“I don’t know if I want there to be a next time.”

“I’m afraid there will always be a next time while you walk this road, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said softly, “and it is a road that one should not travel alone.”

Sunset took a deep breath. “Thank you, Professor.”

She left him there, standing on the cliffs, looking out across the Emerald Forest, alone. Alone, just as he had told her not to be. There was either some irony in that, or some terrible reason, and Sunset was not at all sure that she wanted to know which it was.

Besides, it was hardly her place to ask. She … she respected him more now than she had done; she had misjudged him, and yet, that did not make them close. Certainly, it did not make her close enough to pry into his private affairs. This was nothing that touched upon their work — that, she meant to find out; they would return to the subject of Auburn and Merida, assuming that Councillor Emerald didn’t get Sunset killed first.

But for his own sorrow … he might keep it to himself, while he would.

For her own part, Sunset returned to the school, and would have returned to the dorm room save that she found Pyrrha first, wandering the grounds.

“Sunset!” Pyrrha cried. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“And now you’ve found me,” Sunset said. “Pyrrha, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha said, before Sunset could.

“You’re sorry?” Sunset repeated. “You’re sorry? I’m the one who—”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” Pyrrha said. “I said that I wanted to help you, and I do, but … but pushing you like that until you felt that you had to go … that was no way to help. It was no way for your best friend to behave. I’m sorry. I hate seeing you like this, but if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong … I will respect that.” She paused. “Although … if there’s anything that I can do—”

“You’re already doing it,” Sunset informed her. “Well, actually, there is one thing.”

“What?”

“You can help me cover this bruise up before Ruby and Jaune get back.”

Comments

[Sonikah]

I'm glad Sunset is opening up to people and telling them the truth. Secrets have a bad habit of festering if left untold.

P.S. Did Sunset pick her tooth? She might be able to get it re-attached. I have no idea why, but her leaving it kinda bugs me for some reason.

[Kiue Jin]

I don't know what surprises me more. The fact that Cinder hadn't considered that Sunset would legit feel overwhelming guilt for the actions she imposed upon her or that the emotional trauma of others surviving a horrible situation simply never occurred to her.

As for her being hurt by Sunset calling her a monster, it makes a great deal of sense. Cinder likely has been called a monster before, but by people she was above and had no respect for, therefore their insults had no meaning to her... but Sunset is an equal and (despite recent events) someone she considers a friend. Her words have value. I wouldn't be all that surprised if Cinder, after Sunset hung up, just sat there stunned for a few moments after having seen the pain her actions had caused Sunset and legit asked herself in a small, scared voice that belongs to a girl she believed long dead "Am I a monster?"

[Lancerguy]

A chapter a long time coming. I am happy that Sunnykins finally realized that Oz can help her, being no saint himself, and that they can actually help each other if both are humble enough to open up and trust each other to a degree. Now, it will be interesting to see how much she lets Pyrrha in on. Secrets and lies serve no one, and the web of who is in and out continues to grow more complex until I fear it will all unravel in Sunnykins's face.

P.S.-Sunnykins, know what else can help with your feelings? A nice long ride while ranting to your bike. Who knows, sometimes it might even answer.

[Lancerguy]

11205512
I agree with the second half of your statement, and would love to see that pursued. As to the first part: Cinder is a sociopath, feelings have no meaning or value to her, so why should she consider them while playing with others? Sunset might be the first other being she has started to feel anything for, and it probably, as you pointed out, terrifies her because it is such an unknown to her

[Adser]

11205573
I disagree there. Sociopathy is a much more fundamental issue, and is not what Cinder is running with. Cinder is able to understand emotions or have sympathy, its just that she feels her actions are justified. She feels that the entire world hurt her, either by action or inaction, and so she is in the right by hitting back.

That is the reason why Sunset actions unnerve her so much. She is proof that the entire world doesn't want to hurt her, that there are people who could care about her, and so it directly undermines her justifications. If she was a complete sociopath then Sunset feelings would be unable to sway her at all.

[Kiue Jin]

11205630
Indeed. Cinder isn't a sociopath. She's just... broken. She used to be this sweet and innocent child who was tortured and tormented to the breaking point and 'Cinder' is what the broken pieces of that little girl's mind created in order to survive a truly horrid situation. I think a good way to describe the path SARP Cinder is current is this:

[Scipio Smith]

11205641
Mhmm. Cinder isn't a sociopath, she's been wounded. If she acts like a sociopath it's because she's acting like Phoebe - who has a far better claim to be one, although even then I don't think she's completely devoid of feeling - who is unfortunately the closest thing Cinder has to a role model.

[Lancerguy]

11205630

11205641

11205650

All good points, except they are kind of proving that Cinder, at least at this point in the story is a sociopath or has strong sociopathic traits. Lets look at what medicine calls sociopathy:
-Is a realized mental health disorder, if not by that name
-Sociopaths are usually expert liars and master manipulators, and practice these skills constantly
-Condition usually a result from upbringing and or childhood
-Can be violent
-Almost always impulsive
-Can form groups with likeminded individuals but these often don't last
-has no regard for the safety of others
-doesn't feel remorse or guilt, but can feel other emotions
Based on this, Cinder does exhibit many sociopathic traits (she only needs 3 for a diagnosis) and does have the background for it as well
source: https://www.mha-em.org/im-looking-for/mental-health-knowledge-base/conditions/127-psychopathy-vs-sociopathy

[Kiue Jin]

11205650

11205671

The Cinder redemption Arc:

"EMERALD! HELP ME! I'M... FEELING!"

[Adser]

11205671
That level of generalization would let you say that all criminals and even many people who are not are sociopaths. When people talk about someone being a sociopath they usually mean a deeper inability to take morality or empathy as factors in their actions, regardless of the situation. Asking a sociopath to consider emotions is like asking a daltonic to differentiate between certain colors, its simply something that their brain doesn't allow them to do.

[Mastermind4892]

This was such a poignant chapter, one that I have long been looking forward to. I knew that the next time Cinder would call her, Sunset would no doubt lash with scathing words that would leave wounds. Words that are well deserved. My only surprise is that Sunset didn’t call her Ashley Glass.

And now Sunset has finally her talk with Ozpin, one that opened both their eyes. Sunset doesn’t know it, but at her lowest point, an immortal came by to offer a hand. Just as Celestia was always there. It’s absolutely poetic.

[Mastermind4892]

Another thing that just occurred to me? There is a point much later in the story when Cinder is deeply hurt and upset when Sunset gives away the Fall Maiden powers that Cinder once gave everything to achieve. And here, Cinder has also thoughtlessly taken away something precious to Sunset, something every bit as dear to her.

[The silver knight]

“No, I have noticed a drop off,”

Ozpin sort of offhandedly hinting at his genuinely eldritch age, man’s been around long enough to predate Celestia coming to power.

[Mastermind4892]

Reading this chapter again, I hope there will be a chapter where Ozpin still goes to meet with Councilor Emerald about Sunset. Not to make him withdraw the man's assignments for Sunset, but to broaden his perspective and make the untested Councilor understand the terrifying burdens of leadership. The heavy choices they must make, and that no leader is truly prepared for when those they love are in danger. It will not erase Sunset's misdeed, but perhaps it will help sober Emerald's thirst for revenge.

After all, Councilor Emerald will find himself in such a position at the end of Volume 3.

[Widow Peak]

There, finally the talk between Sunset and Ozpin I had been waiting for. We will see how much it changes Sunset's point of view.

11213089 Damn, that was so casual I did not notice either. I wonder if he was hoping Sunset would comment on it.

"Yes, I have noticed a drop off."

"What?"

"What?"

[Raul]

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha said, before Sunset could.

NOOOOOO! SO CLOSE!