After our encounter with Adam, the days settled into a deceptive calm, lulling us into something that felt close to normalcy. And yet, there was an unease I couldn’t shake. Every now and then, my gaze would flick over my shoulder, a nagging question echoing in my mind: Are we really safe?

  Even the Olympians seemed preoccupied, lost in their own misadventures. Aphrodite, a near-constant presence in my life, still visited frequently—both to renew her blessings and to chatter away—but her divine gaze often seemed distant, fixed on some far-off place ever since that night.

  And so, I find myself without a Semblance today.

  The sound of our boots echoes against the ancient stone of the catacombs beneath Beacon, a rhyth underscored by the weight of the chase. The air is thick with the smell of dust and mold, a suffocating cocktail that makes the darkness feel more oppressive. My shield is gripped tightly in one hand as I push forward, my every step a silent hope that the Grimm won’t find us me—that they won’t need me.

  A sharp scream cuts through the silence.

  “Nora.”

  Her name barely leaves my lips before I turn sharply to my right, running in the direction of the sound. But the catacombs are a maze of twisting corridors and dead ends, and all I find are walls blocking my path.

  My scroll comes out in a flash, the screen showing her position close by. The faint, distant clash of battle bleeds through the stone. She’s just on the other side of the wall in front of me.

  But getting around it could take…

  A thunderous explosion reverberates through the catacombs, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. Gritting my teeth, I slam my shield into the wall. Aura floods into my limbs as I press forward, each bash dislodging jagged fragments of stone and sand. My muscles burn, but the wall gives way, a portion collapsing just enough to reveal the chaos beyond.

  Shadows writhe and chitinous forms twist in the darkness in a grotesque blur of motion. Without hesitation, I shove my shield through the gap and kick it forward, forcing my way to the other side before the fragile breach collapses behind me.

  The moment I step through, a whip of jagged teeth snaps toward me. I barely bring up Crocea Mors in time, its blade flashing as I deflect the attack. The whip recoils with a sickening hiss, but there’s no time to think. Nora’s grenades explode with deafening force on the tight space, briefly illuminating the chamber in bursts of light.

  “Jaune!” Her voice is almost drowned out by the cacophony of battle. “There’s so… many—”

  “I defend, you attack!”

  I press my back against hers, synchronizing our movements. Her hammer arcs past me with the force of a storm, while I keep my shield high, intercepting anything that dares approach from behind. Her strength is terrifying, shaking the very walls, but I have no choice but to trust her.

  The chamber is just chaos. Explosions tear through the dark, and sparks fly with every clash. My arms ache as blow after blow batters my shield, sweat trickling down my back. For every grotesque limb that surges toward us, Nora’s relentless assault drives them back. Each second of safety I manage to buy for her feels elongated and painful, forcing me to grit my teeth to the taste of iron.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, it’s over.

  The lights flicker to life, the oppressive darkness lifting to reveal the aftermath. The creature lies still, a monstrous amalgamation of metallic, centipede-like bodies twisted together in a grotesque rat-king fashion. Its lifeless form glints faintly in the pale light, closer to armor than flesh or bone.

  I release a shaky breath, my shield lowering as all fight drains from my limbs. Turning to Nora, I catch her gaze and offer a small, apologetic smile.

  “I told you they’d be okay.”

  Yang and Blake appear moments later, strolling down the tunnel with a casual air.

  “What does a girl have to do around here to get her back covered like that?” Yang says, punctuating her words with a sharp slap to my ass. “For a guy without a Semblance, swinging an old sword? Not bad, Arc. Not bad at all.”

  “Must be tough,” Blake adds dryly. “Dealing with an unreliable Semblance.”

  “Well, I can cheat a little if…” My voice falters as I glance down at the twitching remains of the creature. Its metallic segments jitter faintly, disintegrating into black wisps. The silence of the catacombs is broken only by the eerie sound of its dying spasms, but it feels... “How many did you two kill?”

  Yang shrugs nonchalantly. “Eh… one?”

  Before her smirk has a chance to settle, a tentacle that doesn’t belong to the corpse lashes out, wrapping around her torso. In an instant, Yang is yanked off her feet, her startled yelp echoing through the tunnels.

  We react immediately, weapons drawn as we charge after her, her irritated screams guiding us deeper into the catacombs. The further we go, the more crumbled the structure becomes. The already rough stone walls give way to jagged, natural caverns, the labyrinthine corridors collapsing into chaotic ruins.

  By the time we reach her, Yang is on the ground, growling in frustration as the creature coils around her. The mass of shifting, centipede-like limbs tightens, binding her arms to her back and pressing her face into the dirt.

  “Oh, come on, guys! Just blow the damn thing to pieces! You know I can take it!” she yells, voice muffled by the struggle.

  Nora steps forward, but the faint click of her hammer tells me everything I need to know—she’s out of ammo. With our heavy hitters out of gas, Blake and I exchange a brief, grim look. There’s no way we can take this thing down head-on, not with its armor gleaming like tempered steel.

  Instead, while the others hold their ground in a tense standoff, I slip away. My eyes scan the cavern until I find a narrow gap in the wall, just wide enough to crawl through. The tunnel leads me up and over the chamber, where I press myself flat against the craggy ceiling, inching closer to the monster below.

  From above and with some light, I can see it more clearly now. The gaps in its armor, subtle junctions where the plates meet, are just wide enough for a blade. As the creature shifts, its movements jerky and unnatural, I spot my chance.

  I leap.

  The Grimm twists toward me, startled, and I drive Crocea Mors deep into the crack where its limbs converge. A horrific, guttural screech erupts as dark blood pours from the wound, splattering the ground in thick rivers. The creature’s grip on Yang falters, dropping her unceremoniously.

  Before I can even breathe, its massive limbs grab me by the chest. Pain explodes through my ribs as it slams me into the stone floor, my vision blurring. Again, next thing I know the fight’s over. But this time, there’s no victorious sigh of relief, no energy left for even a faint smile. My head swims, and I sink back against what feels like a solid wall—or maybe the floor? It’s impossible to tell. Everything seems to spin.

  “Alright, alright, maybe you are kinda cool,” Yang’s voice pushes aside the haze, teasing and unmistakably Yang.

  I manage to blink up at her, and suddenly, she’s straddling my hips, heavy, comforting, rough. Her vibrant, golden hair cascading around her like sunlight in the gloom. Her hands grip my face, tilting my gaze up to meet her playful, piercing eyes.

  “I could get used to this,” she whispers, her grin utterly shameless.

  “Yang! God, at least wait until he’s conscious!” Nora’s voice echoes in the distance, a mix of amusement and exasperation.

  Yang just giggles, her chest bouncing as she shrugs off the reprimand. “Oh, believe me, with the way his hands are holding my hips? He’s definitely conscious, and he’s got his priorities straight.”

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  “We should still clear the stage for the next team,” Blake interjects.

  Yang sighs dramatically. “Fiiiiiine. Since the others are gonna be busy for a while anyway, why don’t we grab something to eat? I’m not wasting another Friday at Beacon.”

  “And what about Jaune?” Nora asks, glancing back.

  “You two go ahead. I’ll make sure he gets there… once his legs are back in service,”

  There’s a moment of shared glances between Blake and Nora before the latter shrugs and waves herself off.

  The quiet of the catacombs wraps around us, broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights struggling to pierce through the gloom. Yang doesn’t move. She remains where she is, her weight steady on my lap, her fingers absently weaving through my hair. The soft, repetitive motion sends sparks down my spine, easing the ache.

  I lean my head against her shoulder, letting the steady rise and fall of her breathing ground me. It’s steady and deep, a quiet rhythm that contrasts with the chaos we just endured.

  Her scent lingers in the air—something faintly sweet, like wildflowers after rain, mixed with the earthier, metallic tang of battle. My eyes flutter shut, and the pounding in my skull dulls with each careful stroke of her fingers. Every touch unravels a thread of tension knotted deep within me.

  I don’t know when it happens, but eventually, I find myself pressing a hesitant kiss to the base of her neck.

  She laughs softly, the sound low and teasing, vibrating through her chest. “Feeling better already?”

  “Not really,” I grunt, though the warmth spreading through me suggests otherwise. “Are you sure my head isn’t broken? It feels like it.”

  “Well,” she whispers into my ear, her voice dipping lower, “as comfy as this is, once the next team walks in… I’m pretty sure they’ll start asking questions.”

  She shifts slightly, her thighs brushing against mine as she leans in closer, and I find myself leaning back instinctively. Then she shifts again, pushing until her knees press at the sides of my hips and her chest spills on mine. A hollow gasp escapes my lips, and for a moment, the dim light catches her features.

  She’s beautiful.

  Her golden hair clings to her flushed face in damp strands, and a faint sheen of sweat glistens on her skin. Her lips, soft and pink despite countless battles and rough encounters, curve into that familiar, mischievous smile.

  But there’s more to her than just beauty. Yang is warmth—literal and figurative—something that radiates from her in waves, making her seem larger than life. Her frame, strong and unapologetically feminine, feels softer than I would have ever imagined.

  I don’t speak. I can’t. The air between us grows heavy, thick with something I can’t name. Her breath mingles with mine and my focus narrows until there’s nothing but the space between us, and I can’t stop wondering—what does she feel like? Taste like?

  Slowly, she leans in, her eyes holding a flicker of uncertainty that catches me off guard. For all her bravado and confidence, there’s something achingly human in the way her gaze softens in the privacy of her actions belonging only to my eyes.

  I wait for the silence in between the beats of my heart, and answer in kind.

  Our lips meet, tentative at first, a gentle press that deepens into something unhurried and lingering. The world around us fades, leaving only the quiet stillness of the catacombs and the warmth of her mouth against mine as we both come back for another taste. Again, and again.

  ?

  Taking a walk through Vale usually helped clear my head. But this time, returning to the city for the first time since our fight with Adam, each step felt heavier. Pacing through the streets, I couldn’t help but count the number of robbed Dust stores, each shattered window a reminder of how much we still had to do. How many more would be hit before we managed to stop them? Strangely, the news had made no mention of the White Fang when briefly going through the news of the incident. But for me, it felt impossible to ignore.

  Eventually, we found a comfortable café—quiet enough to unwind and wait while the others finished their training. The clink of ceramic and the faint murmur of conversation created a fragile sense of normalcy.

  Blake, teacup in hand, finally spoke, her voice cautious. “There’s… something I’ve been meaning to ask.” She hesitated, the steam from her tea curling around her face. “Weiss gave us a rundown of what happened, but she seemed…”

  “Catty?” Nora joked.

  “I was going to say fishy.” Blake’s gaze lingered on her cup. “It felt like she was skipping over details.”

  I nodded, my fingers tightening around my mug of hot chocolate. “I mean, I can’t imagine what’s going through her head. It’s still her name on the brands.”

  Blake’s eyes sharpened, a flicker of confusion breaking through. “What brands?”

  Nora and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance, the air suddenly feeling colder.

  “The brand on Blud’s face,” I explained carefully. “The… the S.D.C.”

  Her gaze darkened, the weight of unspoken thoughts pulling her shoulders down. “We never really met. I avoided him as much as I could. At first, because I was afraid he’d recognize me. Then… it got harder. Watching people who still believed in what the White Fang was supposed to stand for.”

  Yang leaned into her palm, her voice soft but steady. “You think everyone’s okay?”

  “Ozpin said there weren’t any victims,” I offered, trying to ease the tension. “But we can still check. I’m sure they could use the help.”

  Blake’s shoulders shrank inward, discomfort clear in her expression. “I don’t know… I don’t want to keep dragging all of you into White Fang business.”

  Nora huffed. “It’s… A bit late for that, don’t you think? We’re already here, the least we can do is… Well, anything, really.”

  Blake’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but after a moment, she nodded. “Maybe… maybe you’re right.” Her voice softened, though shadows still lingered behind her gaze. She took a breath, steeling herself. “Do you all think we could go today? I mean, we don’t have plans, and if Weiss wasn’t exaggerating, it sounded like we left a pretty big mess behind.”

  Yang leaned back in her chair, arms stretching behind her head with casual ease. “Now I know why we keep Weiss on the team. Three hours without her, and you’re already signing us up for charity.” She grinned, eyes glinting. “Fine, but I get to pick where we go tomorrow night. No excuses.”

  Smiles and shared glances passed between us, a quiet agreement solidifying over the last bites of desserts and sips of drinks.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to wind our way downtown toward the Animal Shelter. Blake navigated the rougher streets effortlessly, her familiarity with the back alleys now an asset instead of a burden. There was a fluid confidence in her steps, a quiet strength born of no longer needing to pretend innocence.

  But the biggest surprise came before we even reached the building. The repairs were impossible to miss—scaffolding, tools, and workers swarmed the area like bees around a hive. The scale of the reconstruction was staggering, almost overwhelming for such a simple, greyed-out structure.

  Whatever damage we’d left behind, it was more than just a mess—it was a scar. And yet, little remained of it, to the point where everyone seemed to have shifted focus to other possible improvements and imperfections with impressive speed.

  “Salutations, friends!”

  A strange, small girl in a safety helmet leaped from a wooden platform beside the building. Her bright eyes sparkled with delight. “Have you come to check on the reparations? Oh! Or have you come to check on me? Well, I must say I’m doing rather delightfully today… although…” She tilted her head, gears almost visibly turning in her mind. “I don’t remember mentioning I’d be here.”

  Yang leaned close, muttering with a grin, “And this is why we don’t kick Ruby off the team either.”

  Stepping forward, she cleared her throat. “Penny! We were just, you know… passing by. Seeing how everything’s going. But, uh… why are you working on a construction site?”

  “The general said it would be good for my public image! He thought I should learn to aid and repair.” Penny beamed, as if construction work were the grandest adventure in the world.

  “The general?” I ask, looking around, genuinely confused.

  Blake leaned in, her voice low. “Robot. Artificial soul. Don’t ask. I don’t.”

  “That… somehow doesn’t surprise me anymore.” I turned back to Penny. “So, why the entire crew? It looks like you’re almost finished.”

  “Oh, but there’s so much more to do!” Penny declared enthusiastically. “Mr. Ozpin said we should take the opportunity to make everything even better than before!”

  Confusion showed itself across most of our faces, but Blake’s eyes narrowed in understanding. She stepped forward, arms crossed. “If people see funds being diverted to help Faunus communities out of nowhere, they’ll complain. This is a chance to rebuild quietly, without resistance, because the other residents are more likely to stay silent.”

  My stomach twisted. “So… no one’s mentioning the White Fang? Just chalking it up to a ‘terrorist attack’?”

  Blake’s gaze dropped, her voice bitter. “People already hate Faunus enough. Give them Faunus-on-Faunus violence, and they’ll be happy to watch blood run.”

  ?

  The afternoon at the Animal Shelter was still enjoyable—there was always something to do, especially now. Whether it was taking care of the food, cleaning, or lending a hand wherever needed, the tasks seemed endless. New and old faces blurred together as the hours slipped by.

  For every Faunus who managed to secure a steady job in the nicer parts of the city and eventually move out, there were those who couldn’t work at all—held back by injuries, age, or the weight of circumstance. And then there were their children, caught between hope and hardship by a conflict that had supposedly ended before their birth.

  As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light through the shelter’s windows, the students gradually drifted toward each other, wondering what their missing teammates were doing, curiosity pulling them into warm, mingling interactions. In the midst of it all, just as she arrived, Weiss slipped away, her expression tight with purpose. She moved quietly to the far end of the building, where she knocked on the door of the office. A low grunt granted her entry.

  She stepped inside to find Blake already there, her golden eyes glimmering with guarded amusement.

  “Is this… a bad moment?” Weiss asked, her voice more uncertain than she wanted it to be.

  Blake tilted her head. “Is it? I thought hiding and shutting out the team were my kind of problems.”

  Weiss drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. Her gaze drifted past Blake to the large Faunus man seated behind the desk. His broad shoulders were hunched, his eyes shadowed beneath the weight of his branded scar. The walls behind him, recently patched, seemed sturdier now, contrasting against his frame.

  “I…” Weiss hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  Blud leaned back in his chair, his lips a flat line. “Miss, you’re wearing your family’s logo on your back. I assumed you wanted to be recognized.”

  Weiss felt her heart skip a beat. A rush of heat bloomed in her cheeks, her blood pounding so loudly she feared she might faint. “I didn’t know we’d encounter anyone from Atlas… or below,” she murmured, her tone soft, almost apologetic.

  “I imagine plenty of your kin would sleep easier if we were never found at all. But that’s not how the world usually works.”

  Silence stretched between them, brittle and heavy.

  Finally, the man spoke again, his voice low and measured. “What are you looking for here, Miss Schnee? I doubt there’s anything left for my people to offer your family.”

  Weiss’s gaze fell to the floor, the weight of her shame too great to meet his eyes. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you… do something?”

  Blud exhaled sharply, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. He traced the scar running down his face with a calloused finger. “Respectfully, I’ve spent twenty years following your family’s command. Now, I do whatever the hell I want. I’m happier this way.”

  Weiss stood frozen, tears welling in her eyes, blurring the edges of the room. In truth, not even she knew if there was truly an answer that would make her feel better.

  “Go home, Miss Schnee,” the Faunus said, his voice roughened by time. “This pain I carry—you didn’t give it, and you can’t take it away. All I ever wanted was a world where I could sleep without the echoes of the mines. But I now know that’s beyond my reach.” He paused, his eyes softening just a fraction. “If peace can truly be found in this life, I can only hope you and my son might share it.”

  Blake offered a gentle smile, a nod of understanding, before guiding Weiss away, back toward the others.

  As they stepped out, Weiss’s voice broke the silence, edged with frustration. “And what were you doing there?” she snapped, biting her own lip.

  “Same thing as you, I suppose. Wondering if this is somehow my fault.” Her eyes darkened, shadows of guilt flickering across her face. Then, softer, she added, “I’ll probably come back here every now and then. You can tag along, if you want.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She just turned and walked away, the offer hanging in the air like a quiet promise.

  Left alone in the cavernous warehouse, Weiss suddenly felt a cold breeze sink into her bones. She drew herself up, straightened her shoulders, and set her jaw. Pretending to be angry was easier than feeling vulnerable.

  As she made her way back to the group, she spotted Jaune sitting on an old bench on the main room, surprisingly devoid of Faunus or redheads on his lap. Without ceremony, she stopped in front of him.

  “Can I sit here?” Her tone was sharp, not allowing for a dismissal she couldn’t take. “Or do I need permission from one of your companions?”

  Jaune blinked up at her, confusion flashing across his face. Before he could answer, Weiss eased herself onto the bench, leaning into his shoulder with an exhausted sigh.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, if only for his ears.

  “For what?” he asked, a small chuckle in his voice.

  “For opening the door.”

  ?

  The night was warm enough to feel soft and inviting, wrapping the world in a gentle hush. But after we returned to Beacon, sleep remained elusive. The quiet of our room only seemed to amplify my restless thoughts.

  Sharing a room with Nora didn’t help. She insisted on sleeping in nothing but the lower half of her underwear, flaunting a smooth, bouncing, full, perky… confidence she often forgot to cover before sitting down for breakfast. But strangely, that wasn’t what blurred my focus.

  No, something deeper stirred inside me, an itch in my soul. A need. A pull, for answers I couldn’t find.

  I rolled over, my breaths shallow and uneven. My fingers clenched the sheets, but it wasn’t enough. Eyes closed, I reached out—grasping for something intangible, something that pulsed just beyond the veil of sleep, far within the dream.

  I whispered, a command woven with the threads of my yearning.

  “Athena.”