Ozpin's Apartment… Saturday Evening…
Ozpin accepted the tureen of soup and the loaf of fresh bread from the runner who had been sent up to bring it to him from the meal going on in the dining hall, thanking the server with a nod. As the elevator door slid closed, he carried his burden out to the kitchen and arranged it on the small table. He then fetched the bowls and utensils they would need and set two places at the table for himself and Oscar. With everything arranged, he went back into the hallway and stopped at Oscar's door. He tapped on the panel gently. "Oscar? Dinner is here."
The door opened almost immediately. "Okay."
Together they headed out into the kitchen and took seats there. Ozpin served the soup and Oscar took the knife and cut them each thick slices of bread from the loaf. The soup was loaded with chicken, spices, vegetables, and noodles, while the bread was just out of the oven, steaming and fluffy, with a crispy golden-brown crust.
They ate in silence for several minutes before – "Did you have more questions for me?"
Ozpin looked up and met Oscar's gaze. The boy's expression was more closed off – almost resigned – than it had been earlier in the day, but he didn't break Ozpin's gaze, even if he seemed to be bracing himself for whatever Ozpin might say next.
"I probably have more questions than I could give voice to at the moment," Ozpin admitted. "With everything you've already told us – it's a lot to take in."
Oscar nodded in understanding, his gaze dropping back to look into his bowl of soup. "I'm –"
"Don't apologize again," Ozpin ordered gently. "Nothing you had to say was your fault."
Oscar flushed a little but nodded again.
"I won't lie to you Oscar," Ozpin continued. "What you had to say was difficult to hear – I can't pretend that it wasn't. But like I told you earlier, I am glad to know what's coming, because it gives me a chance to prevent it."
He stirred his soup absently for a moment before taking another bite. "Will it be too hard for you to talk about everything again later, after I've had time to think about everything that you've said today?"
Oscar shook his head slowly. "I don't think so," he said. "It won't be pleasant," he added, "but I think I can manage that. I know you'll want more details, and I will help however I can. There were just… so many bad things happening, and everyone was stressed and angry…"
"I understand," Ozpin assured him. "As many details as you can give me will help, but if at any point you can't talk about something, you just need to say so."
"Okay," Oscar took a few bites of his own meal.
"I did have one question for you though – if you know that Hazel was the one who caused your injuries, why didn't you tell Detective Quarry that last week?"
"I thought about it," Oscar admitted, putting his spoon down. "But then I realized that if it was true that I'd gone back in time, well... he hasn't hurt me yet, and hopefully he won't get a chance to hurt me again." He lowered his gaze and stared into his half-empty bowl as Ozpin watched him. "After everything that happened, I feel like I understand him a little bit more. I don't like him, and I probably never will, but… well. Telling the police his name – it might have given us a chance to get him arrested and take him away from Salem as a pawn, but it would be hard to prove anything on just my word alone, since I have no idea where he actually is or what he's doing at the moment."
"I see." It was a very mature way of looking at things. Many children Oscar's age – many people in general, actually – would have only wanted to get revenge on the person who had hurt them. Oscar was also thinking ahead to the grand scheme of the fight against Salem – removing a powerful ally like Hazel from her ranks would only benefit his side of the fight – but it was much the same situation they were facing with Leonardo and James – they hadn't betrayed him yet as far as he knew and condemning them without cause would only serve to further Salem's goals as well as cost him valuable allies and friends.
"Um – do you mind if I ask you something?"
Ozpin redirected his attention back to the teen. "Not at all."
"What –" Oscar paused, as if trying to choose his words carefully. "What actually happened to Gretchen Rainart?"
Ozpin blinked, not expecting that to be the boy's question. "How did you –?"
"I first heard about her during the fight at Haven. When he realized that you – er, Oz – was there, that I was the next incarnation, he got furious. He demanded that Oz tell me what happened to her so that I would know why he was going to kill me. All you – Oz – told me at the time was that she was a student here and was killed on a training mission, and Hazel blames you for her death."
Ozpin sighed. "It was a tragedy." He moved his spoon around his bowl absently, stirring the broth slowly, watching the chicken and vegetables bobbing in the liquid. "What's worse is that in many ways, Hazel isn't wrong to blame me, since it could have been prevented if only a few things had been different." He sighed again – Gretchen was only one of many things that he blamed himself for. "She was at the end of her second year, and it was a routine training mission. She and her team were sent out with one of the teachers – Professor Peach. They were just supposed to escort a small party of travelers from Vale to one of the smaller fishing villages southwest of the city. The trip was supposed to take a week at most. There weren't any airships available, and the travelers wanted to reach their destination with some urgency. They had horses and a cart for the supplies so they would be able to move swiftly."
"Grimm?" Oscar asked softly.
"Yes and no," Ozpin replied. "It started with an unseasonably violent storm. The storm was supposed to hit quite a bit further south of their intended destination, but the storm cell shifted and hit them while they were still moving out of the mountains between Vale and Mountain Glenn. Unfortunately, the Tower was offline for routine maintenance. No one thought it would be a problem having the Tower offline, since the storm was supposed to hit further south. With the Tower down, they didn't have any warning about the change in the weather forecast in time to find shelter."
"That doesn't sound good," Oscar said. "But what happened? She died because of the storm?"
"No." Ozpin said with a sigh. "Ultimately, Gretchen proved herself a Huntress since she kept the entire party from being lost. Her Semblance was called Trailblazing."
"Trailblazing?" Oscar's expression was puzzled but interested.
"Yes. If she maintained focus on a specific objective that had a physical, tangible goal – in this case, finding shelter that would keep them safe, dry, and would also be Grimm-free – her Semblance would allow her to guide them to it by the most direct route, like an instinct. The problem was that they were moving along narrow mountain trails. When the storm hit them, part of the path they were on washed away in a mud and rockslide. The cart with all their supplies and the horse pulling it were swept away, although the driver managed to get away before he was lost, but he sustained a broken leg doing so. Gretchen's Semblance got them to the cave, but the travelers weren't Huntsmen and didn't have the ability to aura heal. The pain coming from the driver, and the fear and anger from the rest of the party…"
Oscar grimaced. "I think I can guess what's coming next."
Ozpin nodded. "Grimm attacked the party, and although Gretchen, her team, and Professor Peach were able to fight them off, two more of the travelers were killed, and Gretchen and Professor Peach were badly wounded. Using a Semblance uses aura, of course, and Gretchen had drained her aura quite a bit trying to locate the cave, so her aura broke quickly during the fight, and she wasn't able to heal herself. The only thing that saved them was the fact that the Grimm were being tracked by a team of professional Huntsmen. With the help of the Huntsmen, they were able to kill the Grimm and get the party safely to the next village, but Gretchen was stung by a Death Stalker during the fight, and the village didn't have an airship where they could rush her back to Vale in time for us to treat the venom. By the time the CCTS came back online and we were able to respond to their calls for help, it was too late for her."
Oscar looked puzzled. "Why would Hazel blame you for that? You didn't have any direct involvement in her death."
"No, I didn't, but I was her Headmaster, and Hazel is of the opinion that I – or rather all of the staff here – didn't do enough training with Gretchen regarding her Semblance or preparing her to fight. I have no doubt that once he met Salem and he learned about our war, he blames me for recruiting children to become warriors to fight the Grimm." Ozpin's voice was sad. "The timing with the CCTS being down and the storm – those were variables that could have been prevented. If they had set out two days earlier or two days later, the storm would have passed by, or an airship would have been available. If the Tower hadn't been offline for maintenance and they'd been able to get an alert about the change to the forecast, or if they had been able to call for an airship after the fight, we could have gotten her back to Vale in time for treatment."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"It's not fair," Ozpin agreed. "But I understand his anger and the blame he placed on me. I prefer that he direct that blame towards me, rather than anyone else."
Oscar nodded. There was a look of understanding in his eyes and the previously closed-off expression had eased. "Thank you for explaining that. I couldn't figure out why Hazel was always so angry with you – Oz – ugh…" He put his spoon down and rubbed his forehead. "This is going to get confusing really fast."
Ozpin chuckled, although the boy's frustration wasn't really amusing. He could laugh about it where others wouldn't, since he'd been through it himself in a sense, when he had been going through the merge. The confusion of slowly acquiring memories that were not his, feeling the burden of Ozma's curse settling on his shoulders… it was very close to being an existential crisis, even with the previous incarnation's voice in his mind to guide him. "I can imagine." He paused, weighing his words carefully. "Even though I haven't actually lived through what you experienced before you came back here – I will understand if you find it easier to refer to your past experiences with the merge by referring to me."
"I –" Oscar hesitated. "I don't want it to seem like I'm blaming or accusing you, though, and won't that be confusing for Professor Goodwitch and Qrow?"
"Perhaps, but it wouldn't be inaccurate for you to do so. At the moment, I am all of my previous incarnations as much as I am Ozpin."
Oscar made a noncommittal noise, his expression conflicted as he thought through everything. Absently, he picked up his spoon again, stirred his soup and began eating again. The conversation lulled for a few minutes while they finished eating. Ozpin did want to continue getting some more information, but he was still trying to accept everything he'd already heard and he wasn't sure he could handle more bad news until he'd had some time to mentally digest everything.
"Do we need to send these back to the dining hall?" Oscar asked as he stood from his seat and started to gather up his used bowl and bread plate. "The tureen and the plate for the bread, I mean?"
Ozpin nodded. "I'll call for someone to come and collect them. It won't be a problem."
Oscar moved over to the sink and began filling it with hot water and soap. "I'll wash everything so that it's clean before they come to pick the dishes up." He returned to the table and picked up another armload.
Ozpin only nodded, not seeing any reason to fight the boy about this – he would normally have done the same thing, and had more than once, since he often had dinner sent up to him when he knew he'd be working late into the night. He watched silently as Oscar scrubbed at the dishes before rinsing them and setting them in the drying rack next to the sink.
He still didn't want to think about the betrayals that Oscar had mentioned would be coming. Betrayal like that – in the past it had led him into long periods of deep depression, more than once lasting an entire incarnation before he managed to pull himself out of it. In one case, the betrayal had been so deep, so painful, he'd isolated himself away for several incarnations, returning to the same small cabin time after time… until four young women had arrived and inspired him to return to the world and take up his mission again. With Oscar's warnings about what was coming, he couldn't afford that level of depression and isolation, even though he would need to eventually face the feelings and deal with them before anything happened.
After hearing everything that Oscar had to say – even knowing there were probably more details that the teen hadn't mentioned due to the fact that he seemed to have only been trying to hit the major points – he found himself admiring the boy's dignity throughout everything he'd been through. Being a new incarnation wasn't easy under the best of circumstances, but what the boy had gone through wasn't the best of circumstances by any means. It was, in fact, very possible that Oscar had been chosen as the next incarnation at possibly the worst time ever – not just because of his age, but due to the events that had happened before they had bonded.
"Is something wrong?"
Ozpin blinked, coming out of his thoughts to see Oscar looking at him, drying his hands, the dishes lined up neatly in the rack. He'd even collected Ozpin's dishes and washed them without him noticing. "No, just thinking about the things you had to say about what is coming."
"Oh."
Ozpin could feel the awkwardness building as he rose to his feet. "Why don't you tell me something about your friends? You said you were working with some of my students, right?" That was a safe enough topic, but it would also give him some information about these potential future allies. He left the kitchen and moved to the living room, settling into his favorite chair.
Oscar smiled shyly as he followed and curled up in the other armchair. "Um, sure. I guess. What did you want to know?"
"I know a little about Miss Rose and Miss Xiao Long from what Qrow has told me about them – they are his nieces after all – although we've never met. What are they like?"
"Yang is… strong," Oscar said after a moment. "And fiery," he added. "When she's fighting, you can see how much she loves it. She got hurt at Beacon, but after she recovered she jumped right back into the fight, even when things got hard. She has a shotgun gauntlet that collapses into a bracelet that she named Ember Celica."
"What is her Semblance?" Ozpin asked, genuinely curious. He remembered Taiyang's hand-to-hand brawler style from his student days of course, and he wondered if either of the girls from the Xiao-Long/Rose household had picked up on their parents' methods.
"She called it… Burn?... I think," Oscar replied. He elaborated further after a moment. "Whenever she takes a hit, she gets stronger and can deal out twice as much damage. When she activates it, her eyes turn red like her mother's and this golden, fiery halo surrounds her. It gets brighter the closer she is to her Aura being depleted. When she's at full power… it's amazing to look at. Fire just seems to surround her and she's unstoppable."
"Kinetic energy absorption," Ozpin said with a nod. "Although the fiery halo you mentioned is unique, I have seen similar Semblances before." In some ways, Long Memory operated similarly, passively absorbing the energy when he used the cane, and storing it until he was ready to unleash it – something he had not had to do for lifetimes. "What about Miss Rose?"
He was amused by the slight flush that darkened the boy's cheeks and the way he ducked his head a little before he responded. "She's…" Oscar paused considering his words. "She's inspiring? I think I mentioned that earlier. She always seemed to know what to say when I was scared or upset by what was happening. She was so kind to me, right from the very beginning, and even when we hit our lowest point and she had to be just as scared as the rest of us, she kept going." Oscar looked up. "Is that a trait of all silver-eyed people?"
"Hmm," Ozpin considered his answer. "I've known many silver-eyed warriors in my time, of course. But on the whole, I would say no. Most have a feeling that they need to fight, that they need to be strong and help others. What you've described though – that isn't just from being a silver-eyed warrior. But there are those out there who possess a spark and the ability to inspire others. Summer Rose – her mother – was much the same. She was a leader at heart, who cared for the whole world, always wanting to put others before herself."
"Oh."
"I've heard from Qrow that she is learning to use a scythe, much like he does," Ozpin said with amusement. "Do you know her Semblance?"
"Yeah," Oscar said. "She called it Petal Burst – she could dissolve into a stream of rose petals and move with incredible speed when she did. I think her Semblance was starting to evolve though – I saw her split herself into several streams of petals once in order to go around an obstacle in her path when we were training at Atlas." He looked down again. "I miss her. I miss all of them," he added hastily.
"I know," Ozpin said softly. "I can understand that. I've lost more friends than I can count over the years. Some I get back if I am able to reincarnate and convince my new partner to take up my mission quickly enough, but there have been many that I've never seen again once one of my lives passes."
Another silence fell between them, somber this time, rather than awkward. Oscar kept his gaze on his hands, which were resting in his lap, and Ozpin's heart went out to the boy. He was alone in a place that was both foreign and familiar to him, thanks to the partial merge he'd undergone. After another moment, he cleared his throat. "What about the others? I'm particularly interested to hear about Miss Schnee. I would have expected her to choose Atlas over Beacon, as the heiress to her family's company."
Atlas Academy… Headmaster's Office… Saturday Evening…
James tapped the edge of his closed Scroll against the palm of his flesh hand thoughtfully, uneasiness prickling along his spine. Winter had just reported in and let him know that she had collected the documents he had requested from Argus and Mistral, and that she was on her way to the next outpost in southern Anima. Based on the rate in which she was moving, he expected that she would return with everything he had requested within two weeks, since she still had several bases to visit in Anima, and then she would also have to go to the outposts in Vale and Vacuo. A bit longer than he had hoped for but given the length of time needed to unearth all the documents he had requested, it wasn't unreasonable.
Something was brewing and he didn't like it. The Vytal Festival the previous month had been a huge success – all of the Academies had performed well, even though Beacon had taken the glory of the Tournament home with them in the end. All had seemed well – even the White Fang hadn't been able or willing to disrupt the Festival, even though it would have been a prime target, being held in Mistral. But since the Festival Tournament had come to an end, there had been a new uptick in incidents involving the White Fang, according to what he was hearing over the CCTS and from Leonardo personally.
Fria's condition was continuing to decline. From the best estimates from the doctors tending to her, she had five years left to her, but probably less than that. He didn't like the idea of not knowing who the Maiden powers would go to when she eventually passed, but Fria had no family left, no female relatives or friends young enough to assume the powers. With everything they knew about how the powers were passed, that meant that the powers would go to someone random – and it might not even be someone located in Mantle or Atlas. The Spring Maiden was already missing – how long would it take Qrow to locate a single girl across the entire expanse of Remnant if it came to that point?
And now the incident with the boy who had mysteriously appeared in Ozpin's office, bringing dire warnings of pending attacks on the Academies…
Glynda's brusque messages to him a short time ago were very unlike her. Yes, she had a tendency to be short with him when she was truly busy – which was most of the time – but she could also be soft and warm when he caught her in the right mood, and she had never refused an offer of dinner or a night out away from Beacon on the occasions when he had reason to visit Vale. Their relationship was complicated, to say the least, but he cared about her more than she realized.
He slid his Scroll open and studied her messages again.
Glynda
We have some information. Not all of the news is good.
Glynda
I believe Ozpin will be contacting you soon to discuss what we've learned. He has some assignments for you that may assist us further in this matter, but I'll let him explain it.
That on its own was unusual. Glynda was Ozpin's second in command at Beacon for a reason – he trusted her to be able to issue orders on his behalf if for some reason he could not. The fact that she was deflecting in answer to his question was another red flag in the back of his mind.
True, it could just be something extremely sensitive that Ozpin wanted to discuss, and while he could understand it, it would be unusual, as it had never happened in all the years he'd been a member of Ozpin's circle.
Remnant had been at peace for nearly eighty years, save for the shadowy threat of Salem, but no one except a select handful of people – Ozpin's followers, and her own – even knew she existed. Wars between the Kingdoms had come to an end with the final battle of the Great War, and there was only lingering social tension between the Faunus and the rest of humanity, and of course the everlasting struggle against the Grimm.
He wasn't sure what he should believe or feel at the moment. He didn't like the distance in Glynda's messages, nor the fact that Ozpin also seemed to be keeping him out of the loop already. The boy had arrived a week ago, and yet there had apparently been little effort to interrogate him about his warnings. After all, Glynda had said they had learned "some things". But some was not "all".
He had long contended with Ozpin that the old wizard was too cautious, too slow to act. Salem worked from the shadows, yes, but in his mind, that gave them a distinct advantage. They could build their military might across all the Kingdoms, keep people safe and happy, and eliminate potential targets for the Grimm. Without any reason for people to feel negative emotions, Salem would have nothing to work with, nothing to stir the flames of anger, rage, or jealousy.
But each time he'd brought that point up in one of their meetings, Ozpin had shot it down, saying things like "Humanity is resilient, and when necessary, they will band together", or "The perception of a conflict may not lead to open criticism, but it can lead to whispers in the shadows and unrest", or even "Better by far to allow people to feel, make mistakes, learn from those mistakes, and thus become stronger than to force them to change."
It was a viewpoint that he had trouble reconciling with what he knew of the situation. Why wait patiently for the right time, waging a shadow war across millennia, when a single decisive battle could end the threat Salem posed if it was planned out and all preparations made to ensure success?
As a boy, growing up at the feet of his father and grandfather, both of whom had fought before, he'd admired and craved stories of Vale's Warrior King. Although the King had sought peace first, when there had been no other choice, he had taken decisive action. One glorious battle brought an end to the war. He'd poured over tales from eyewitnesses, and theories from noted scholars explaining why the battle had turned so harshly against the combined forces of Mantle and Mistral on that day. That decisive action – even though it had led to a steep death toll – had prevented further death when all was said and done, and that was what James admired most about the King of Vale. He had taken action.
Ozpin had never liked to talk about that battle, that day, however. James had asked him more than once about it, unable to believe that he might get the story of one of his heroes straight from the man himself, but Oz had always deflected the question when it came up. He didn't understand why Ozpin wouldn't take pride in what he had done that day – he'd ended war between the Kingdoms and ushered in an era of peace of the sort that Remnant hadn't known for centuries before the Great War. The level of proficiency in combat that it indicated that Ozpin held alone was inspiring. Surely, surely if Ozpin could fight like that, a face-to-face conflict with Salem would be over quickly. Salem couldn't possibly be as skilled a fighter as Ozpin was, after millennia of being a warrior and a Huntsman.
He keyed open his messages again and began typing. Once he was satisfied, he encrypted the message and sent it on to Ozpin. He wanted answers – about the boy, about the pending attacks… anything that Ozpin or Glynda could give him. He didn't like not knowing, not being able to take action, having to hold back when he had the military might they need. They needed to begin making plans, strengthening their forces, coordinating tactics for the inevitable battle that would be coming.
James
Have you had a chance to talk to the boy yet? What did he say? What can I do to help?
Mistral… Arc Household…
It couldn't possibly be that hard to get where he wanted! Jaune sighed in frustration and rested his forehead on the small desk in his room, his Scroll falling from his grip to clatter against the wooden surface.
He just wanted to be a hero like his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather all had been. That couldn't be too much to ask, could it? But unless he took action himself, he would never get the chance. After all, he was not only the youngest in the family, but he was also the only boy and his parents had never listened to him when he begged for a chance to go to combat school, to work towards becoming a Huntsman.
The only way he was going to get his chance was if he could do it himself. The problem was, based on everything he'd been reading about admission to the Academies, he wouldn't be good enough to get in on his own merit. His academic grades were only mediocre, and while academics alone wouldn't earn or deny him a place, they were a factor that would be considered in his overall application. His combat skills were rudimentary – he'd spend his childhood like most of his other friends, engaging in mock battles against imaginary Grimm and taking turns playing at heroes and bandits with stick-swords and trash-can-lid shields. But that level of play-training wasn't the sort of training that he would have gotten if his parents would have just let him attend combat school.
"There has to be a way," he muttered. "I can do this; I just need to find the way."
He lifted his head and picked up his Scroll again. He needed to decide on an Academy first and foremost. While the application processes were virtually identical between the four Academies, there were different dates when the different parts of the process occurred if he wanted to have a chance to attend next year. There was a date when the actual application had to be submitted, then a date for the combat trial, and after that of course was the interview with the Headmaster…
He felt like – of all the stages to pass in order to secure a spot at one of the Academies – the best one he had the chance of passing on his own merit would be the interview. He knew what he wanted, and he knew he could speak passionately enough about it to convince one of the Headmasters that being a Huntsman was what he was meant to do.
"Okay, take it one step at a time," he muttered to himself. "Pick an Academy, commit to it, and start working the problem."
Shade Academy – no. He wanted nothing to do with the desert or Vacuo's reputation of being a rough-and-tumble place. Atlas – also no. He didn't think he would survive the regimented, militaristic lifestyle that Atlas endorsed for its students, and then there was also the cold… he shivered just thinking about it.
Okay, those were easy decisions. That left Haven Academy in Mistral, and Beacon Academy in Vale. All of the Academies were prestigious, with reputations well-earned and well-deserved since they were founded after the War. On the surface, there wouldn't be a difference between the two – both had earned victories at the Vytal Festivals in the past, both had reputations for turning out exceptional Huntsmen.
Mistral was so close to home though – it would be too much of a temptation to run for his family if things got tough. If he was going to make it on his own – prove himself, the same way Saphron had a few years ago when she'd left home and made her way to Argus – he needed to go further than Mistral. All of his other sisters had stayed in their home village, but Jaune wanted to do what Saphron had – he wanted to make his own name, his own life away from the family. In a village where his family was one of the largest – eight children certainly made an impression on the neighbors, after all – he wouldn't be able to stand apart from the others unless he could get away. He'd always just be the youngest Arc child.
"Okay, Beacon it is then," he said. He hesitated for another moment. Another Kingdom though – he would really be on his own if he picked Beacon over Haven. But he firmed his resolve, and opened a new file in his Scroll, before navigating to the information on Beacon. He needed to know his due dates and specific requirements to submit his application.
He glanced over his shoulder. Crocea Mors was hanging on his wall behind him – by family custom, the blade and shield had been handed down to him when he turned fifteen. If he was going to do this, it would only make sense for the blade and shield to be the weapon he would take up himself and bring to the Academy with him.
No, it wasn't going to be if he did it. He was going to do this. There had to be a way to make himself look like a desirable candidate – there just had to be.
Ozpin's Apartment…
Ozpin chuckled as Oscar finished relating the story of one of his sparring matches with Ruby when they had been in Mistral – how he'd managed to punch her in the face, only for her to turn around and immediately retaliate when he tried to apologize. "I take it that you learned from that experience?"
Oscar rubbed his cheekbone in remembrance. "Yeah – not to drop my guard against Ruby – she's quick when she's focused, even when she's not using her Semblance – and to keep my Aura up."
Ozpin's scroll buzzed and he set his hot cocoa aside to fish it out of his coat pocket. His hands stilled as he saw the encrypted message's sender. James.
Oscar noticed immediately. "Is…everything okay?"
Ozpin tapped the code that would decrypt the message and waited while the program ran through its decryption cycle and the message resolved itself on the screen.
James
Have you had a chance to talk to the boy yet? What did he say? What can I do to help?
"It's a message from James."
Oscar's entire posture stiffened, his hazel eyes going wide with fear and pain. Ozpin glanced up from his Scroll as Oscar's breath hitched again, and he eyed the teen carefully. "Oscar?"
"I – I'm okay," Oscar said, letting his breath out slowly. "It's just… after what he did…" The boy closed his eyes and took another slow, deep breath. "The memory is still fresh." He took one more breath. "It may be a while before I can face him again."
Anger at Oscar's clear fear of James burned through Ozpin, along with sadness. James was a trusted friend – or at least he had thought the general was. But for events to drive James so far from the path of light that he would shoot a child… "That's understandable, given what happened."
Oscar closed his eyes for a moment. "What does he want?"
Ozpin glanced at his Scroll again. "He wants to know if I've talked to you yet and what I've learned. He's offering his help."
"Sounds right," Oscar muttered, his tone a little resentful – although Ozpin couldn't blame him for that. "What are you going to tell him?"
"I have a few ideas for things he can help with while I look into the betrayals," Ozpin admitted. "He can task someone to work on looking for the virus you mentioned, and we can begin a quiet search for Arthur Watts, try to verify if he's still alive. We can also work on upgrading cybersecurity."
"In Mantle as well as Atlas," Oscar said.
"I'm sorry?"
"After the Fall of Beacon, the General managed to purge the virus from the CCTS system, and they upgraded the network – but only in Atlas," Oscar explained. "Mantle got left behind, in more ways than one, and that was what led to all the chaos in Mantle at the end – Watts designed Mantle's security code and used the backdoors he wrote into it to undermine the General for months before Salem arrived with her forces."
Something else to take note of – and a small pang of guilt went through Ozpin as well. When he'd used the Staff of Creation to lift the new capital of Atlas high into the sky, as a symbol of the rebirth of the Kingdom after the Great War, he had expected both cities to flourish. Atlas' symbol was a burning torch, after all – a light for the rest of the world. Atlas had the greatest technology of the four Kingdoms and was arguably the most successful of the four Kingdoms, even if it was the youngest. But he'd never intended for Mantle to sink away into Atlas' shadow – the two Kingdoms were inexorably linked together after all. It would be impossible for one to survive without the other these days – Atlas depended on the Dust sent up from the crater and the mines around Mantle, and Mantle needed the foodstuffs grown in the climate-controlled city of Atlas.
"I see." He resolutely pushed his emotions down, especially in the wake of seeing Oscar's reaction to James' message. "I'll pass this on to James, then. If you don't want to talk to him yourself immediately, I understand."
"Not right away," Oscar admitted, his gaze falling to where he was playing with his hands in his lap. There was a moment of silence before… "I think I'm going to go take a shower and go to bed."
"Of course." It was a shame that the mood had been soured by the arrival of James' message. Oscar had been much more open during the time he'd been talking about his friends. Ozpin felt like he knew the two teams – RWBY and what was left of JNPR – almost as well as Oscar did. He was curious to know if all seven of them would apply to Beacon again. Some of the antics Oscar had told him about reminded him of the early days of team STRQ's tenure at Beacon.
Oscar pushed himself out of his armchair, wincing a little as the motion pulled on his chest wound. "Good night, sir."
"Good night, Oscar," Ozpin replied softly. "We'll finish getting you settled in tomorrow, and then if you feel up to it, maybe you can help me make some further plans based on what you know."
"Sure." Oscar's answering smile was shy, but sad as he turned and headed for the hallway and to his room.
Ozpin watched him disappear into the hallway before returning his attention to his Scroll.
Ozpin
Yes, I've spoken to him. He had a great deal to share about what we're facing.
Ozpin was taking longer to respond than he usually did. Ironwood stared at his Scroll, waiting for the other Headmaster's response to come through. Even with the time difference between Atlas and Vale, he knew Oz was still awake.
Something about this whole situation wasn't right – even beyond the boy's mysterious appearance, bringing dire warnings of pending attacks – there was more going on than it seemed. For as long as he had known Ozpin, as long as he'd been part of the inner circle, Ozpin had stressed that Salem never moved openly. With an unceasing supply of Grimm to do her bidding, she didn't need to attack openly. Her machinations had already restricted humanity's presence on Remnant to four Kingdoms and a few small handfuls of tiny villages and wandering nomads and bandits. Any attempt to expand beyond the borders of the safe havens of the Kingdom had very little chance of succeeding for more than a few years.
Under the scope of any other land-based war, Salem would seem to be the clear victor if it ever came to open conflict. She controlled the most territory, she had an army that would never tire, and she had lived long enough that Ozpin had been opposing her for centuries. Humanity was still here, but they weren't flourishing or reaching their full potential.
They needed to begin taking more decisive action. If the boy had brought warnings that Ozpin believed to be legitimate, then they needed to be acted upon, before word reached Salem that her plans may have been compromised.
Finally, his Scroll vibrated with a message, which he quickly decrypted.
Ozpin
Yes, I've spoken to him. He had a great deal to share about what we're facing.
Ironwood
What can you share? What can I do?
There was another long pause – again, very much out of character for Ozpin. Ironwood tapped one finger against the surface of his desk, waiting with growing anticipation for the old wizard's answer.
Ozpin
I do have a few tasks for you. However, it's been an exceptionally long day, and I was planning on calling tomorrow to speak with you, since it will be easier to discuss them that way. Until then, if there's something that you would like to do, let's concentrate on strengthening security access for the CCTS.
Ironwood blinked as he read that missive. The CCTS? Security was already tight around it. Scrolls needed to be scanned to verify identification before anyone could access one of the Towers or hub stations, all Scrolls were identi-locked to their owners with biometrics and passwords, the Towers themselves were in the most secure location in each Kingdom and each Tower had guards around them at all hours, but especially so at night once the communication rooms closed down. All technicians went through a multi-layered background check and vetting process before they were issued even the most rudimentary access…
Ironwood
Oz, that doesn't make any sense. The CCTS is already a closed, secure system. And what does that have to do with a physical attack on the schools?
Ozpin sighed when Ironwood's most recent response flashed onto his screen a few seconds after he told him to look into the security around the CCTS. He respected James' dogged determination to get answers – it was one of the things that made him such a good general and an invaluable ally. When that was combined with his passive Semblance of Mettle, allowing him to strengthen his resolve, Ozpin had always been able to trust that James could be counted on to keep up with his responsibilities and duties to their group and the fight against Salem.
He needed more information on the events that led up to what had happened to drive James to the point that he would even consider abandoning the rest of Remnant before he could reveal too much to his friend. Above all, he couldn't take the chance on any of the information about Oscar getting back to Salem. The fact that Oscar seemed to have travelled back in time meant that Salem – as matters currently stood – didn't know that some of her plans had reached him. It was vital to any future success that she didn't learn that Oscar had brought his warnings.
Ozpin
There may be a virus within the system that would enable Salem's agents to lock down the Towers and prevent anyone from calling for help when the attacks come. We will also need to look into other ways that we can increase cybersecurity and boost the strength of the Towers, while putting in further redundancies to make sure the system can continue to support itself if the attacks happen and we lose a Tower.
Ironwood
I see. I have more questions.
Ozpin
I know. There are some other things we'll need to discuss tomorrow.
Ironwood
I'll look forward to talking with you about it then.
Ozpin lowered his Scroll and raised his hand to his temple, rubbing a long finger against it gently. He had a feeling that stress headaches were going to become quite common in the coming months.
He pushed himself to his feet and began pacing the living area slowly, hands tucked behind his back. There was so much to consider moving forward. He was used to waging his ongoing campaign against Salem, of course. Most of the time it meant combating the Grimm, watching for betrayals from those he thought he could trust, monitoring any tense social situations she might try to take advantage of – all manageable on a day-to-day basis. A crisis – even a series of crises – wouldn't arrive overnight. There were always warning signs that could be watched for and guarded against, with the aid of the agents he had in every Kingdom reporting back to him. The problem that Remnant was a large world, and sometimes things could build up for a great deal of time before everything exploded, which made a crisis seem more unexpected when it finally came around.
This new campaign however – guided by Oscar's warnings – would be different. While many elements would be the same, he would also have to concentrate on trying to solve problems before they became problems, and then dealing with any potential fallout that would change as a result, since at that point Oscar's warnings would become less relevant. As soon as Salem figured out that her plans had been thwarted before she could take them into effect, they would change, and at that point Oscar wouldn't know what to expect – and they would be back to a waiting game.
But as long as the warnings were relevant, they stood to make good progress in holding her off. Ideally, removing her current group of pawns – Arthur Watts, Hazel, and this Tyrian Callows would stymie her, and their current era of peace could continue. As long as they could remain one step ahead of her for as long as possible, his mission to unite humanity could make more progress.
He sighed and glanced back towards the hallway, hoping that Oscar was okay. They'd been having a pleasant conversation, without the added strain of having to censor their words because the boy had been in a public location like the hospital. He should have anticipated that James would contact him sooner rather than later, since the General knew he'd been intending to speak to Oscar this afternoon.
"James, what could drive you to fall so far that you would even consider shooting a child?" he murmured softly.
Even worse, since Oscar was his next incarnation, James hadn't just shot Oscar, he'd shot Ozpin, knowing that he was there, and making the deliberate choice to attempt to murder two people with a single shot. James was his friend, so the idea that he would do that, that he had fallen so far, that he had betrayed the ideals he'd been so adamant about at their first meeting – swearing to protect his people, sharing power with the Atlas Council, the oaths he'd sworn on the day Ozpin had read him in on the truth behind the Grimm and Salem…
He rubbed his temples again, his headache spiking as his blood pressure rose under the combined strain of his thoughts and the emotions he'd been brutally repressing since Oscar had told his story that afternoon. He took a slow breath, trying to bring his heart rate back to a resting level, but there was too much swirling inside him.
He'd been murdered at the hands of a friend before – he'd been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled… Salem had burned him alive during his first reincarnation after their falling out. He'd died to her Grimm, he'd died to magic – but the most painful deaths he'd ever experienced had not been at Salem's hands, it had been when he'd had to look into the eyes of someone he cared about and seen their emotions – anger, hate, sadness – all turned against him because of her machinations.
No. He needed to calm down. Awakening those memories wouldn't do him any favors on top of everything else he'd learned today.
He stood in the center of his living room, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to wrestle his body back into his control. Emotions were one thing – but he couldn't afford to be physically out of sorts. It took longer than he wanted, but millennia of self-control and self-discipline eventually allowed him to calm his heart rate and reduce the pounding between his temples, although the headache didn't go away fully.
There wasn't any help for it. If he had any hope of being functional tomorrow or in the days to come, he needed to wallow tonight – he needed to stop trying to repress what he was feeling, accept it, and be numb for a bit. With his headache he wouldn't sleep well without some sort of assistance, and his thoughts would contribute to unrest. He'd never been one for pharmaceuticals, and a stress headache wasn't an injury, so aura wouldn't be able to affect it or ease it.
He moved over to the bookshelves and paused in front of the set of closed cabinets that were positioned parallel to the exterior wall. His hand came up and found the raised wooden knot along the inside of the side panel of one particular shelf and pressed it in. There was a faint click before a small wooden square popped free. He picked up the square and turned it over and a small gold key fell into his palm.
For a moment, he paused and stared at the key. He was taking a chance if he moved forward with this decision – past precedent for him was clear when he gave in to weakness. His self-control was usually strong enough that even on a bad day, he could keep going when anyone else would have given in. But this was different. He wasn't mourning over the daughters he had lost, or the loss of his love for Salem. He was mourning what he would lose if nothing changed, needing to accept the fear and the dread so that he could push past it and function moving forward.
He slipped the key into the lock on the cabinet and twisted it. Pulling open the cabinet, he reached in and pulled out a thick, squat glass and a heavy glass bottle filled with amber liquid, weighing it in his hand. It was a weakness that he was usually able to suppress – he hadn't allowed himself to succumb in… centuries at least. Normally when he drank, it was either for social engagements, or because it was expected of him for political reasons, but for the most part he preferred coffee, water, or cocoa.
But tonight – tonight, he was facing the possibility of a looming betrayal from two of his closest allies and the fact that one of his friends had intended to murder him. If there was any night when he could use the numbness, much in the same way Qrow did it, was today. It was why he never insisted that the other Huntsman get help, why he continued to allow Qrow to remain an active Huntsman despite the fact that his drinking was a crutch. Pain like this – pain like what Qrow knew because of his upbringing and Semblance – sometimes couldn't be set aside or ignored. Sometimes it could only be drowned beneath an artificial flood of numbness.
He moved to open the bottle, intending to pour his first drink, but paused again. Oscar was in the apartment with him and based on some of what the boy had said already, it seemed as if – at least before whatever had happened between them that had caused the anger he had seen at the hospital, the teen had been relying on Ozpin's perceived strength. There had also been several uncomfortable looks directed at Qrow whenever the Huntsman had been drinking during the meeting that afternoon, and Oscar clearly knew to be wary around someone who drank as much as Qrow did.
The last thing he wanted to do was traumatize the boy further, but…
He re-locked the cabinet and put the key back in its hiding place before sliding the wooden square back into place with another quiet click. Picking up the bottle and the glass, he moved towards the door leading to his own room, pausing only long enough to collect Long Memory and turn the light off. He would take this into a private setting, wallow in the emotions he'd been brutally repressing all afternoon, and then drown the pain. By morning, he'd be able to face what was coming with the pain locked away again.
He took a seat on the edge of his bed and twisted the metal cap on the bottle, pouring a small amount into the tumbler. The first swallow burned harshly, mixing with the lingering taste of cocoa in a way that was somehow both pleasant and not – although that was par for the course with hard liquor. He poured a bit more into the glass before setting the bottle on the nightstand.
Leonardo… James…
Another swallow, another burn down his throat, artificially warming him from within – even though it wasn't a warmth that would last.