• Published 31st Aug 2018
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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.

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Joy (New)

Joy

Penny stared down at her scroll.

The scroll that Ruby had just disconnected from Penny’s call with her father.

Pyrrha found that she could quite understand why — his attitude had been rather obnoxious — but at the same time … it might be said to have been an overstepping of the bounds.

Of course, only Penny could say that for certain, one way or the other.

Penny turned her head a little to look at Ruby.

“I … I thought,” Ruby murmured. “It wasn’t right, what he was saying to you. The way he was talking to you. I didn’t think … I didn’t think that you should have to force yourself to listen to that.”

Penny didn’t reply. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even keep looking at Ruby. She looked down, at the metal floor of the Colosseum. Around them, the great crowds swirled, moving according to their own peculiar rhythms, totally ignoring Penny just as Penny was ignoring them.

Just as they were all, the four of them, ignoring the crowds, their focus upon Penny.

Sunset put a hand on Penny’s shoulder. Pyrrha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, recalling — who could forget? — that Sunset was often the voice for reconciliation in these matters, for understanding … Pyrrha was not altogether certain that would be welcomed by either Penny or Ruby in such circumstances.

Perhaps Sunset realised that too, for she said nothing. She simply had a hand on Penny’s shoulder, standing silently behind her.

Pyrrha herself took a step closer to Penny. “He … had no right to speak thus,” she said, her voice trembling a little. “To ignore the news about your semblance was boorish to say the least, but more than that … you are your own person, not bound to alter your actions for their desires.”

Penny didn’t respond. She stood as still as any of the statues of Pyrrha’s ancestors in the garden of the Nikos house in Mistral, if a little more meekly posed than any of them.

“Penny?” Jaune asked.

Penny’s eyes flickered towards Ruby for a second. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ruby let out a sigh of relief it had not been obvious that she was holding in. “You’re welcome, Penny.”

Penny didn’t look at Ruby, or at any of them.

“I thought that … I hoped that … I didn’t realise that it would matter that much to him.”

“It’s not your fault, Penny,” Ruby insisted. “You’ve done the right thing.”

“Have I?” Penny asked.

“Have you done what you thought was right, for you?” Ruby replied.

“Yes,” Penny said. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then you’ve done the right thing,” Ruby declared. “And you can’t beat yourself up for it.”

Penny raised her head, looking around at the four members of Team SAPR, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she reached out to pull both Ruby and Pyrrha into an embrace, squeezing them tightly with one arm each, holding them close against her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m so lucky to have run into you!”

Pyrrha chuckled, despite how tight Penny was holding her. “The good fortune was ours, Penny,” she said, “or, at the very least, we share in it.”

Penny released them. “So, what happens now?”

“The night’s still young,” Ruby said. “So we can do … whatever we want, pretty much.” She paused. “What do we want to do?”

“There’s the carnival down in Vale,” Sunset said. “That Mistralian thing that Arslan is going to be at, we could get drinks at the Iceberg Lounge, or we could just have some more fun at the fairgrounds. Perhaps we should wait until we get down to Beacon, and we can see what Amber wants to do as well.”

“That is a good point,” Pyrrha murmured. Personally, she was not too enthused about the idea of the Mistralian exhibition, since she suspected it would be a great deal that she already knew a great deal about, but if everyone else’s interest tended in that direction, then she would not oppose them.

Not least because she doubted that the will of the majority would tend in that direction.

“But,” she added, “there is a possibility that my mother might wish for us to dine with her tonight. I should like to check with her, if that’s alright with you.”

“By all means,” Sunset replied. “It would be discourteous not to, in the circumstances.”

“Yes, quite,” Pyrrha said softly, and now, it was her turn to get out her scroll, even as Penny put hers away.

Pyrrha opened up the device, and called her mother. She did not, as Penny’s father had done, include the other members of her team in the call, but she felt and saw Sunset move to stand closer to her nonetheless.

Their shoulders were practically touching.

The crowds continued to move around them, not even really glancing Pyrrha’s way.

I suppose they’ve had their bellyful of me today already. I have become a stale sight in their eyes.

If only that would happen more often.

Mother answered fairly swiftly, her face appearing on the screen. “Pyrrha,” she said. “I was not expecting you to call.”

“Were you not?” Pyrrha asked. “You watched the second round draws, I take it?”

“Of course,” Mother said quickly. “Your opponents, Miss Trixie Lulamoon and Miss Starlight Glimmer of Atlas’ Team Tsunami, are they known to you at all?”

“They are, my lady,” Sunset declared. “Besides being our classmates, they … did me a singular good service not too long ago. It is not too much to say that, without their help, I might not be here.”

Mother’s eyebrows rose a little. “Indeed, Miss Shimmer? Did they do this service for your teammates also?”

“Alas, no, my lady, I was … on my own, at the time, or at least without the rest of Team Sapphire. It is … a story somewhat awkward to recall.”

Quite, Pyrrha thought, recalling their concern during Sunset’s unexplained absence. Magic or not, you could have let us know.

“I see,” Mother murmured. “Leave that for now, then; I take it from what you have said that they are skilled?”

“Starlight has a semblance that lets her take other semblances, or just stop you from using yours,” Ruby piped up.

Mother blinked. “That is … quite a semblance,” she said. “A somewhat unnerving semblance, I must say. I didn’t see Miss Glimmer using it in her match today.”

“Some people do like to keep their semblances a secret, Mother,” Pyrrha reminded her gently.

“Yes, that is undoubtedly true,” Mother conceded. “And Miss Lulamoon?”

“May seem to play the fool upon occasion,” Sunset said. “And in close combat, she is not the best trained or equipped, but yes, she too is far from unskilled. I would say they are amongst Atlas’ best.”

“And you are already devising a plan to best the best, I hope,” Mother said.

“It is germinating in my mind as we speak, my lady,” Sunset said. Pyrrha had no idea whether or not that was actually true.

“In the meantime, Mother,” she said, “I called to see if you had any plans for this evening?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Mother replied. “Lord Wong has invited me to dine with himself and his wife.” She smirked, ever so slightly but quite clearly nonetheless. “So you and your friends may amuse yourselves as you no doubt wished to without my interference.”

“That … that was not…” Pyrrha trailed off. “Thank you, Mother.”

“But take care not to exhaust yourselves before tomorrow’s battle,” Mother admonished. “I would have you both well-rested for the struggle with these Atlesians.”

Sunset bowed her head. “We will, of course, take care of ourselves in preparation for the contest to come, my lady.”

“In that case,” Mother said, “I wish you a moderate and tempered joy of the evening. Goodnight, Pyrrha. Miss Shimmer, Mister Arc, Miss Rose.”

“Goodnight, Mother,” Pyrrha said as she hung up the call.

She folded up her scroll. “So, the skybus then, as Sunset suggested?”

“Sounds fine by me,” Jaune said.

“And me, too,” added Ruby. “If … Penny, are you okay?”

“Of course,” Penny declared. “I’m fine. Let’s … let’s go!”

There were queues at all of the docking platforms waiting to take people down off the coliseum back to Beacon, with all of the events of the day concluded and nobody having any reason to remain on the coliseum any more, but by the same token, there were also a lot of skybuses, docking at every platform to fill up with students and spectators and ferry them down to Beacon below, and they must have been scarcely waiting to deposit their loads before they rose up into the sky once more. All of which meant that, although Team SAPR and Penny had to join the back of a queue at their nearest docking pad, they were not actually waiting very long as the queue moved quickly.

Soon it was their turn. They did not sit down, since the skybus was so full and there were others who deserved or required seats more than they did, but stood against the windows as they had the last time they descended downwards, after watching Team YRBN’s match against Team BRNZ.

“I don’t suppose Yang mentioned what she had planned for the evening?” Pyrrha asked.

“She and Nora are going to the carnival in Vale,” Ruby answered.

Pyrrha nodded. “And Ren?”

“Oh, Ren’s going too; he’s just not as enthusiastic about it,” Ruby explained.

“What is the carnival?” asked Penny.

“Why don’t we wait until Amber’s here, then Ruby only has to explain it once,” Sunset suggested, a little grin playing across her face.

Penny covered her mouth with both hands as she giggled. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ruby assured her. “But … Sunset has a point; maybe we should leave it.”

The skybus was full, but it was not quite so full as to stop a few of the children running up and down on either side of the rows of seats, yelling and shrieking in delight as they whacked one another with a variety of rolled up fliers, painted cardboard tubes, and toy weapons — including a couple of toy Milós.

“Those are not supposed to be used to strike people,” Pyrrha murmured. “It says so on the packaging.”

Sunset looked up at her, a bemused look on her face that looked to be verging into outright amusement.

“Someone could get hurt,” Pyrrha pointed out. “Or they could break the weapon.”

“That’s for their parents to worry about,” Ruby said. “Nobody will thank us for interfering.”

“No,” Pyrrha acknowledged. “No, I’m sure you’re right.”

Soon they had landed at Beacon and were part of the great surge of passengers off the skybus and onto the illuminated docking pad. As they disembarked, Pyrrha could see that the left and rightmost docking platforms were being used by the skybuses down from Amity Arena, while at the central docking pad, a great skyliner had docked, ramp extended outwards to touch the platform, and was loading people up for the trip down into Vale. There was another queue for it on the docking pad, and from what she could see — albeit, there was some little distance separating them from the grounds — Beacon was a little less crowded with people than it had been earlier.

“Hey, kiddo!”

“Uncle Qrow!” Ruby cried, dashing across the docking pad, leaving a trail of rose petals upon the black tarmac behind her as she raced towards her uncle, who ambled with his hands thrust into his pockets in her direction.

He pulled one hand out of said pockets and ruffled Ruby’s hair as she enveloped him in a hug.

“Did you watch the fight?” Ruby asked.

Qrow shrugged. “You were okay.”

“'Ok—' we won!” Ruby protested. “We won really well! We got a clean sweep! Did you get a clean sweep in your four on four?”

“Of course we did; what do you think we were, amateurs?” Qrow asked. He grinned. “But, okay, I guess you did a pretty good job.”

“Were you in the coliseum?” asked Ruby.

“Nah, I just watched it on TV.”

“Seriously?” Ruby asked. “You didn’t bother to come up to the arena, for me or Yang?”

“Does it matter where I watched it from as long as I watched it?” asked Qrow. “It’s just … I’m not crazy about the huge crowds up there.”

“Well … as long as you were watching, I guess,” Ruby mumbled, although the softness of her voice could not quite hide the disappointment. “Have you spoken to Yang?”

“Nah, I must have missed her,” Qrow said dismissively. “But there’s always tomorrow, right?”

“I guess,” Ruby muttered. “So, are you doing anything tonight? Apparently Doctor Oobleck’s DJing for old Beacon students.”

Qrow snorted. “Please. Like I’d go to something that lame.”

Ruby looked up at him. “You don’t have any old friends from school you want to say hi to?”

Qrow was silent for a second. “I’ll see you around, kiddo,” he said, turning away with a swish of his short red cape.

“Wait!” Ruby called. “If you’re not … maybe we could…” She glanced back at the rest of her team. “That would be okay, wouldn’t it?”

“Despite how you act sometimes, I don’t actually want to have you muzzled,” Sunset replied. “Do as you wish.”

Ruby nodded, and looked back at her uncle. “We could, I don’t know, play some video games? Like we used to?”

Qrow said nothing for a moment, looking at Ruby over his shoulder. Then a smile began to spread across his stubbled face. “Yeah. Okay, I’d like that. That … I’d like that a lot.”

Ruby let out a kind of squeaking sound as she said, “Okay then! Let’s go.” As she closed the distance between them, she looked back and mouthed ‘thank you.’

Pyrrha smiled as she watched the two of them walk away.

He may be a rather sad man, or gives that impression, but, at the same time, very fortunate in his family.

They gave Ruby and her uncle a bit of a head start before they, too, left the docking pad, and began to follow the path down towards Beacon itself. They met Amber about halfway there, accompanied by Dove and by Professor Goodwitch, who stood a little behind the other two, looming over them like … well, like a bodyguard, which she was.

“Hello, everyone,” Amber said, a bright smile upon her face as she approached them. “I hear you won.”

“We certainly did,” Sunset agreed. “And handily too. Good evening, Dove.”

Dove bowed his head. “Sunset.”

Pyrrha bowed. “Professor Goodwitch, thank you for taking care of Amber during our absence.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Nikos, even as it is now my pleasure to … release Amber into your custody,” Professor Goodwitch replied. “Congratulations, all of you, upon your victory. And good luck to you, Miss Shimmer, and you, Miss Nikos, in the next round.”

“So you got your miracle this time,” Amber said.

Sunset frowned a little. “Excuse me?”

Professor Goodwitch coughed into one hand. “Well, I have a lot of work to do, so I’ll leave you to enjoy yourselves. Goodnight. Amber.” She turned away, her heels clicking against the stones of the path.

“Goodnight, Professor,” Pyrrha called to her.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that,” Amber murmured. She added, “We passed Ruby on the way, with Qrow.”

“Yeah, she’s going to hang out with her uncle,” Sunset explained, “while we still need to decide what we’re going to do tonight.”

Pyrrha began, “Although without Ruby—”

“Without Ruby, who’s going to explain what the carnival is?” asked Penny.

“Well, there may be some differences between Mistral and Vale, or between Vale and Atlas,” Pyrrha said, “but essentially, the carnival is an enormous street party held across the three nights of the tournament. There’s a parade, but it is somewhat irregular, and anyone can take part in it, dancing in the street, colourful costumes, music, juggling, and fire-breathing, that sort of thing.” She paused a moment. “When I was a little girl visiting Atlas, I found some of the costumes rather frightening, people dressed as grimm or as other horrors, but when the festival was held in Mistral six years ago, when I was a little older, I found it wasn’t nearly as frightening.”

“That sounds like fun,” Amber said. “Can we go there?”

“But we don’t have a full team, now that Ruby’s gone with her uncle,” Jaune pointed out.

“Yes,” Pyrrha murmured. “I was just about to stay, we need to have the full team assembled in order to escort you into Vale.”

“But there are three of you here,” Amber pointed out. “And Penny; surely, she’s as good as Ruby is.”

“I try,” Penny said, “but I’m not exactly sure.”

“More to the point, I’m not sure how Professor Ozpin would see the matter,” Sunset said. “He might agree with you, or he might not. The letter of his instructions on the matter were rather clear.”

Amber pouted. “Really?” she demanded. “So unless all four of you are here, it doesn’t matter about Penny or Blake or anyone else?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Sunset confirmed. “But don’t worry; remember, Pyrrha said that the carnival is held on more than one night. Tomorrow, we’ll speak to Ruby, and then we can all take you down to the carnival tomorrow night. And in the meantime, tonight, since Ruby’s absence rules out anything in Vale by the same logic, why don’t we take a turn around the fairgrounds? It feels like we didn’t get the chance before.”

“No, we didn’t really, did we?” Pyrrha said. “That would be fine by me.”

“And me,” Penny agreed.

Dove glanced at Amber, who nodded. “Yes, that would be lovely, too.”

“Then let’s do it,” Jaune said. “Where do we want to start?”

“Somewhere with stuffed animals,” Penny declared.

Sunset laughed. “Well, finding some of those shouldn’t be an issue.”

Amber and Dove fell in with them as they set off down the path. The crowds were a little thinner, but there were still plenty of drones zipping through the air just overhead, or else hovering only a little higher than the height of a person, cameras scanning the crowds even as the crowds thinned, harvesting footage for the news items on the end of the Vytal Festival. A couple of them pointed their cameras in the direction of Pyrrha and the others, although none of them lingered for too long.

They crossed the courtyard, and shortly after arrived at the fairgrounds, making their way between the stands to one particular stall, run by a pair of middle-aged men in straw hats and blue and white striped waistcoats. They both had red hair, streaked with white, and one had a bushy moustache covering his upper lip. Both were calling out to passers-by in mellifluent, fruity voices.

“Roll up, roll up, don’t be shy! You like prizes, we got prizes!” one of them called, gesturing with one hand to the row upon row of enticingly large stuffed animals

“Simply shoot down five cans to win a prize!” added the other man. “And from this range, you can hardly miss! Easiest game in the fairground!”

Team SAPR, Amber, and Dove began to drift in their direction, something that the two men didn’t miss.

“You! Yes, you!” called out the man without the moustache. “I’m sure that such highly skilled huntsmen and huntresses as yourself will have no trouble at all winning one of our fabulous prizes!”

“Hey, Dove,” Sunset said, “maybe you’d like to have a go, win something for Amber?”

“Um…” Dove hesitated, trailing off a little bit. “No,” he muttered. “No, thank you, I … no.”

Sunset frowned. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little bit peaky.”

Now that Sunset mentioned it, Dove did look a little unwell; his face was pale, and there was a slightly clammy or sweaty quality to his complexion, his face and hair alike so damp that it was as though he’d just run from Vale to catch up with them here. He was holding onto Amber’s hand, and holding it tightly too, holding it for dear life. Pyrrha could have understood that — he had almost lost her once, after all; if he held onto her for fear that she would vanish into thin air the moment that he let her go, well, what could be more natural than that? But at the same time, Pyrrha didn’t recall him holding Amber in that way before. He had been much more gentle with his touches.

But Amber didn’t seem to mind, so it was hardly Pyrrha’s place to comment on that. Unless it was a symptom of the sickness that appeared to have afflicted him.

“I’m fine,” Dove murmured. “I’m fine, really, there’s nothing wrong. I just…” He glanced at Amber. “Alright, I’ll give this game a try.”

“Fantastic!” cried the man with the moustache. “Only ten lien for five shots!”

Dove got out his wallet and handed over a small-value lien card.

“Thank you,” said the man without the moustache.

“And here you go,” added the man who possessed one as he took out a short-barreled rifle from underneath the counter, attached by a chain which ran out of sight beneath that same counter so that the gun couldn’t be taken just anywhere, and handed it to Dove. There was also a wire connecting the gun to some out of sight thing on the other side of the stand, and Pyrrha guessed that it was a hose to channel air into the rifle, since it didn’t use dust.

“And here,” the man with the moustache added, “are your five shots.” He deposited five small, soft-looking foam pellets, bullet shaped but rather too colourful to be made of metal, upon the counter.

Dove didn’t look ill as he got to work; in fact, he looked rather professional as he opened up the breach of the rifle and methodically loaded in the five soft foam bullets.

He snapped the breach shut and put the rifle to his shoulder.

Of course; he used to hunt back home, if I recall.

Dove pushed the rifle a little harder into his shoulder, looked down the sights, then fired rapidly, once, twice, three times, four, five shots barking out of his rifle, a rifle which barely moved as he pulled the trigger so well did he control the recoil.

The distance from rifle to the tin can targets was only ten feet at most; someone with less than half an hour’s training could have made those shots, and yet, Dove did not appear to hit a single thing. Of the four sets of five cans, all stacked up three below and two above, not a single can fell.

They were all still standing after Dove had fired his fifth and final round.

Dove lowered his rifle, and as he lowered it, he stared at all the stubbornly, resolutely still-standing cans. “I … I may be a little out of practice with a normal gun.”

“Mmm,” murmured the man without the moustache. “Well, don’t worry about it, sport; sometimes, these things just happen.”

“Here’s another ten lien,” Sunset said, putting the money card down with perhaps a little too much force. “Give the gun over, Dove.”

“Five more rounds,” said the man with the moustache as he produced five more of the colourful foam bullets. “Best of luck.”

Pyrrha’s eyes narrowed as she watched Sunset load the rifle; her movements were not as precise as Dove’s, but she was every bit as quick — quicker even — despite the fact that there were not so many satisfying clicks or snaps as she opened or shut the weapon.

Like Dove before her, Sunset raised the rifle to her shoulder; the leather of her jacket squeaked a little as she did so. Sunset tossed her head, flipping some of her fiery hair out of the way, as she aimed down the sights.

Sunset stood still, letting the rifle rise and fall as she breathed in and out. Her breathing slowed, then stopped; the rifle went still.

BANG! Sunset fired, the muzzle flashing.

Not a single can fell.

Sunset breathed out heavily, then breathed in, then held her breath. She fired again, twice in quick succession.

Still, not a can fell.

Pyrrha frowned beneath her circlet. Slowly, she placed one hand into Jaune’s. She felt his fingers close about hers, which was very nice in itself, but was also nice in this particular instance as cover for the black outline that surrounded her hand as she probed at the tin cans with her polarity.

As Sunset fired twice more, Pyrrha groped at the cans with her semblance, finding that they were secured onto the shelves where they sat with magnets.

The easiest game in the fairground indeed.

It would be if you were more than common cheats, thieves, and con-artists!

Unfortunately, the scale being as small as it was, there was little point trying to get the authorities involved.

Sunset let out a wordless snort of irritation as she slammed the gun down onto the front of the stall. “The sights are off,” she declared.

“You know what they say about a bad workman and their tools,” said the man with the moustache. “Does anyone else think they might have better luck?”

Sunset scowled and turned around. “Show them, Pyrrha,” she said.

Pyrrha smiled with one corner of her mouth. “I, um, I’m afraid I’m a little too precious of my dignity to venture it on such a game as this,” she murmured, “but I think you should try again. I’ll pay if the money is an obstacle.”

Sunset snorted. “You’re a little too precious of your dignity, but you want me to dent mine even more than I already have?”

“Please, Sunset,” Pyrrha urged. “I really believe that your luck is about to change.”

Sunset stared at her, eyes narrowing a little.

The smile remained on Pyrrha’s face as she nodded encouragingly.

The corner of Sunset’s lip twitched in turn. “Okay,” she said softly. “But keep your money; I can afford another ten lien.” She produced another small-value money card from out of her jacket pocket and put it down. “Five more shots, if you please.”

“Here you go,” said the man without the moustache as he produced the extra rounds.

Sunset loaded, as quickly as before.

Pyrrha reached out with her Polarity, the touch of it lingering gently upon the cans, so that she could feel them without actually affecting them — yet.

Sunset bared her teeth and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! Sunset fired, and as she fired, Pyrrha gave the first can a firm nudge with her semblance, knocking it off its perch and onto the ground below.

The man with the moustache gasped in surprise. Sunset let out a sort of snigger of triumph.

BANG! She fired again, and another can fell. Sunset fired a third time, and Pyrrha pushed a third can down, and a fourth, and finally a fifth.

Sunset grinned as she set the rifle down. “Five cans,” she declared. “Now if I remember correctly, that means I get a prize, doesn’t it?”

The man without the moustache seemed to have been robbed of speech, but the man who had the moustache groaned.

“Take your pick,” they said.

“Hmm,” Sunset murmured, putting one hand on her hip as she stared at the row upon row of stuffed animals that all stared back at her with smiling faces: bears, rabbits, pandas, polar bears — distinguishable from the ordinary bears by being white instead of colourful — penguins, ponies, a whole host of stuffed creatures sat upon hooks, waiting for a liberator to come set them free.

“That one,” Sunset said, pointing to a pink winged unicorn with a horn of gold emerging from out of the midst of her teal mane, and multi-coloured wings with stripes of orchid and shades of blue which darkened towards the tips. “I’ll take that one.”

The man with the moustache practically threw it at her. “Thank you for playing,” he said sharply.

“My pleasure,” Sunset said, then turned crisply upon her toes and walked away, her tail swishing from side to side behind her.

The others turned to follow her. When they were a moderate distance away, Sunset turned and offered the large stuffed winged unicorn — it was larger than Sunset’s head — to Pyrrha. “I think this belongs to you,” she said.

Pyrrha fought to keep a straight face. “Why—?”

“You used your semblance on the cans, didn’t you?” Sunset asked.

Pyrrha was silent for a moment. “Well … yes,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t have if they hadn’t been using magnets to stop the cans from falling. The game was rigged so that nobody would win.”

“Why would someone do something like that?” asked Penny.

“Because they’re cheap?” suggested Jaune.

“You … you aren’t upset?” Pyrrha asked.

“Why would I be upset?” Sunset responded. “The only reason I needed your help is because they were cheating, like you said; now, do you want the alicorn or don’t you?”

Pyrrha smiled as she reached out with her free hand and wrapped her arm around the stuffed animal, pulling it out of Sunset’s unresisting grasp and pressing the soft felt against her cheek.

“I love it, Sunset,” she declared. “Thank you.”


“Rainbow Dash!” the voice of Jillian Khalisa rose above the hubbub of the crowds.

Rainbow groaned as she turned her face away and tried to hide said face behind one hand; she and Lady Belladonna had descended down out of the eaves and returned to the outer ring of the arena, where students and spectators alike were queuing up to board the skybuses carrying people down to Beacon. They had been walking around the circle to try and find the others, but considering that Jillian Khalisa had found them first, it might have been better to have just gotten aboard the nearest skybus and waited for Rainbow’s friends down on the ground at Beacon.

Lady Belladonna looked at her. “Do you know this person?” she asked anxiously.

“Unfortunately, I know who she is,” Rainbow muttered. “She’s a reporter; maybe you should step away in case—”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Lady Belladonna said quickly. “I’m not here to cause a scene, that’s true, but I’m not going to simply slink away and hide either. Besides, it’s been a while since I was involved in politics. This woman probably won’t even know who I am.”

It was Khalisa’s drone that appeared first, hovering above the heads of the crowds on the docking ring, followed shortly by the reporter herself, wearing a dress of the same style as she’d worn the last time, right down to that golden ladder-thing running down the centre of it, but with more red this time and a lot less blue.

“Rainbow Dash,” she repeated. “Jillian Khalisa, Northern News—”

“Yeah, I remember,” Rainbow said.

She didn’t introduce Lady Belladonna, because she didn’t think that Lady Belladonna would really want to be introduced like that, and Jillian Khalisa didn’t even look at her. Her attention was wholly fixed on Rainbow Dash.

“May I have a word with you,” she said, “without General Ironwood hovering nearby, dictating what I can and cannot ask?”

Rainbow hesitated for a second, because Khalisa was absolutely right about General Ironwood being nowhere to be found, but so long as she didn’t feel like she had to answer every question and remembered how to say ‘no comment,’ then she should be okay.

And if she wasn’t, then Rainbow had a hunch that Lady Belladonna might step in for her, or at least step in to tell her when she ought to keep her mouth shut.

“That … would be fine, ma’am,” she said, clasping her hands together behind her back.

She clicked her fingers, and the drone hovering over her shoulder began to shine a bright light into Rainbow’s face, making her flinch away from it for a moment before her eyes got used to it.

“Rainbow Dash, congratulations, first of all; that was a fight well fought,” Khalisa said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Rainbow said. “My whole team did their best.”

“A good fight,” Khalisa repeated. “And a necessary fillip for Atlas after the two defeats that preceded your victory. Why do you think Atlas performed so poorly today?”

Rainbow blinked. “With four out of eight teams through to the second round, I wouldn’t say that we did poorly; I’d say that we performed … averagely.”

“Some would say that an average performance from Atlas is a poor performance,” Khalisa replied. “Don’t you think that people back home were expecting more from Atlas Academy? Don’t you think they have a right to expect more?”

“I don’t know what people back home were expecting,” Rainbow replied. “I don’t think they have a right to expect more than they’ve gotten, which is the best effort of every team selected so far. We’ve got a lot of good students at our school, but so do Beacon and Haven and even Shade Academy; there’s no shame in losing to any of them. That’s just the way it is sometimes.”

“You don’t think that your fellow Atlas students were put off by the hostility they’ve received in Vale recently?”

“You’d have to ask them that, ma’am, but we weren’t,” Rainbow replied.

Khalisa’s expression was hard to read. Rainbow didn’t think that she’d given her anything, but at the same time, she didn’t look upset about what she had or hadn’t got either.

“What was it like to win?” she asked.

Rainbow was so surprised by the question that she didn’t say anything at first; she just stood there, staring. It took a couple of seconds for her to recover enough to say, “It was pretty awesome. I mean, Team Jasmine fought a good match, they were good huntsmen and huntresses, it just wasn’t their day, but … yeah, it was pretty awesome to win; thanks for asking.”

Khalisa snorted. She clicked her fingers, and the light on her drone died. “Despite what you might think, I am rooting for Atlas,” she said, and then turned away, pushing through the queues and crowds, maybe in search of more students to interview.

“She didn’t seem so bad,” Lady Belladonna observed.

“Mmm, that was her being pleasant, ma’am,” Rainbow said. “She and Northern News root for Atlas in everything, if you take my meaning.”

Lady Belladonna’s eyes narrowed. “You mean—”

“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “Yeah, it’s like that. She doesn’t really like anyone who isn’t from Atlas, she doesn’t like Mantle, and I don’t think she’s really very fond of the faunus either. She kept a lid on it just now, but I’ve heard worse.”

“She sounds charming,” Lady Belladonna murmured. “But I think you got away with it on this occasion, helped by some largely pretty innocuous questions.”

“Except for that one about the hostile atmosphere,” Rainbow said. “As if she wanted someone to tell her that Vale had put our students off their game.”

“And you don’t think that it has?” Lady Belladonna replied softly.

“If it had, then we wouldn’t have had four wins, ma’am,” Rainbow replied. “It’s like I said: sometimes, the other team is just a little better.”

“Not having ever trained as a huntress, I’ll have to take your word for that,” Lady Belladonna said. She paused for a moment. “I spoke to your friend Councillor Cadance today.”

Rainbow glanced at Lady Belladonna as she resumed walking. “Really, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Belladonna confirmed. “I was her guest for the matches. Although, of course, we paid full attention to yours and Blake’s fights.”

“I’m glad to hear it, ma’am,” Rainbow said, “but when we weren’t dazzling you, am I allowed to ask what you talked about?”

Lady Belladonna smiled, although she didn’t show her teeth as she was smiling. “We talked about a few things,” she said, “including a huntsman academy on Menagerie.”

Rainbow’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Lady Belladonna nodded. “Well, why not?” she asked. “Is there any reason why Menagerie shouldn’t have a huntsman Academy when Vale, Atlas, Mistral, and Vacuo do?”

“Does Menagerie have grimm, ma’am?”

“A few, although they tend to stick to the interior, where we don’t go,” Lady Belladonna said. “But they do exist, and we could use a few more huntsmen, I suppose. Or they could send money home to Menagerie. I have to admit that we could use the lien. Or … well, it might just be nice, mightn’t it, to have teams representing an academy on Menagerie competing in the Vytal Tournament?”

Rainbow chuckled. “I guess it might, ma’am, yeah.” She paused, thinking about it. An academy on Menagerie. “Yeah, it might be pretty cool. Have you got an idea for a name for it?”

“That might be getting a little ahead of ourselves,” Lady Belladonna replied. “Although if you have any ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

“Hmm,” Rainbow murmured. “How about … Slope Academy? As in climbing the slope towards equality?”

“A possibility,” Lady Belladonna murmured.

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not sure that the theme should have to be spelled out,” Lady Belladonna said gently, “but there’s plenty of time to think about it; discussions are only in the most preliminary of stages. Besides, I didn’t actually tell you about it to get your name suggestions.”

“No, ma’am,” Rainbow said, a touch of laughter in her voice.

“Obviously, this new academy will need teachers,” Lady Belladonna said. “But it will also need students; now, we can find children on Menagerie who want to train as huntsmen, but I was thinking that it might be good if we can get some good upperclassmen who have spent two or three years at another academy, who can show the young freshman ropes, since nothing like this has ever existed on Menagerie before. Not you, of course, or Blake — I wouldn’t ask you to leave Atlas — but I was wondering if you knew anyone who might be willing to transfer schools when — or if — we get our new Academy up and running.”

“Faunus students, ma’am?”

“It is a faunus island,” Lady Belladonna pointed out.

Rainbow was silent for a moment. Faunus students, willing to leave Atlas and go to Menagerie to finish their training — meaning students who didn’t have military aspirations.

She thought about Team SABR, and how they might fight for what Lady Belladonna was envisioning — except that Rainbow wouldn’t want the likes of them to be anywhere impressionable young faunus students; you might as well invite Sienna Khan to be the school councillor.

“I … I’d have to think about it, ma’am; no one’s coming to mind off the top of my head,” Rainbow admitted. “To be honest, you might be better off talking that one over with Councillor Cadance; maybe … maybe you could set up a programme whereby Atlas upperclassmen volunteer to spend a year or two on Menagerie, but not transfer to your academy, just until you have some upperclassmen of your own; that way, the Atlas students wouldn’t lose their chance at joining the military afterwards if that’s what they want.”

“Ah, yes, of course, your military advancement,” Lady Belladonna murmured. “Yes, I suppose most students wouldn’t be eager to throw that away after working for it. Thank you, Rainbow Dash; I’ll take that up with the Councillor once we start to get down into the nitty gritty of the negotiations.”

“Glad I could help, ma’am,” Rainbow murmured. She spotted another drone flying over the heads of the students and the spectators, a drone that she recognised as belonging to Twilight. She waved to it and was rewarded by the sight of the drone stopping, letting out a kind of boop-boop sound as it turned in mid-air until its eye, for want of a better word, was fixed on Rainbow and Lady Belladonna.

Rainbow smiled as she heard Twilight’s voice.

“I see her! She’s over there!”

Sure enough, and soon enough, she could see Twilight, Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy all coming her way, gently moving the crowd aside, slipping and sliding through the people.

“Rainbow Dash,” Twilight repeated. “We wondered where you took off to.” She bowed her head as she noticed Blake’s mom. “Oh, good evening, Lady Belladonna. Allow me to introduce my friends: Jacqueline Apple, Rarity Blumstein, Pinkamena Pie, and Fluttershy Warren.”

“Woof,” Spike said.

“And this is my dog, Spike,” Twilight added quickly. “Everyone, this is Lady Belladonna, High Chieftainness of Menagerie and—”

“Mother to one Blake Belladonna, in case the name and resemblance didn’t give it away,” Lady Belladonna said. “Do you all know my daughter?”

“We all know Blake, sure!” Pinkie cried. “She’s awesome! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady B!”

Lady Belladonna chuckled. “If you’re friends of Blake’s, then the pleasure is all mine.” She looked around. “Has Blake already gone down to the surface?”

Twilight nodded. “She thought that Rainbow wanted to be alone.”

“Did you want to be alone?” Pinkie asked.

“…Yes,” Rainbow admitted, after hesitating for a second. “But Lady Belladonna reminded me that sometimes, just because we think we want to be alone doesn’t mean that we should actually be alone. Have you guys seen Weiss? Weiss Schnee, I mean?”

“As opposed to Weiss Smith, darling?” Rarity asked archly.

“I think that she got on a skybus as well,” Twilight said. “Why, is something wrong?”


Neon beamed broadly as she stared at the enormous hamburger that she held in both hands, fat dripping from out of the patties to land on the grass at her feet.

Neon’s burger consisted of no less than three such dribbling patties stacked together, the burgers themselves almost invisible beneath layers of melted cheese that was a little too firm to drip off completely but was not so firm as to stop it from running off the burgers down the sides. As she looked at this monstrosity, Ciel could see some bacon on top nestling amongst the lettuce leaves. Said greenery — and the red of a tomato slice — looked distinctly outnumbered by the sheer amount of meat present.

“You do realise that will kill you,” Ciel observed.

The smile didn’t waver from Neon’s face. “I am here for a good time,” she declared. “Not a long time.”

She opened her mouth wide — almost grotesquely wide — and clamped her jaws around the oversized burger, biting down upon it, distorting the shapes of the burger patties, causing cheese and mayonnaise and fat to begin to spill out onto Neon’s chin.

As Neon began to chew, Ciel got out a handkerchief from one of her belt pouches and began to wipe Neon’s face.

Even as she was still chewing, Neon looked as though she wanted to laugh. She swallowed and said, “Thank you, momma.”

Ciel snorted. “You are very welcome.”

“You want a bite?” Neon asked, waving the burger up and down in her direction.

Ciel leaned away from it. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Neon said. “It’s not like what you went for is particularly healthy.”

Ciel looked down at the box of popcorn chicken that she held in her free hand. As Neon said, it was not particularly healthy.

It was, however, small enough she could eat it without making a mess.

The two of them were sitting almost at the cliffs, a little way off from the docking pads, with the view of the city of Vale spread out before them. The sun had set, and the whole city was illuminated even more brightly than usual, with sections of the city seeming to be bathed in so much light it was as though they were auditioning to replace the sun in the sky. Prominent civic buildings were lit up in green, blue, white, and yellow — as, for that matter, were the Atlesian warships in the sky up above, parading in the Vytal colours as though they might convince people that their presence was a normal part of the festival — while great squares and boulevards were filled with so much light and colour that it was visible even to Neon and Ciel where they sat high above, looking down upon a city that seemed so small it was almost like a model.

“So,” Neon said. “Two-on-two rounds, huh?”

Ciel allowed herself a very slight, very small smile. “Indeed. I hope that I do not make an absolute fool of myself. That would be … embarrassing at the best of times, and even moreso in the circumstances.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to get picked,” Neon said. “Because Penny was supposed to go with Dashie, I’m guessing, to the two-on-two, and then move on to the one-on-one round where she could show her stuff all by herself.”

Ciel was silent. “You … are correct. That was … the intention, at the formation of this team.”

“So what changed?” asked Neon. She grinned. “Did Dashie want to make the one-on-one round that badly?”

“No,” Ciel said. “Well … yes, as a matter of fact, she did, but … that is not why. Penny…” She paused. “I am not sure how much I wish to talk about it, to be perfectly frank.”

“Ah, it’s like that,” Neon murmured.

“To an extent,” Ciel allowed. “Suffice to say that Penny was no longer much interested in the tournament and was prepared to stand out for our sake.”

“Might be the first nice thing she’s done for you,” Neon muttered.

“Neon,” Ciel murmured reproachfully.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Neon said quickly. “I won’t say anything like it again.” She bit into her burger and spent some time chewing on the large mouthful, as her cheeks bulged so that she looked more cat than squirrel. Only when she had swallowed did she say, “You feeling confident?”

“I know little of our opponents,” Ciel replied. “But together … I think, I hope, I do think, with head not heart, that Rainbow and I will make a reasonably good team.” She paused. “And you?”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Neon assured her. “Who are we up against? A couple of Vacuans?”

“Some Vacuo teams did surprisingly well today,” Ciel pointed out.

“And yet, they still only had three wins out of eight, compared with our four,” Neon responded. “And if they’re all right, why do they need to try and poach our students?”

Ciel frowned. “How do you mean?”

“I had one of the Vacuans come up to me a little earlier before you caught up,” Neon explained. “That one who’s always covering her eyes with her sunglasses.” She looked around, pointing behind her as she shifted on the grass. “There! She’s at it now!”

Ciel turned in turn, following Neon’s outstretched arm and pointed finger to where she could see Umber Gorgoneion, of Shade’s Team UMBR, deep in conversation with the four members of Team SABR.

“Perhaps they know each other from somewhere,” she murmured.

Neon shook her head. “Nah, she’s giving them the sales pitch. I told you, she did the same thing to me, tried to sell me on ditching Atlas to come to Vacuo. Promised me—”

“A life of freedom?” Ciel guessed. “No ranks, no orders, no structure, no sovereignty? Complete freedom to do as you would, provided you were strong enough to survive?”

“Strangely, no,” Neon answered. “I thought the same as you once I realised where it was all going, but no. That’s not what she said at all. In fact, she was pretty explicit about offering me the opposite: ‘all must serve, with faith and honour, but those who serve shall be given not merely honour in turn but pride; those who came may hold their heads up high amongst all men and known themselves to be amongst the best.’”

Ciel’s eyebrows rose. “Unusual words to hear from a Vacuan. Serve who?”

“I didn’t ask,” Neon admitted. “The Headmaster of Shade, I suppose; who else is there? Maybe the Vacuans are going to start raising an army? It’s the fashion these days.”

“They had better not start by raising it from amongst our classmates, or General Ironwood will have strong words for Professor Theodore, no doubt,” Ciel muttered. “What did you say?”

“Hmm?”

“To this Vacuan who speaks so strangely, who wanted to whisk you away to serve in desert sands?”

Neon grinned. “I told her I was proud enough already, and I had no trouble keeping my chin up just where I am, thank you very much. Besides, if I went anywhere that hot, I should probably melt.”

“I see,” Ciel said, unable to stop herself from smiling a little to hear it. “How did she take it?”

Neon shrugged. “Well enough. She just … kind of left.” She paused. “I think some might take her up on it, though.”

“Really?” Ciel asked.

Neon nodded. “Mantle kids, faunus—”

“We are from Mantle, and you are a faunus,” Ciel pointed out. “And yet it did not appeal to you.”

“No, but not everyone’s like us, are they?” Neon said. “Some people … I don’t know, but … going to a place where you’re automatically the best, where there’s no risk of anyone sneering at you for what you are or where you come from … I can see how that might appeal to some people. Not to you, perhaps, and not to me either, but … to some people.”

“But … Vacuo?” Ciel said. “All that sand and sun, and not a single luxury to speak of. It sounds unbearable.”

“Maybe it’ll turn out to be unbearable once they get there,” Neon replied. “But, for anyone who does decide to buy into the recruiting spiel … best of luck to them, I suppose.”


“I have to say,” Kali said, handling her chopsticks with aplomb as she pulled up several strands of noodles out of her bowl, “when you said you were going to take me to dinner, I was expecting something a little … fancier.”

The old man running the noodle stand where Cadance and Kali were sat gave them something of a dirty look.

At least, Cadance thought he did; the way that his eyes were set in a permanent squint was making it a little hard to tell.

Nevertheless, she smiled at him. “It’s really very good,” she told him.

That didn’t do anything to change his expression as he turned away from her — from both of them.

Kali was sat to Cadance’s right, with two large — very large — bowls of noodles sat in front of them. Shining Armor was sat to her left, while the rest of Cadance’s security detail was stood around them, keeping the thinning, constantly diminishing crowds at bay.

Darkness had well and truly fallen over Vale, but Beacon itself was kept well-illuminated by the lights of white, blue, green, and yellow that were strung everywhere across the fairgrounds, reaching from pole to pole to banish all shadows from the grounds.

Drones run by the various news corporations continued to flit here and there, taking in what remained of the crowds, the students that could be seen, and … people like Cadance and Kali.

However, it didn’t seem as though many people recognised the High Chieftainess of Menagerie, which was … rather a damning indictment in many ways, however convenient it might be.

Cadance rooted around in her bowl with her own chopsticks; she was a little less expert at the use of them than Kali. “Do you want me to take you somewhere fancier?”

Kali chuckled. “No,” she said, “I’m just surprised by the notion of an Atlesian councillor…”

“Slumming it?” Cadance suggested.

“You said that,” Kali pointed out, “not me.”

Cadance let out a little chuckle of her own. “I mean … since we’re here, we might as well sample all the delights that Beacon and the Vytal Tournament have to offer, no?”

Kali held up one hand. “I’m not complaining, truly,” she insisted. “In some ways, even more than your private box, this is the best seat in the house.”

Cadance followed Kali’s gaze, away from the noodle stand and across the fairground, to where she could see, bathed in the four-coloured glow of the lights, Blake Belladonna and a young man, a monkey faunus by the look of him, an aficionado for lack of shirts and vests, baring his chest at her as they sat — well, Blake was sitting, while the young man was lying with his head in Blake’s lap while she … seemed to be reading to him.

A smile spread across Cadance’s painted lips. “Boyfriend?”

“I’d hope so, for him to be acting so familiar,” Kali said, without force or malice in her voice. “They make a cute couple, don’t they?”

“Oh, certainly,” Cadance agreed. “Do you know what she’s reading to him?”

“No,” Kali admitted. “Hopefully, it’s not one of her gothic romances; I would never say this to Blake’s face, of course, but she has absolutely terrible taste.”

Cadance let out a laugh. “Well, I’m sure she knows best what he’d appreciate.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t care what she reads; just the sound of her voice is enough,” Shining Armor suggested.

Kali snorted. “Something of a romantic, Captain?”

“He has his moments,” Cadance pointed out. “Also his moments of denseness—”

“I was not dense,” Shining Armor declared. “I was nervous; that’s a completely different thing.”

“What did you have to be nervous about?” asked Kali.

“I mean…” Shining Armor trailed off for a moment. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked as a flush rose to his cheeks. “I didn’t think that someone like Cadance would ever go out with a guy like me.”

“In other words, you were dense to the signals that I was giving off practically since we met,” Cadance said.

“How did you meet?” Kali asked, leaning forwards.

“I was his sister’s babysitter,” Cadance explained. “I was a law student, earning a little extra money here and there—”

“And I was a first-year at Atlas,” Shining Armor added. “Cadance came from a good family—”

“So did you,” Cadance pointed out. “Your father was General Ironwood’s brigade XO.”

“And you were so beautiful and put together, and everyone knew that you had so much potential—”

“And you didn’t?” Cadance asked. To Kali she added, “All these years, and he still won’t accept that the only thing stopping him asking me out was himself.”

Shining Armor held up his hands. “That may be true, but the fact is that it was how I felt back then, and so … just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean that it isn’t real. I felt … I didn’t feel … cool enough, I guess.”

Kali smiled. “So when did that change?”

“After I won the Vytal Tournament,” Shining Armor said. “My teammates told me that I should do it on TV as I was getting the laurel wreath. I didn’t do that—”

“For which I am both glad and a little disappointed,” Cadance said.

“But I thought to myself … I knew that I’d never feel as on top of the world as I did right at that moment, and that if I didn’t do it then, if I didn’t have the guts to do it then, then I never would.”

“And it worked out for you in the end, however frustrating it might have been for you, Councillor,” Kali declared. “I hope it works out for them the same way.”

“It seems to be,” Cadance said, with another look at Blake and her boyfriend.

“Yes, it seems to be,” Kali said. “But Blake will be in Atlas next year, and Sun is moving to Mantle to become…” She trailed off. “Councillor … Blake would never forgive me for this, so please don’t tell her that I asked, but I don’t suppose that you could do me a favour?”


In spite of all Sonata's provocations, it seemed to Cinder's eyes as though a carnival atmosphere prevailed in Vale this night.

Probably because of the carnival.

The streets — certainly, the streets around the skydock where Cinder was presently lurking — were filled with revellers, partygoers drinking, shouting, dancing with wild abandon, simply making their swaying way from here to there, leaning on old friends or new acquaintances. The night air was shattered by the sound of drums, by high-pitched woodwind, and by strings. People were dressed in bright colours, in brilliant whites and blues of sea and sky, by as many shades of green as could be found in forest and in field. Not everyone was wearing Vytal colours either; there were troupes of dancers in bright red and gold, there were people concealed completely beneath long robes, wearing ghoulish or monstrous masks, there were men and women on stilts so that they looked like giants, and there were people dressed as grimm.

That last was very convenient to Cinder; she had stolen somebody's beowolf costume and was presently concealed within it, her face, her whole body utterly hidden from view, and in this guise, she stood unnoticed, nobody dreaming that she was, in fact, the wanted fugitive Cinder Fall, enemy of the world.

Now that Pyrrha has defeated me, would they care even if they knew? Cinder wondered bitterly. Would I even frighten them any longer?

That was … hard on herself, perhaps, but it was hard not to be hard upon herself in the watches of night, when the dark closed in around her, even in the midst of such festive gaiety as she was presently immured in.

In fact, it was harder, for the merriment of those all around only seemed to emphasise Cinder's comparative lack of the same. She was as trapped beneath her discontent as she was hidden beneath this beowolf costume.

My time is coming soon. We draw close to the close.

Oh, but the hours seem long.

The passing days did not devour the time as swiftly as Cinder might have wished, and until the appointed time … a few entertaining squabbles in the Amity Colosseum might divert her for a little while, but they could only distract her passingly from the fact that she was in limbo, all things in abeyance, waiting, a captive of time's sluggish onward march, waiting.

It would be grotesque bad manners to attack too soon; Sunset deserves her tournament, and just as the gods allowed Camilla her moment of glory before death, so too show I that courtesy to Pyrrha. The greater the glory that she wins here, the greater will her death shock all the world.

Or else the greater will I seem for putting up a hard fight against her ere I fall.

And yet, ay me, the days seem long. Begone, moon! You have waxed yourself into a shine like polished silverware, wane now and get you hence from our sight!

Let it be the time, that I may cease my sighing.

Wish for the moon to wane swifter? I might as well wish for the return of my moon blood, it is as likely.

Not that I would wish for it, what need have I to pile pain upon discomfort?

With good fortune, what she would do here in Vale tonight would give her some respite from sighs and weariness and restless anticipation. What she would do here in Vale tonight would give her a taste of that sweet nectar of the joy that these revellers all shared in.

And more than that, perhaps, if fate was kind.

She had dreamt of this, back when she could still dream. When she could sleep and taste and ache with discomfort at the moon's turning, when she was human. When she was human, she had dreamt of this, and now, being more than human, she had anticipated it. The moment when she would complete the work begun these many years past and lay so many shades of her past to rest, once and for all.

Father.

Her father had betrayed the memory of her mother, abandoned the home that they had made together, fleeing from her shade to cheat on her with that rancid sow Lady Kommenos; he had 'moved on'; he had 'kept moving forward' as the saying went, and moved so swiftly that the funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables; he had betrayed his wife and wedding vows, and in the betrayal, he had condemned his daughter to a living hell made all the more hellish when he, like her mother before her, abandoned her for Erech's cold and dark dominion. As she hated her mother for dying, so, too, she hated her father for remarrying before he died in turn, and yet still, she would make of Phoebe's blood an offering to her father's spirit that he might know she had survived in spite of everything.

And when we meet again, we shall speak of the trials I have endured and the enemies that I have vanquished.

Come, Phoebe, come. The croaking raven bellows for revenge.

And so, Cinder lurked, her beowolf costume as black as her purposes as she waited.

Despite the festive atmosphere, despite the great day of entertainment that had passed, nevertheless, there were signs even here and even now of Sonata's power at work in Vale. As Cinder lurked in the shadows and watched out of these too-small eye sockets, she saw a heavyset man, wearing a T-shirt that was white with the gear-and-spear symbol of Atlas upon it, be accosted by two young men; there words were hard to make out, but grew louder the longer that they spoke, and soon escalated from shouting to shoving and from shoving to the exchange of blows, and suddenly, the man in the Atlas shirt was face-down on the pavement, and the police were hauling the two young men away as an ambulance sped down the road towards the scene, sirens flashing.

It was almost as difficult to hear with this mask on as it was to see, but nevertheless, Cinder could hear the anti-Atlas chanting, just as she could observe the way the young men gathered in packs like beasts, quiescent for now but waiting for some weak prey, some opportunity, to present itself. There were plenty of police present — that, in itself, was a sign that Sonata had done her work well — yet nevertheless, someone stole a camera from a faunus, snatched it right out of their hand, and walked away as though he had no fear of the law at all.

And the law did nothing, justifying his complacency.

Yes, even here, the faultlines lay; the cracks on the ice were visible to those who cared to look. Ozpin would plunge through it soon enough.

But first: great glory for Sunset and Pyrrha.

And revenge for me.

Cinder turned her attention back to Emerald where the latter waited, a little down the road from the skydock, lingering upon the pavement — not that there were any cars on the road tonight; the carnival had taken it over — occasionally asking a passerby if they could spare a few lien, please sir, help me ma'am. Like Cinder, she had disguised herself just in case; unlike Cinder, she was not wholly concealed beneath a beowolf costume. Rather, Emerald had exchanged her usual attire for a pair of tatty old jeans from a thrift store, a plain white vest, and a threadbare-looking leather jacket fished out of the dumpster, with a smell to match. The only thing that Emerald had on that was in any sense new was the red wig beneath which she concealed her emerald hair, and the brightness of which ensured she was not so anonymous that Cinder might lose her in the crowd.

Thus unrecognisable to the casual eye, Emerald waited, impeaching and imploring, reaching out with both her hands for charity. Sometimes, she got it, lien cards disappearing into her jacket pockets, but more often, she got harsh words or shoves to move her aside — although Cinder suspected those who sought to shove her were likely to find their wallets missing when next they looked — or, most of the time, she was simply ignored. People passed her by without looking at her, their steps quickening in embarrassment, their faces set straight ahead of them as though guilt would overcome them if they looked at her.

And then Cinder saw her: Phoebe Kommenos, her … her stepsister.

She had not changed out of her armour. She was just as she had been in the match against Team SAPR, when Sunset had overthrown her. Had she even showered since, or did she still have the sweat and stench of defeat upon her?

She walked with thunder clouds above her; doubtless, she had not been in the vain to dress for the carnival, to put on pretty clothes, to make herself up, to tend to her hair. Such things had always come hard to her when the black mood was on her — in their younger days, Lady Kommenos had sometimes had to command Phoebe to get changed after a defeat and send Cinder to help her do so. Cinder had hated such occasions, since she was always the target for Phoebe's frustrations, but since then, she had found that she sometimes felt the same as Phoebe did: when one was upset, dress and grooming appeared to be of little import.

In any case, here Phoebe was, dressed for battle and armed for it too, spear and shield alike slung across her back as she slung down the road from the skydock like a lioness, one that is hungry, one that has not made a kill for some time, one that grows desperate.

She walked towards Emerald, and Emerald saw her too; perhaps she used her semblance upon Phoebe, Cinder couldn't be sure, but it would explain the straight course that Phoebe made right towards her. Phoebe's helmet was off, her face and her curled blonde hair visible, but even without her crested helmet, Phoebe was tall enough — taller than Emerald by some way.

Phoebe bent her head a little to speak to Emerald; Cinder was too far away to hear what passed between them, but she could see clearly — as clearly as she could see anything, at least — as Phoebe grabbed her by the wrist and began to pull her away. Emerald did not resist, although she could have done, but that was not the part that Cinder wished her to play, and Emerald was a very good girl. And so, she allowed Phoebe to drag her off, barely even trying to pull away.

Cinder followed them discreetly — at least as discreetly as one could do anything while dressed as a beowolf; it was an appropriate outfit for the hunt, to be sure, but … not the stealthiest. Cinder was very fortunate that Phoebe looked supremely unconcerned about being followed: she did not look back, nor even look around; she simply dragged Emerald along behind her, as though her intentions were completely innocent, and there was nothing to fear from detection or discovery. Perhaps Emerald had a hand in that, also.

Cinder kept to the shadows were she could regardless, hiding around corners, following from a discrete distance, following like a creature of far greater subtlety than a beowolf, as Phoebe brought Emerald to an industrial district, out of the carnival path, where great warehouses loomed like temples to commerce and industry, or with their dirty walls and broken windows, perhaps it was better to say that they were pyramids marking the tombs where commerce and industry once thrived. Perhaps they looked less dead in daylight, but right now, at night, there was something of the grave about their silence and their emptiness. The sounds of merriment scarce reached this place, only the distant rumble of the drums carried so far, and there was not a single colourful costume to be seen, not a costume at all save Cinder's beowolf.

Cinder watched as Phoebe dragged Emerald into one of the warehouses and slid the door shut after her.

Now is the moment.

This is the night that I have waited for.

And yet, having waited for it, Cinder hesitated. The air around her seemed to grow solid, to trap her as a fly in amber, to freeze her in place and forbid her movement.

Her hands trembled.

Close your eyes, don't look up,

Here comes a monster to gobble you up.

The memory of what Phoebe had done to her, the memory of all that Phoebe had done to her, they deluged down on Cinder like autumn leaves, like the applause that had fallen on the heads of Sunset and Pyrrha in the Colosseum this afternoon. They set her heart racing. How could she … she had dreamed of this, she had dreamed of confronting Phoebe, sword in hand, of avenging upon her flesh all the injuries that Phoebe had done to her, but … what if she could not? What if she froze, as she had done outside the ice cream parlour, only now there would be no Sunset to come to her aid?

What if … what if she could not do it? What if the dream became a nightmare, and she did nought but lay herself open to more of Phoebe's torments?

What can I do else, having come so far, having involved Emerald? If I do nothing, then I leave Emerald to fend for herself, to suffer at Phoebe's hands.

If I do nothing, if I turn away, then Phoebe has won, a final and irreversible victory over me.

I can do this.

This is my hour.

Thoughts black, hands apt, blades fit, and time obeying,

Stars aligned and no creature seeing.

Eulalia.

Cinder strode forwards and, with a single paw, rolled open the warehouse door in time to see Phoebe strike Emerald across the face and shove her to the floor.

"Enough!" Cinder barked, voice echoing off the dark walls and concrete pillars, striking the remains of pallets and old packing crates that littered the spacious warehouse.

Phoebe turned towards her, gasping in shock — until she must have realised that Cinder was not a real beowolf, because she took a step towards her, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here? Get out, this is a private matter."

"'A private matter'?" Cinder repeated. She held her hands down at her sides, and with her semblance, she set a fire within her beowolf costume. With her fingertips, she set the paws to burning, set fires on either hand that swiftly spread up the arms and across the whole body, consuming the whole outfit, turning it to ashes, the flames uncovering her, revealing her, and as the fire raged, Cinder stepped out of the burning beowolf like a phoenix emerging from the inferno. "Yes, Phoebe, this is a private matter," she agreed, a wild, fey smile fixed upon her face. "A private matter between you and I. A matter many years in the making. The tree that grew in the forest many years ago has been cut down and placed upon the fire that now is ready to burn."

Phoebe's mouth hung open. Her eyes were wide. "Cinder Fall," she whispered.

"Emerald, guard the door," Cinder commanded. "See to it we are not disturbed."

Emerald nodded wordlessly as she leapt to her feet, darting past Phoebe, running past Cinder and the last smouldering remnants of the beowolf costume. Cinder heard her roll the warehouse door shut, enclosing the two of them in darkness, with only the moonlight shining in through the broken windows set high in the ceiling for illumination.

Phoebe swallowed and raised one hand. "Now, if this is about what I said about you and Pyrrha—"

"What you…? Is that what you think this is about? Is that all you think this is about?" Cinder would have laughed in incredulity, save that the sight of Phoebe standing before her stopped all laughter in her throat. It was all that she could do to speak, let alone laugh. "You have no idea, do you? You don't recognise me at all. You never recognised me, not at Beacon, not on the street." Cinder shook her head. "I was worried, at first. I was worried that you would recognise me, and … it had the potential to cause so many problems. But like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to the danger. I wanted to see you. I wanted you to see me. I wanted to see if you would know me, know who I was." She let out a breath, a ragged breath that was the closest thing that she could reach to an exasperated laugh. "But no. Nothing. I didn't even change my name, but you had no idea at all!"

"What are you talking about?" Phoebe demanded.

"You gave me this name!" Cinder yelled, taking a step forward. "I was not born to it; it was bestowed by you. I'd owe you thanks, did I not hate you so."

"Your name?" Phoebe whispered, and Cinder could see the recognition dawning in those eyes of hers, the way they narrowed and then widened, the way her mouth formed a square block of surprise. "Cinder?"

"Finally," Cinder growled. "Did you curse me with so commonplace a name that it never dawned on you that there might be some connection there?"

"But…" Phoebe shook her head. "You died in the fire."

"I set the fire," Cinder corrected her. "And made sure to be outside the house when it burned."

She thought about that night. It was … a steadying memory, a memory that never failed to strengthen her. No matter what happened, no matter how little control over her life or the world around her she felt she had, the memory of the night that she had escaped from the House of Kommenos and burned it to the ground was always a balm to her uncertainty, a reminder that she had a destiny grander than the meanness and degradation that her tormentors had in mind, a reminder that she had the power to be the architect of her own good fortune, if only she had the courage to try.

It was a memory that gave her strength, a strength she needed now, with Phoebe before her.

"You?" Phoebe barked. "You set the fire? You killed my mother, you … you killed Philonoe?" For a moment, she was silent, before she bared her teeth in a bestial snarl as she pulled her spear across her back and brandished it at Cinder. "You twice accursed bitch! I swear, by Thessaly, by Eulalia loud of the war cry, that I will make an offering of your blood to the spirit of my dear Philonoe and send your soul fleeing in anger down to the shades." Her snarling look turned to a smirk as she stepped forwards. "But not before I make it hurt. Just like old times."

Close your eyes, don't look up.

Here comes a monster to gobble you up.

Cinder took a step backwards, her glass slippers tapping on the concrete below.

I am not who I was. I am not that girl.

But I am still Cinder, and she is still Phoebe.

Phoebe's lip curled into a sneer. "What's the matter, Ashley? Did you think that you could come in here, reveal yourself, and … what? That I would turn into a terrified puddle of goo on the floor?" She sniggered. "You fool. Stupid, sweet, sensitive Ash—"

"My name is Cinder Fall!" Cinder snarled.

"And I have seen you fall!" Phoebe replied. "Should I tremble when I have seen Pyrrha shatter your aura and leave you helpless?"

Cinder drew her swords; metal swords, not glass, so it would be harder for anyone to tell that she had done the deed after they found the body. "You," Cinder growled, "are no Pyrrha Nikos." She held her steel scimitars out on either side of her and fought to stop her hands from trembling.

I can do this. I can exorcise this demon.

I must.

Cinder attacked; she would waste no more words, she would waste no more time. Now was the moment for action. Now was the moment to charge forward, blades bared, metal glinting in the moonlight.

Phoebe met her with gritted teeth, thrusting forward with her long spear. Cinder leapt up, letting the tip of the spear pass beneath her before she landed on the shaft, balancing both precariously and yet with grace as she ran down the shaft before Phoebe could respond and kicked her in the face.

Phoebe grunted as her head snapped up and back; she staggered backwards, and the all the moreso after Cinder followed up with one swift slash with her swords, and then another.

Phoebe turned, her spear jerking upwards to throw Cinder off. Cinder landed upon the cold concrete of the warehouse, just as Phoebe rolled, rolling to face Cinder once more, even as she pulled her shield from off her back.

She held the great tower shield so that it covered her left, while she held her spear in her right hand only, gripping it now overarm for a thrust.

She had replenished the fire dust in the shield, or so Cinder thought; the red circles surrounding her shield boss gleamed like rubies.

Or like blood.

Cinder stood, swords at the ready, waiting.

Phoebe held her shield so that the bottom half of her face was obscured; she could only see Phoebe’s eyes, glaring at her.

Still, Cinder waited. She felt every nerve in her body crying out for her to attack, but she mastered herself and held firm. Better to wait and see what Phoebe would do.

Phoebe attacked, her steps sounding heavy, pounding upon the floor as she rushed towards Cinder like an oncoming bull.

She thrust downwards with her spear, but Cinder deftly turned the stroke aside with one of her swords. Still, Phoebe came on, shield before her, aiming to slam right into Cinder and bear her backwards. Cinder pirouetted upon her toe, dancing so nimbly that she would have been admired in all Mistralian ballrooms as she turned around Phoebe, her hair flying about her. Phoebe tried to turn as well, but she seemed so painfully slow and heavy-footed in comparison, slow to turn her shield, leaving her flank open for the savage kick that Cinder dealt her.

Phoebe staggered to the right, half-hunched over, still turning, jabbing with her spear. Cinder avoided it effortlessly, retreating out of range.

Phoebe straightened up and once more held her shield out in front of her.

This time, she made no effort to attack. She began to circle Cinder, or tried to, while Cinder circled her in turn; they were like two crabs contesting for dominance of a single stretch of beach, moving sideways with their spidery gait, clicking their claws at one another, never actually closing with their rivals.

They did not speak a word; the only sounds in the warehouse were the soft chinking of Cinder’s slippers and the heavier thudding tread of Phoebe’s boots.

Phoebe’s grip on her spear was now underarm, defensive; Cinder guessed that she meant to wait for Cinder this time.

And it would be so disobliging to keep her waiting too long.

Cinder attacked, dashing forward, swords swept back for a duel slashing stroke.

Phoebe brought her shield up before her. Still, Cinder came on.

The fire dust set in Phoebe’s shield began to glow even brighter. Still, Cinder charged with a great shout, but unseen to Phoebe, she activated her semblance, heating the air all around her, setting the air currents swirling as though she was in the very eye of the storm which raged around but touched her not.

The fire dust glowed ever brighter, and as Cinder closed the distance between the two of them, it erupted in a great explosion, a fiery roar shattering the stillness of the warehouse as flames erupted from out of the shield, engulfing Cinder.

Engulfing her, but passing all around her, driven by the currents of air that Cinder had set to swirling. Cinder felt the heat pass over her face, her aura was singed by the flames in places, but the fire did not consume her, it did not burn her aura all away, it didn’t even come close. Her semblance carried the fire off, so that it surrounded her without doing harm.

But it looked very impressive as she leapt through the fire with eyes wild and hair askew, if she did say so herself.

She kicked off Phoebe’s shield as she tried to retreat before her, spinning in the air like a leaping salmon as she landed behind Phoebe. Cinder kicked at her, striking Phoebe in the knee and forcing her down. As Phoebe dropped onto one knee with a gasp, Cinder slashed at her back with her swords once, twice, three times, then drew both swords across her throat for good measure, slicing her aura, if not her arteries.

Is this it? Is this the monster that I feared so much? Is this the terror of my childhood?

Nought but a shadow that turned to nothingness when the light was shone upon her.

Cinder kicked her again. Phoebe rolled and came up to face Cinder, casting her shield aside as she charged at Cinder with her spear held in two hands, whirling it in her grasp, weaving patterns in the air.

Cinder stood her ground. She would not yield to Phoebe, she had no need to yield to Phoebe, she parried her swipes and sallies, she clashed her swords with Phoebe’s spear as the sparks flew, but she did not yield, not one step, not one inch. She stood fast, turning aside every stroke that Phoebe threw at her, enduring like a sea wall endures the waves, like a mountain endures the wind — save that the mountain cannot counter-attack when the wind falters, which Cinder most assuredly could.

She slipped her swords through the gaps in Phoebe’s guard, she filled the holes in Phoebe’s defences, she drove her blades forward at every opening opportunity. She snatched away parts of Phoebe’s aura like guests at a party snatching up the canapes, every hungry hand lunging forth until there wasn’t a vol au vent left.

Phoebe retreated, breathing heavy, eyes wide.

Eyes filled with fear.

Cinder imagined that her own eyes had looked like that, once upon a time.

How many times had Phoebe seen her eyes like that, as she dragged Cinder from her hiding places or clamped her hand over Cinder’s mouth to stifle her screams?

Was there ever really anything to be afraid of?

Yes. Yes, there was, once. But I grew strong, and she stayed where she’d always been.

Cinder’s smile was as sharp as the blades in her hand.

“You’ll hear the screams, and now you’ll know,” she said, a slight sing-song cadence entering her voice. “Mommy and…” She paused. “Mommy can’t help you now.”

Phoebe stared at her, eyes so wide, her whole body trembling. She stared at Cinder, and then she threw her spear at her as she turned and ran for the warehouse door.

Cinder dropped her swords, letting both scimitars clatter to the ground.

With one hand, she caught the spear, stopping it dead in the air.

The other hand, she raised towards the fleeing Phoebe as Cinder called upon the magic of the Fall Maiden. She drew upon her half of the power, dragging it out of the depths of her soul like trying to draw treacle from a well. She could feel it resisting her, straining against her, but her will was the stronger, and she was the mistress. Though it was difficult, though it made her body ache, this magic would obey her.

It did obey her. Cinder dragged the magic up from the depths and cast a fireball from her outstretched palm to strike Phoebe in the back and knock her to the floor.

Cinder let the corona blaze around her eye as Phoebe turned over to look at her.

Now you’ve got something to really be scared of, Cinder thought as she conjured up more fire, as she let it dance around her, form rings in the air that turned and gambolled like some playful, living creature.

“What…” Phoebe gasped. “What are you?”

“I?” Cinder replied. “I am more than you could ever dream of.” She stretched out her hand once more and let a river of fire burst forth from her palm towards Phoebe.

Phoebe grabbed her shield, still lying on the ground where she had cast it, and held it up in front of her. The flames broke upon the shield, lapping and licking over it, but for the most part diverted away by it, doing little harm to Phoebe’s aura.

Still, Cinder cast the flames, pouring the fire out of her as she advanced on Phoebe, getting closer and closer as Phoebe, pinned down by the fire, stayed where she was, huddling beneath her shield, making no move to extricate herself.

Cinder bore down upon her, continuing to pour fire upon her from her hand until she was close enough to reach out, grab Phoebe’s shield, and throw it away.

Then she grabbed Phoebe by the neck and hoisted her up, slamming her into the wall. With her semblance, she heated Phoebe’s neck, ignoring Phoebe’s fists as they pounded at her — she could survive that much damage to her aura, and more — as she reversed Phoebe’s own spear and smote her on the breast with it.

Phoebe’s aura broke, a green light rippling across her body. Phoebe’s whole body seemed to sag, all strength departing her, her head pitching forwards, her blonde curls falling across her face.

Cinder dropped her, letting her slide down the wall to land at Phoebe’s feet.

Phoebe trembled as she looked up at Cinder.

“Please … please—”

“'Please'?” Cinder snapped. “'Please'? You ask for mercy? You ask me for mercy, me? After what you did to me?” Her lip curled into a sneer. “I grant you the mercy of a swift end, without the suffering you promised me.” Her voice softened. “Go, and greet your sister.”

She thrust the spear forward, piercing Phoebe’s cuirass and her breast. Her life blood spilled out of the wound, falling down the breastplate towards the floor.

Phoebe’s eyes widened, and an exhalation of breath that was almost like a sigh but not quite escaped her.

Her head sagged forward as her limbs were dissolved in cold, and her spirit fled in anger down to the shades.

Cinder took a step back, wrenching the spear out of the wound.

She stared down at the lifeless corpse before her, the shell of flesh that had once been her tormentor, the terror of her nights and the misery of her days, the nightmare of her childhood. She that had once set the painful boundaries of Cinder’s world, now dead at Cinder’s hands.

I used to think you were so strong, so powerful.

Now, strength and power are mine, and you are food for worms.

I would have expected to feel more triumphant than this.

I killed Phoebe! I have destroyed the House of Kommenos, that old blood which fought as Cynoscephalae and Raphia, the august house which drew its sword for the Emperor at the Battle of Four Sovereigns, this family so old in years now utterly destroyed by me.

I am avenged in my childhood hurts.

So why can I take no joy in it?

Why is it that I can yet feel nothing but this empty cold inside, this hunger?

Have I become so inhuman that even the sweet nectar and ambrosia of victory is denied to me?

Yet, I have won. Joy will come, in time, I hope. Until then … I have won. I have beaten her and killed her.

It is over.

Now … now only great battles lie before me.

It is over.

It begins.

Author's Note:

I start a new job tomorrow, with a longer commute into work, and as I settle in and learn the ropes I'm not sure how much writing time I'm going to have, so the fic is going on hiatus for a month, coming back in September with, hopefully, some more cool stuff for you all.

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