• Published 31st Aug 2018
  • 20,313 Views, 8,842 Comments

SAPR - Scipio Smith



Sunset, Jaune, Pyrrha and Ruby are Team SAPR, and together they fight to defeat the malice of Salem, uncover the truth about Ruby's past and fill the emptiness within their souls.

  • ...
96
 8,842
 20,313

PreviousChapters Next
The Eyes of the World (Rewritten)

The Eyes of the World

The eyes of the whole world were turned upon Vale.

It was always thus, when the Vytal Festival began, but it was especially so now; Cinder had seen to that.

As she sat in the parlour of Portchester Manor, with Emerald sitting by her side, Emerald’s scroll propped up against some hardback books so that they could watch the parade, she was reminded of the fact.

She was the one who had shaken Vale to its foundations and caused all eyes to turn towards it, not merely with curiosity but with concern.

She had done that. Whatever else she had done, or not done, she had done that.

Though all else felt like water slipping between her fingers, she had done that.

The eyes of the world were turned on Vale, and all the positive news coverage and puff pieces about the great Pyrrha Nikos couldn’t disguise the fact that there had only recently been a grimm incursion into Vale itself, that the skies were full of Valish and Atlesian airships, that the streets below were full of Valish troops, that sentiment against the Atlesians and faunus alike were on the rise.

All the talk about the Vytal virtues of harmony and togetherness couldn’t disguise the fact that the city hosting this year’s Vytal Festival was in a decidedly unsettled state.

The police officers lining the route of the parade might manage to stop any disruption from spoiling the parade itself, and the parade of all the huntsmen might be able to drive away all fear and concern from the minds and hearts of men for a little, but after that, after the parade was over, the world would still be watching Vale with worry, not knowing what would come next.

But at least they could watch the parade and take their minds off things for a little while, just as Cinder meant to.

“Is this a very ladylike thing to do?” asked Emerald.

Cinder blinked as she glanced at her. “Hmm?”

“I asked if this was a ladylike thing to do,” Emerald repeated.

“Oh, yes,” Cinder assured her. “The games mark the mingling point between high and low culture, where the interests of great lords and common men alike come together. Bread and the games, Emerald, it was ever thus: the great were offered glory, the low a respite from their woes. Now, in this more egalitarian age we live in, the low may rise high and attain glory in their own right if they have the skill, but all those who do not fight are yet offered a respite from their woes, as well as a chance to admire the skills of outstanding athletes, mimicking the forms developed many generations ago by our hallowed ancestors.”

“Is that why you’re watching?” Emerald murmured. “For a respite from your woes?”

Cinder was silent for a moment. She drummed her fingers lightly upon her knee. “You have gotten very bold to ask me that,” she murmured. “Not long ago, you would have been too frightened to give voice to the suggestion.”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Emerald said softly. Her eyes widened a little. “In a good way, obviously.”

Cinder snorted. “Thank you for the clarification,” she said dryly. “The difference being, I suppose, that I have become a pussycat in your eyes, rather than you having learned to stand up to me.”

“No,” Emerald said. “No, it’s not … I just … I don’t think you’d hurt me, not anymore.”

Is that a compliment? It feels at once like a compliment and, at the same time, not.

After all, it is not too far off saying that I have turned pussycat; it is only said more politely.

And what have I been teaching her, after all, but to say things more politely?

Nevertheless … nevertheless, it does not hurt me; rather…

Well, it worries me a little, but at the same time … it does not wholly displease me.

I shall take it as a compliment, even if it was not meant as one.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Emerald smiled with one corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.” She paused. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“No,” Cinder agreed. “No, I did not.”

Emerald, in turn, did not respond. A silence settled between them, but a comfortable one, as they watched the parade begin, as they watched the students of Beacon, Atlas, Haven, and Shade Academies begin to march through the streets of Vale to inaugurate the Vytal Tournament.

Am I watching this for respite from my woes? Cinder asked herself as she watched Sunset, not too far from the front of the parade, her fiery hair distinctive. Am I the same as all those people lining the way, cheering for their favourites?

Perhaps I am. And what of that? I have woes as great as any, and greater than most. I have lost Salem’s unbridled confidence, and very soon, I shall be of no use to her.

I have set the stage. Whatever else I did or did not do, however else I have failed, I did that. I have put all things in readiness.

Soon, the last act will begin.

But in the meantime … respite from my woes, I may join the rest of the world with its eyes on Vale and lend my support to … well, Pyrrha, having beaten me, the very least you could do is win this and prove yourself the greatest warrior of your generation.

And then the third time will pay for all.

But until then, best of luck.

Enjoy it while it lasts, all of you.

As I shall try to do.

The eyes of the world were turned on Vale.


They were the eyes of a little girl in Mistral named Diana Archer, eight years old, and her six-year-old sister Selene; they shared a bedroom, and on the bedroom wall was a poster of Pyrrha Nikos. On the nightstand was a picture from last year’s FightFan Expo of the two sisters, with Pyrrha Nikos and Arslan Altan kneeling down on either side of them, smiling as the two sisters put their arms around the shoulders of their idols.

The two sisters were a little too young to understand the nuances of the difference between a tournament fighter and a huntress, but they both agreed that they were, collectively, the coolest people ever. Diana wanted to be a huntress/tournament champion herself when she grew up; Selene thought they were awesome, but she still wanted to be a vet and treat sick cats and dogs and bunny rabbits.

Currently, they were both lying on their fronts on the floor in front of the TV, in the house of their stay-at-home mom and caravaneer dad, roughly halfway up the city. Their parents — Dad had gotten back from a caravan run to Kisthene just in time — sat on the sofa behind them, watching the parade over the heads of the two children. As the cameras panned up and down the column of students, the two girls tried to spot the fighters that they knew.

“Ooh, look, there’s Jason down there, with Meleager,” Diana said. She sighed slightly. “He’s so dreamy, isn’t he?”

“What does that mean?” asked Selene.

Diana looked at her little sister. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“There!” Selene cried, almost leaping up to her feet. “There she is, there’s Arslan!”

“Yes!” Diana squawked in loud agreement. “And look, there’s Pyrrha over there!”

“Where?” asked Selene

“There, next to the girl in the red hood, behind the one with kitty ears.”

“Yes! Yes, I see her, I see her!” Selene shouted.

“She’s only right next to you,” Dad observed amusedly from behind them.

“Sorry, Dad,” Selene murmured. “When they finish walking, are they going to start the fights?”

“Not yet,” Mom said. “First, there’s the opening ceremony, and then the lighting of the Fire of Friendship, but then, after that, yes, the fights will begin very soon.”


They were the eyes of Leaf Kelly and her new roommate and fellow mechanic, Veil, as they sat in their decidedly modest underground Atlas apartment. The lights were off, which, with no windows, made some of the apartment very, very dark indeed, but it also meant that the image from Veil’s laptop was very bright, and there were no inconvenient reflections getting in the way of the picture. This apartment was better than the one Leaf had first moved into, but they still didn’t have a kitchen, so they’d gotten a sharing bucket from the fried chicken joint a couple of corridors down. It sat between them on the cheap sofa, a plastic tray ensuring that they didn’t get any grease stains on the furniture.

“So, that’s them, right?” Veil asked, helping herself to a fry. She was a dark-skinned human, with black hair worn in cornrows down the sides of her face and eyeshadow of almost luminescent pink above her eyes. “The one at the front of the Beacon students with black hair, and the one second Atlas row, with the rainbow hair, that’s them, they’re the ones who rescued you.”

“Yep,” Leaf agreed. “But you already knew that, right? I mean, how can you not know who Blake and Rainbow Dash are? They’re big heroes now.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Veil said. “You know they’re making a TV show about them? At least they’re talking about it.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Veil said. “It was reported in this week’s Entertainment Digest. Let me just…” She wiped her fingers on a napkin and picked up the magazine from off the floor.

“You can’t possibly read in this dark,” Leaf said as she popped a popcorn chicken into her mouth.

Veil angled the magazine in such a way that the light from the laptop fell upon the open page. “The new show, currently being developed for pilot, is provisionally entitled Warrior Princess, will tell the story of two Atlas huntresses, and faunus, Blake Belladonna and Rainbow Dash, based on two Atlas students who recently blah blah … as the two of them work to uncover the mysteries of Blake’s past, the death of her mother, and her connection to an ancient evil threatening Remnant.”

Leaf frowned. “A what?”

“An ancient evil threatening Remnant,” Veil said.

“That sounds like a lame idea,” Leaf said. “And I’m pretty sure Blake’s mom isn’t dead; she told me that she fell out with her, but she made it sound like she was still alive.”

“Well, they have to make it exciting for television,” Veil pointed out.

“If they didn’t think they were exciting enough, why are they making a TV show about them?” Leaf replied. “Isn’t fighting monsters each week exciting enough?”

“Atlesian audiences want more sophisticated entertainment these days; everything has to have an overarching plot about the end of the world,” Veil said. “Still, it might be worth watching.”

“Probably not,” Leaf muttered. “Who’s in it?”

“Um … they’re talking about someone called Jacaranda Padalecki to play Blake, and Jetsam Ackles as Rainbow Dash. I’ve never heard of either of them.”

Leaf grunted. “Let’s just watch the real deal.”

Veil put the magazine down and helped herself to a couple more fries. “So,” she said, “which one are you rooting for?”

Leaf glanced at her. “I’m rooting for both of them, and Ruby and Sunset.”

Veil rolled her brown eyes. “Yeah, but they can’t all win, can they? So which is your favourite?”

“They’re my friends; I don’t have favourites.”

“I’m not asking you to pick which one is going to live and which of them is going to die,” Veil said, “just which one you want to win the tournament.”

Leaf hesitated. “I don’t feel right saying.”

“Come on!” Veil insisted. “They’re not going to know, are they? Spill it!”

Leaf huffed, and kept her eyes on the laptop as she said, “Blake.”

“Interesting!” Veil said. “Why?”

“Because she’s like me, kind of,” Leaf said. “She ran away from her mum, she came to Atlas, she found herself … I just think that’s pretty cool. I’d like to see her keep succeeding.”

“And uncover the secrets of her mysterious past.”

“Stop that,” Leaf said. “This … this is going to be much cooler than any show that they could come up with, trust me.”


They were the eyes of Saphron, Terra, and Adrian Cotta-Arc, who sat watching TV in the living room of their house in Argus, on the north coast of Anima. As they watched, the parade came to a close, and all the students began to file into a public park, where the headmaster of Beacon was waiting to give a speech and the Amity Princess held the torch to light the Fires of Friendship.

Saphron dandled little Adrian upon her knee. “That’s your Uncle Jaune out there,” she cooed, pointing to the screen. “Yes it is. Yes it is. And the woman you’ll be calling Aunt Pyrrha by the time you’re old enough to talk.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear,” Terra said as she walked in from the kitchen, carrying a big bowl of popcorn in her arms and a bottle of heated milk in her hand. She sat down next to her wife and placed the bottle in Adrian’s mouth.

“Oh, you saw the way that they were together,” Saphron said. “If they’re not meant for one another, I’ll eat your … what do you have that I could eat?”

“Nothing that I’d want you to,” Terra said primly. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Although I admit that they make a cute couple. Almost as cute as you and me.”

Saphron chuckled before kissing her on the cheek. “How do you think they’ll do?”

“You’re asking me like I’m an expert,” Terra said.

“You were the one who knew who Pyrrha was.”

“I know that she’s good,” Terra said. “As far as Mistral is concerned, she’s the best, and she’s proved it four times. Some people think that Arslan might finally get the win, and maybe she will, but … I wouldn’t count on it. If this was another Mistral tournament, I’d bet on Pyrrha. But is there someone better out there from Vale or Atlas or Vacuo? I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll just have to watch and see.”

“And wish them luck,” Saphron added.

Terra smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “That too.”

Adrian pointed frantically at the TV, wordless noises leaping excitedly out of his mouth like gambolling little lambs.

“What’s that?” Saphron asked, following his pointed finger. “Oh, you found them! Who’s a clever boy? You are. Yes you are. You found your Uncle Jaune and Aunt Pyrrha.”

“Please stop that,” Terra said.


They were … not the eyes of Terri-Belle Thrax, Warden of the White Tower, as she sat in her office feeling as though she might be going cross-eyed as she looked at another request for a huntsman — to escort Councillor Kiyat to one of his estates in the country. He was offering a substantial sum of money for the task, so there should be no difficulty finding a willing huntsman to take the assignment.

The next job, however, was for someone to go out to the village of Decelea, on the road north to Argus, and help a farmer there: someone or something had killed one of his sons in the fields, and the farmer wanted it — or them — dealt with. A worthy cause, to be sure, but not one that offered a particularly heavy purse.

Terri-Belle sighed. She would have taken the job herself except, that she felt chained to her desk by all of this interminable paperwork. If she could not prod either Shining Light or Blonn-Di to do it, then she would, at the last resort, order one of her Guard to go and accept the low fee.

It chafed at her to leave the mission untaken, vengeance unfulfilled, regardless of the freedom of the job board.

Behind her, visible out of the little window in the back wall of her study, a dead man swung slowly from a gibbet. One of his neighbours had accused him of worshipping the grimm.

Polemarch Yeoh had reported back what she had learned from Pyrrha Nikos about Cinder Fall, the architect of the attack on Vale. It wasn’t much, and offered little to benefit Mistral or enable them to prepare their defences, but Pyrrha had let slip that Cinder Fall was apparently a grimm cultist driven by pursuit of their insane creed.

It was illegal to worship the grimm in public, to keep a black altar in your house, for any man or woman to be a priest of that profane faith, or for more than three people to gather in worship of the grimm in private. By special edict of the Council, those laws had been tightened: any worship, public or private, was prohibited on pain of death. The danger to Mistral would not be tolerated.

Terri-Belle was … she would confess herself to be a little concerned about the low standards of evidence on which some people were being convicted, but … there were no summary judgements handed down, no rubber-stamped warrants for execution; everyone who was accused was tried before a jury of their peers in accordance with the laws and customs of Mistral, and in accordance with those laws and customs, it required a majority vote of the jury to convict them. If a jury of honest Mistralians felt that the accusations of a neighbour, the discovery of a poppet — a cursed doll meant to sic the grimm upon they whom the doll represented — was sufficient to vote to send a man or woman to the gallows then who was Terri-Belle to gainsay them?

The House of Thrax were stewards, not emperors; they were servants to the law, not masters of it.

And while some of the evidence, and the sudden emergence of a class of people who seemed to make it their business to lurk under windowsills listening for any incriminating word that they could take to the Praetor, troubled her somewhat, surely they were better than the alternative? Surely it was worth it to keep Mistral safe?

The thought inured her against the sound of the gibbet swinging squeakily back and forwards outside her window.

Swift Foot stepped into the room, her eyes lingering for a moment on the dead man outside, before she looked downwards at Terri-Belle.

“It’s starting,” she said.

“Enjoy it then,” Terri-Belle murmured, not needing to ask her what was starting.

“I’d enjoy it more if you were there,” Swift Foot replied.

“I’d enjoy that too,” Terri-Belle said softly. “Unfortunately, I’m busy.”

“And who warned you that taking on all of this work yourself was a terrible idea?” Swift Foot asked.

Terri-Belle looked up to glare at her.

“Well, I did,” Swift Foot muttered.

“Yes,” Terri-Belle admitted. “You did. But it was necessary, even if you were right.”

“You deserve a break,” Swift Foot insisted. “Everyone deserves a break; it’s the Vytal Tournament! It’s a public holiday!”

“Not for huntsmen, unfortunately,” Terri-Belle replied. “The downside of setting your own hours is that you don’t get public holidays.”

Swift Foot was silent for a few seconds. “You know, some would say that as the Warden of the White Tower, the highest huntress in Mistral and as a Vytal finalist yourself, it’s your duty to watch Mistral’s hopefuls compete for the honour of the kingdom.”

Terri-Belle looked at her. “Seriously?”

Swift Foot shrugged. “Semi-seriously.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Terri-Belle said, looking back down—”

“Oh, come on!” Swift Foot said. “You can dip in and out for the Mistral matches, they don’t take very long, you can spare that amount of time. And you can make up for it by sleeping less.” She smiled. “And besides, I don’t see anyone beating a path to your door looking for work right now, do you?”

She had a point there: she could catalogue the missions on offer, but having taken on the job of managing all the assignments, she was dependent upon huntsmen and huntresses actually wanting assignments. They had to come to her, and Terri-Belle would lay out what was on offer, how much it paid, how dangerous — as rated by Terri-Belle herself based on the information provided — and then they would either take the job they wanted or leave them alone.

And as Swift Foot had pointed out, there was no one here at the moment.

Which meant … she couldn’t say it wasn’t tempting.

Swift Foot was right; the individual matches themselves didn’t take very long.

“I will be in and out,” she said. “For the Mistral matches only.”

“Fair enough,” Swift Foot agreed. “Hey, do you really think it’ll come home this year?”

“It had better,” Terri-Belle said as she got up. “I don’t know when we’ll have a chance like this again.”


They were the eyes of Juturna Rutulus, sat on the sofa in the sitting room, intermittently tearing her eyes away from the giant TV to tear open another bag of popcorn.

About twenty opened bags of popcorn already littered the sitting room.

And there were some unopened bags still on the seat next to her.

She stuck one hand into the bag and rummaged around, her fingers groping through the toffee popcorn until she felt something plastic. She fumbled for it, reaching deeper into the bag until she could get two fingers scissoring the flat, plastic object lurking with the box. With a triumphant grin on her face Juturna pulled out a Pyrrha Nikos card.

“Lavinia Andronicus again!” Juturna moaned.

A shadow fell over Juturna, causing her to look up into Turnus’ face.

“Hey, bro,” Juturna said. “Is Camilla coming?”

“She’s finishing up in the kitchen,” Turnus said. He put his hands on his hips as he added, “Although I don’t suppose you’ll be very hungry for the next few weeks. You know, you might have waited until you’d eaten the first bag before you opened the second or the third.”

“It’s not about the popcorn, duh!” Juturna replied. “I want the cards. Or at least, I want a card. I’ve got a Pyrrha, two Arslans, three Cicero Ward the Youngers, Jason, Meleager, three each of the Andronicus siblings, two Phoebe Kommenoses— do you think they know who the contests are before we do?”

“I think they might make cards for all the students on the off-chance,” Turnus replied.

“The point is, I really want a Ruby card, and I can’t find one anywhere,” Juturna said. “I’ve opened all of these bags, I’ve got a ton of Pyrrhas, like I said, I’ve got her boyfriend and her right-hand girl, but I don’t have Ruby yet.”

“Hmm,” Turnus murmured, without a lot of sympathy. “Are you going to eat all of those?”

“Maybe, eventually, some of them,” Juturna said, grabbing another unopened bag of popcorn. “I mean, it’s not like we can’t afford to waste them, right?”

“True, I suppose,” Turnus muttered. “Even so, it’s a little excessive.”

“I’ll eat some of them eventually,” Juturna assured him. “I don’t want to fill up too quickly, though; what have we got?”

“A quiche, with spinach, beans, and tarragon,” Turnus said.

Juturna looked up at him for a moment. “I think I might prefer the popcorn,” she said, popping open another bag.

“Is that so?” Camilla asked as she carried the quiche into the sitting room. “I am sorry to have disappointed you.”

“No, no, I didn’t … don’t do that,” Juturna said. “I’m sure it will be great. Do you ever think it’s a little weird that you two know how to cook?”

“Father always said that it relaxed him, helped him to unwind,” Turnus said as he sat down next to her. “I think the smiles on your face as you ate his cakes definitely didn’t hurt either.”

Juturna leaned sideways, resting on Turnus’ arm and shoulder. “They were pretty great, weren’t they? And he didn’t even need to use a packet mix sometimes. Did you guys make the pastry yourselves?”

“No,” Camilla said, putting the quiche down on the table in front of them. “The pastry came in the same delivery as all your popcorn.”

Juturna reached inside said popcorn packet, because it was open by now after all, and soon found what her fingers were looking for, pulling out— “Ruby!” she yelled. “I got it, finally, yes! A Ruby card!” She held up the card triumphantly, a very cool-looking picture of Ruby Rose posing with her scythe held behind her, blade on the ground and the shaft lancing upwards past her head. Juturna wondered if she practised that.

“Camilla, Camilla,” she said, momentarily turning to mist and air as she travelled across the sitting room — using her semblance to avoid tripping over the table and knocking the quiche onto the floor or something, to end up kneeling in front of the TV. “Take a picture: me, watching Ruby, with my Ruby!”


They were the eyes of Lieutenant DJ Martinez, VPD, who had been … strongly encouraged by her captain to take some time off. Apparently, she hadn’t taken enough days off this year. Or the year before.

It was a view with which her husband was in wholehearted agreement. Martinez would have thought that of all the people who might understand why she worked so long and so late, it would be a coast guard officer, but apparently not. Traitor.

Still, now that she was lying on the couch, and on the lap of her husband, Mike, with a bowl of cheese puffs on her own lap, taking some time off didn’t feel like such a bad idea.

I wonder why I don’t do this more often.

Crime. All the crime is why I don’t do this more often.

Her two sons, Stuart and Tyler, were both wearing huntsman costumes — not any particular huntsman than Martinez recognised, just generic ideas of huntsmen — and they were running up and down in the living room, laughing as they whacked at one another with plastic swords.

“Hey, hey, settle down, you two!” Martinez called to them, loudly but not harshly. “If you want to do that kind of thing, go outside; I don’t want you breaking anything in here.”

The two of them lowered their swords. “Sorry Mom,” moaned Stuart.

Tyler turned around to look at the TV. “Hey, when are they going to start fighting?”

“Soon, buddy, they just got a few things to take care of first,” said Mike, as with one hand, he played with Martinez’s hair absently. “Now step aside a couple of inches; you’re blocking the view.”

Tyler stepped out of the way. “Which are the ones that you know, Mom?”

Martinez put the bowl of cheese puffs down on the floor as she rolled off the sofa and crawled a little closer to the TV to get a better view. The cameras kept moving around, but fortunately, she was used to that; she could spot a suspect in a crowd in a snap of her fingers. She looked for Weiss’ distinctive white hair; unfortunately, with how short she was, she was kind of hidden by just about anyone who was bigger than she was — which was pretty much everyone.

Cardin was easier to spot; his hair wasn’t so unique, but there weren’t many kids his age who were as big as he was or built like he was, and so, she soon spotted him, sticking up in the ranks of students like a rock emerging out of the water. From there, she could spot Russel’s mohawk and — now that she knew where to look — Weiss’ brilliant white hair.

“There!” she said, pointing. “There, that’s them, they’re the ones that I got to work with. Team Wisteria. Weiss, Cardin, Flash, and Russel.”

Tyler and Stuart both leaned in for a better look.

“If they worked with you, then they must be the best,” Tyler said.

“Nah, Mom’s the best,” Stuart said. “But everyone who works with her is just lucky.”

“Well, that is very sweet, but they are actually pretty good,” Martinez said.

“Good enough to win?” asked Tyler.

“I don’t know about that, sweetie,” Martinez admitted, “but they are pretty good, so I would say … they’re in with a shot.” She nodded. “Yeah, they gotta be. They gotta be in with a shot.”

Now don’t make me look like an idiot after I said that by getting knocked out in the first round, okay, kids?


They were the eyes of the Arc family, and many guests who had come around to their house, either invited or otherwise. Some had come round because they knew that ‘the Arc boy’ or ‘young Jaune,’ who had come home for a visit recently much changed — and with a lovely-looking young girlfriend to boot; who would have ever seen that coming? — was taking part in some big old shindig in the city. Some had come round because the Arcs had a television set, one of the only ones in Alba Longa, and their neighbours wanted to get a good look at it.

For once, Mrs. Arc wasn’t doing the cooking; rather, since the weather was keeping fine and there were an awful lot of guests — and because it seemed appropriate to the festive spirit — Mister Arc was out in the garden out back, practising that most masculine of the arts: the barbecue.

He was joined by Kendal, who expertly flipped a burger over on the grill.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at that,” Dad observed, turning over a sausage. He smiled. “I remember when I tried to show your brother how to do this — I thought he was going to set himself on fire!”

Kendal chuckled. “Yeah, Jaune was happier in the kitchen,” she said. She paused for a second. “Funny, isn’t it? Who would have thought he’d end up at Beacon, and about to compete in the Vytal Tournament?”

“Who would have thought?” Dad agreed. “But, you know … lately, I … I’ve been thinking: about Jaune, about you … was it ever difficult for you, like it was for Jaune?”

Kendal shrugged. “I … maybe. A little.”

Dad looked at her, eyebrows rising.

“Okay, yeah, more than a little sometimes,” Kendal replied. “You weren’t exactly supportive.”

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I didn’t give Jaune enough credit for the courage of being himself,” Dad said. “Or you, for that matter.”

“Well, Jaune wasn’t always trying to be himself; he was trying to impress you half the time,” Kendal pointed out. “But … thanks, Dad. I think that would mean a lot to Jaune if he were here to hear it.”

She flipped the burger again. “And that’s another one done. Anyone want a burger? Or another burger?”

From out of the crowd of friends and neighbours milling around stepped Miranda Wells, raising one hand timidly. “I’ll take one,” she said.

“Coming right up,” Kendal said, whirling around to grab a paper plate from off the folding table behind her, then putting half a bun down upon it. With practice ease, she flipped the burger down onto the bun. “Cheese, sauce?”

“Um, no cheese, but I’ll have some mustard, if you—”

“Gotcha covered,” Kendal said, grabbing the big mustard tube that they only used for barbecues and squirting a great big glob of the stuff right down into the centre of the burger, before she planted the top half of the bun down squarely on top of it. “And there you go.”

“Thanks,” Miranda said softly, as she accepted the proffered burger with both hands, one hand holding the plate and the other resting on the top bun.

Kendal put her hands on her hips. “So how are you doing?”

“I…” Miranda hesitated for a moment. “I’m better,” she said. “I’m doing better.” She paused. “Big day for Jaune, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kendal agreed. She put one hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “You know, if you need anything … just let me know, okay?”

Miranda smiled softly. “You mean, like a refill or another burger or something?”

Kendal nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, trusting that Miranda knew what she really meant. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Thanks,” Miranda said. “I’ll bear that in mind. You know, you two are going to miss everything if you stay out here. Opening ceremony is almost over.”

“It’s not unmissable,” Dad assured her. “Ozpin’s probably using the same speech he gave when I was a student.”

“Was it a good speech?” asked Kendal.

Dad shrugged. “It wasn’t bad. But we’ll be done here before the fights start, don’t worry. If people haven’t eaten by then, it’s their fault.”

At that moment, Sky came out of the house and made a beeline for the barbecue. “At this rate, we’re going to run out of beers,” she said.

“Send Chester round to the store to pick up some more,” Dad said.

“Rouge already did that,” Sky said. “Even so, it’s a big crowd.”

“It’s a big day,” Dad said. “A big few days, even more for Pyrrha than for Jaune.”

“Because she’s got more fights ahead of her?” Sky guessed.

“Yep,” Dad agreed. “And because each fight, you have fewer teammates with you, and each fight, the pressure builds.”

“But she’s got Jaune waiting for her when the fight ends,” Kendal said. “That’s something worth fighting for, right?”

“It better be,” Sky said.

“For her, it is,” Miranda said. “I’m sure it is.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Dad said. “At least, she convinced me as much as she convinced anyone else. So we should probably get the rest of this meat served up before the opening ceremonies end. Okay, who wants sausages?”


They were the eyes of Doctor Diggory, where he sat ensconced in an armchair, while young Miss Pole and young Mister Scrub sat on the settee nearby eating ham sandwiches, while some of Mrs. Macready’s lemon cupcakes waited on the table in front of them for when they were finished.

“Is everyone who helped us competing in this tournament, Doctor?” asked Miss Pole.

Doctor Diggory took a sip from his teacup. “Miss Shimmer, Miss Lulamoon, and Miss Glimmer are all present,” he said, “but not Miss Doo, I’m afraid. After what happened … she doesn’t have anyone with whom she could fight in the earlier matches.”

“They could have let her try anyway,” said Mister Scrub. “I mean, she’s brave enough, isn’t she?”

“Without a doubt, my dear boy, but rules are rules,” Doctor Diggory replied. Personally, he had always, even when he was a student himself, found himself agreed with young Mister Diggory: it was unfair, frightfully unfair, that those students who lost a teammate were barred from competing in this, the greatest of all contests, when it might be said that they had proved their worthiness more than any others. But what could be done? How was it to be managed? If they were allowed to compete with fewer members, would that give them an unfair advantage?

And, if it did not, what did that say about the teams they were up against?

“In any case,” he went on, “our friends who are present will no doubt appreciate your support.”

“Did you ever compete in the tournament, Doctor?” asked Miss Pole.

“Oh, yes,” Doctor Diggory replied. “Of course, I was a much, much younger man then. As I recall, we did rather well. I fought in the second round, the two-on-two, and we were victorious, although my team leader chose to send one of the other fellows into the final round. We both wanted it very badly … and then he lost his match, and I never let him forget it.” He chuckled softly to himself, momentarily overcome by the memory of bygone days long ago.

My goodness, the world seemed simple then.

Simple and grand and ever so glorious.

I wonder if it seems as simple to those young men and women there today?

It was not likely that it seemed so simple to Miss Shimmer, Miss Glimmer, or Miss Lulamoon. Still less to Miss Doo. Not after what they’d been through here at Arcadia Lake.

He hoped, he very much hoped, that all the fun of the festival would be a balm to all their burdens. It had been for him. After Mountain Glenn, Vale had been the next kingdom to host the festival, although there had been many arguing that it was too soon or inappropriate, nevertheless, it had gone ahead, and Diggory had found himself drawn to it, wandering the fairgrounds, watching the children, the eager students, all the tourists, just reminding himself that there was still so much life in the world, and so much good.

It had helped him to find a little peace.

He hoped with all his heart that the young huntresses who had come to defend Arcadia Lake when it was in need would find some of that same peace by the time this festival was over.


And many, many more. Across the kingdoms, across all of Remnant, the eyes of the world were turned towards Vale as their hearts reached out towards the Amity Coliseum, pinning their hopes and dreams upon one hundred and twenty-eight huntsmen and huntresses who would fight for kingdom, school, and honour … and for the delectation of the crowds.

The eyes of the world were turned on Vale, the hearts of the world reached out towards the arena … but would they behold a shining light of hope, or a dark fire of death and destruction?

Time, only time, would tell.

Author's Note:

Since the Vytal Festival is in large part a public event, and since a large part of the villains’ plan is to induce a mass of negative emotions in people to attract the grimm, it seemed right to have a short chapter to introduce placeholders or representatives of the wider population to cut back to every so often to show how they’re reacting to events as they unfold. The advantage of having such a large cast of minor characters is that I didn’t have to introduce many new people here, mostly using existing ones from earlier in the story.

Rewrite Notes: Looking back at the original author's note leaves me a little baffled because I didn't have that many characters in this chapter, and a fair few of them were new. I feel like this time around I was able to deliver on the intent a little better by virtue of having a lot more minor characters to use: Lt Martinez, Terri-Belle and Swift Foot, Turnus, Camilla and Juturna, Leaf, Doctor Diggory, the Arcs. I was able to cut some characters from the original, like the Mistralian gladiators, and still have plenty of talking heads whom you've alreayd met. This... this has actually proven to be a bit of a bane to me in writing upcoming chapters, but let's enjoy it here while it lasts.

PreviousChapters Next