Blake's POV
Beacon was supposed to be peaceful.
Morning classes, sparring sessions, Weiss's endless lectures on formality — the rhythm should have made it easier to forget. But peace wasn't silence. It was just the absence of noise loud enough to drown the memories out.
Every night, I still heard her.
That laugh — too bright, too sharp, too broken.
That voice — half a song, half a wound.
Senti.
Yang thought I was tired. Ruby thought I was studying too much. Weiss… just avoided me when she could.
I didn't tell them what really happened. That I saw the docks burn, that the White Fang's betrayal wasn't what haunted me — she was.
The one who'd once dragged me out of the desert when we were kids. The one who taught me how to fight without hating what I was fighting for.
Now, she was something else. Something wild that smiled too easily.
It started again that evening.
Vale's skyline glowed against the clouds, the air still heavy from last week's storm.
I'd gone down to the city alone, pretending it was for books, but really just to walk.
To see if the streets would still remember her scent — steel, rain, and something faintly sweet, like burning sugar.
Every alley looked like it was waiting for her to step out of it.
A sound — too light to be footsteps, too steady to be wind.
I stopped.
The hairs on my tail stood straight.
"You shouldn't be out here alone, you know," a voice said, soft and amused.
My heart froze.
She was standing just past the corner — silver-pale hair catching the streetlight, one ear flicked forward, the other angled back like a predator listening for movement.
Her eyes — red, threaded with gold — gleamed faintly beneath her hood.
"Senti."
"Blake," she said, almost like it was a secret. "You look well. Softer. Happier. Pretending suits you."
I took a careful step back. "You shouldn't be here."
Her smile curved upward. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing."
Her Aura brushed against mine — hot, heavy, thrumming. The air around us tightened.
"I'm not your enemy," I said quietly.
Senti tilted her head. "No, you're not. But you were my reason."
She took a step forward. I took one back. The space between us vanished faster than I could think.
"I thought you died," I whispered.
"I did."
Her voice was calm, but her hands trembled as she reached up, touching her own chest. "I died, and something else stood up. You wouldn't like her much."
"I don't want to fight you."
"I'm not here to fight."
Then her tone changed — low, too gentle. "I just wanted to talk."
The word didn't sound like a request.
Before I could move, her Aura pulsed. Gold flickered through red; the world blurred; and in the next instant, she was behind me — faster than thought.
Her hand gripped my wrist, firm but not painful, her voice close enough to feel on my neck.
"Stop running from me, Blake."
I struggled, but her strength was unreal. She wasn't just faster — she was anchored, like her will alone was gravity.
"Let me go!"
"Not until you listen."
Her grip shifted to my shoulder, spinning me around so I faced her. My back hit the wall. The motion wasn't violent — not yet — but the intent behind it was clear: control.
Her face hovered inches from mine.
"You left," she said, voice trembling between anger and heartbreak. "You left and you didn't look back. Do you know how long I waited?"
"I thought you were gone! You vanished, Senti, you—"
"Died?" she finished for me. "I did. But I kept waking up anyway."
The words broke halfway through — like she didn't know which emotion belonged to which part of her.
She slammed her hand against the wall beside my head. "Do you even know what it's like to be remade out of rage? To forget where you end and the voices begin?"
Her other hand rose, shaking slightly, brushing against my jaw. The touch wasn't soft; it was desperate.
"Do you know what it's like to remember love when everything in you wants to kill something instead?"
"Senti…"
She froze. For a second, her eyes flickered gold — that same faint warmth from before everything fell apart.
Then the red came back, brighter, burning.
"You should hate me," she said. "It'd make this easier."
"I could never—"
"Don't."
The word came out sharp, final. She stepped back, breaking the space between us. Her hands were shaking now. "If you don't hate me, I don't know what to do with what's left of me."
The silence stretched.
Rain began to fall again — slow at first, then heavier, turning the street into a shimmer of reflections.
She turned away, pulling her hood up. "Don't follow me, Blake. Not tonight."
And just like that, she was gone — the sound of her boots swallowed by the storm.
I stood there for a long time, my Aura flickering weakly, the wall behind me still warm where her hand had been.
The city lights danced across the puddles at my feet — gold and red.
I couldn't tell if they were hers or mine.