[Summer Rose]
Head hurts. Body hurts. Owie. Big owie.
Was it stupid to push myself so hard in such a short period? Maybe. I admit, there's definitely a lot I could've done better in that fight to stave off some of the pain come the next day. Master definitely would've had a lot of criticism for me if she were still around. At least the village wasn't destroyed.
That makes it all worthwhile. I hope.
Gods, my chest feels like I'm being given a hug by the biggest Ursa in Mistral, why do I do this to myself-
The pain grows prevalent enough that I can't keep my eyes closed and go back to sleep, so I give up on that hopeless dream and open my eyes after several long seconds spent hissing in mild discomfort when I lift myself up when the bed.
The first things I notice as my eyes properly adjust are several children's toys and pink stardust patterns around the room.
The second thing I notice is that I'm in someone else's bed, in someone else's home, and the eye-patch guy from last night is staring at me from a seat directly at the side of the bed.
"...do you... often watch people while they sleep, Patchy?"
He snorts, arms folded as he glances aside, a mild flush on his face.
"I make it a habit of it when they happen to be as strong as you are. You may have saved our lives, I will concede that, but the last Aura wielder that came to our walls tried obliterating them. I'm not going to fawn over you like some fairytale hero."
He sighs, one hand rubbing his temple next to the eyepatch that covers a good chunk of his face, lifting the other hand to gesture at the bed - and the set of cuffs on my wrist, tired to one of the bedposts.
"Following that, I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my... caution."
My eyes dart from the cuffs to his almost ashamed expression several times over as the shock settles in, which quickly turns into amusent as I try my best to stifle a laugh.
"...You realise these are attached to wood, right? They don't even negate my Aura, I could break out in an instant."
His eyes harden. I very quickly realise that threatening him was probably not the most friendly thing to do in this situation.
"They don't need to stop you." He starts, a small flicker of... green fire(?) burning around the edges of his eyepatch now.
That... surely hurts a bit, right?
"All I need them to do is to hold you down for just a second, maybe even two. Long enough for me to fire my rifle and send a signal to Artak that you're not as friendly as we'd hoped."
Realising that I've definitely not helped myself, and that he genuinely looks like he might shoot me, I smile and raise my hand, taking a mental note of the name 'Artak'.
"Right. Sorry, that was... probably not the smartest thing to say, I don't plan on hurting any of you, I promise. Just didn't really feel so comfortable after waking up in chains, and I took it out on you."
He winces, sighing as he leans down and rests his elbows on his knees.
"As I said, I am sorry. You are right to feel... uncomfortable. It's just that, after the night we've had here, I felt such caution to be necessary for the time being."
Well, at least he has manners. That's better than most people I've seen on the road.
"It's fine. All is forgiven... as long as you don't plan on keeping me in these cuffs."
Another sigh. He does that a lot. You shouldn't frown so much, Patchy.
"For the record, I didn't. I just wanted to speak with you when you woke up, get a read on you. Your weapon is on the desk behind me. Given that you don't seem like a psychopathic murderer, I'll be putting my faith in your for now after I uncuff you. Do not make me regret this decision."
I snort again, rolling my eyes.
"I think you'll find that I'm actually not a psychopathic murderer, funnily enough. Considering I'm training to be a Huntress, that would be... kinda strange."
He scoffs, leaning back in the chair and planting his boots on the edge of the bedframe, folding his arms shortly after.
"I saw you cut down what must have been a hundred Grimm in the time it takes to boil a pot of water. I couldn't care less if you were or weren't some mass serial killer, you were strong and I was not in the mood to risk fighting another Aura wielder to the death. It really wasn't so fun the first time around."
A moment later, the thin line of his lips turns into a small grin as he continues talking, tilting his head as he regards me.
"You said you were training to be a Huntress, right? I find that hard to believe. You're strong enough to match a licensed Hunter already. Either you're one hell of a prodigy, or my perception of them is rather skewed."
Again, I can't help but snort, hiding my laughter behind the back of my hand.
"You... really don't know how strong a Huntsman can be, do you? I'm downright amateur compared to some people in this world. My Master just trained me to be at a certain level of skill before sending me off on the journey to Beacon Academy."
His jaw tenses. The smile drops, though he doesn't look any less amused.
"So you want to go to Beacon as well, huh? What a small world it is. Though, I have to ask, what's a Beacon prospect doing in the depths of Mistralian wilderness? You're a long, long way from Vale."
Patchy barely has a chance to react before I've leaned forward, grinning widely at his words and quickly finding a new sense of respect for him.
"You wanna go to Beacon as well!? I'm so glad, everybody for miles just kept talking about Haven Academy and tried to convince me against going to Beacon!"
He leans back just an inch, cheeks flushed ever so slightly and pointedly glancing away. I clear my throat and pull back, realising that I got... a bit too excited.
"Sorry. Been a while since I've had a proper conversation with someone my age. Where did you train at before choosing Beacon?"
He grimaces, unable to meet my eyes.
"Nowhere. I've been training for a month, give or take, and I've had my Aura for about eight hours in total."
...what?
"Sorry, I must've misheard you-"
He sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose with a partially gloved hand as he cuts me off from speaking... or is it a two fingered glove? Glovelette? What are they even called?
"You misheard nothing. It's only been eight hours since the battle for Akarele began. That was when my Aura was awoken. My training until then was... less than stellar."
I blink, taken aback for a moment.
"...huh."
He snorts again, laughing to himself at the absurdity of the situation, I'd assume.
"Yeah, 'Huh'. Going up against a fully trained ex-Huntsman with an Aura about as strong as wet tissue paper was not what I'd consider to be a fun experience."
My smile dims. I struggle to meet his eye for a moment as I recall the charred corpse I'd seen at the gates to the village. One of many, as a matter of fact.
"Yeah. That must not have been good. Did you really need to kill... hold on, how did you know he was an ex-Huntsman?"
He hesitates.
"...An Aura, a Semblance, and a custom weapon with a transformation mechanism. Gepetto fit the bill to a tee. So either he's an ex-Huntsman who wasn't fit for the job, or the lifestyle of common banditry is better than I had initially thought."
I hum, unable to deny the truth of his words, but the conversation dies shortly after, a lull of silence falling over us.
I can tell there's a thousand questions on his mind, questions I'm not sure I could properly answer... but, I also know that if he gets what he wants we'll be fellow students at Beacon.
So, with the one hand I have free (still waiting to be uncuffed, you jerk) I lift it to him in a gesture of peace, and offer the best smile I have as I try to make my first friend.
It seems to have the intended effect. He flushes and looks away.
"I can't help but feel like we started off on the wrong foot, Patchy. My name is Summer Rose. Huntress in Training. It's a pleasure to meet you... oh, and you can thank me for saving your life now, Patchy."
He rolls his eyes, but makes no effort to turn away my olive branch, taking my hand with his own and smiling reluctantly.
"I'll make sure to send you a fruit basket as thanks for that. Maybe a bouquet of flowers if you decide such tribute isn't up to par. And my name isn't Patchy, just so you know. It's Anaxa. No family name."
I huff, trying to fold my arms before realising I actually can't still.
"A fruit basket would be nice. But, if you insist on a gift, then not being chained to this bed would be more than enough of one for me right now, Anaxa."
He smiles, his tone almost turning playful.
"I was hoping you'd take the bouquet, but... well, if you so insist, I suppose I can be so kind as to relieve you from your chains."
A moment later and he's standing from his seat as I snort beneath my breath at his comment, walking over to a desk behind him, Sundered Rose resting atop it with a small key just a few inches away.
He stares at it for a long, quiet moment, appraising the weapon as he runs an Aura-clad finger along the blade.
"Quite the axe. I must admit, you were terrifying to watch in battle with it. What does it transform into?"
I raise a brow, but decide to indulge him all the same.
"A rifle. Fires in semi-automatic or burst fire. Fed in magazines through a compartment in the handle, partially mag-locked to make sure it doesn't come open by accident. It can transform between a full axe, a full rifle, a hybrid form of both, or a folded variant for easy carry. The best part is that putting Dust in the bullets means I can feed that power through the blade as well as the munitions, since it's all fed through the handle."
Anaxa blinks, turning to me for a moment in utter confusion.
"You put dust in your weaponry? Doesn't that affect performance? I really don't think that's something you should be proud of."
...that is an entire can of worms that I am not touching with a ten foot pole. Whoever has been training him is either horrendously negligent, or just really bad at teaching.
"It's something you'll learn more about if you get into Beacon. Emphasis on if. I'm starting to wonder how you'll even make it to Vale, let alone get accepted to Beacon."
Anaxa smirks, far more confident than he should be given the context.
"I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve. Certain abilities that will grant me a wellspring of potential as a Huntsman."
I stare at him blankly.
"...so a Semblance? You realise that like almost everyone has one of those? And those weird bullets doesn't count as one."
His confidence falters for just a moment as he turns away and grabs the key, sighing.
"You'd do well not to underestimate those 'weird bullets', Summer. They've done me quite a service these last few months."
...hold on, that doesn't make any sense.
"But you've only had your Aura since last night, right? If they were your Semblance, you wouldn't have had them for 'these last few months', so how could you have had a Semblance without an Aura?"
He freezes in shock for a moment, cursing under his breath something along the lines of 'fucking Artak' before standing in front of the bed once again.
"My rifle is quite special. The 'weird bullets' were never my power so much as they are the weapon's itself. As I said, I have a wellspring of tricks up my sleeve, Summer."
The cuffs are unlocked just a moment later, my fingers flexing and knuckles clenching as I enjoy freedom of motion again. Before I can say anything about the strange nature of his weapon, though, a voice shouts his name from downstairs, the Huntsman from last night if I recall correctly.
He doesn't sound entirely happy, either.
"Anaxa! Whatever you're doing right now, drop it. We need to talk."
Anaxa's jaw tenses. His expression dims.
He glances at me with something akin to an apology in his singular eye, standing from the seat at my side and leaving the room... though not before hanging from the doorframe for a moment and turning back to smile at me.
"...it was a pleasure to meet you, Summer. Thank you for saving our lives."
He disappears a moment later, slow footsteps down the stairway being the only evidence he's even still in the building. I have to bite back the instinctual urge to say 'you're welcome' to his shadow and settle for just slowly getting out of this bed instead.
...kinda wish he was still here now, actually. Conversation did wonders to help to take my mind off the pain. Just... here, with my axe now. And the ache in my ribs.
Oh well. It's still a long way to Kuchinashi. I'll be back in shape before I reach the port-
"EXILED!?"
The shout is loud enough that I find myself jumping in shock briefly, startled by the unexpected fury in Anaxa's voice. Though, given what he said, I think I can see why he's so angry.
"I gave my life for you people. Had it not been for Summer's arrival, I would have happily died defending Akarele - and now you seek to exile me!?"
I move closer to the doorway, biting down the pang of guilt I feel at snooping on this conversation. It's not like they're trying to hide it, anyways.
"That's not the point, Anaxa. You killed her husband, shot him dead- what more did you expect? Lady Calyd has made her choice. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she wouldn't budge. I'm sorry."
Anaxa scoffs. I find myself learning a lot more about this village than I'd expect as he talks, a hiss in his every word that seems like barely restrained fury.
"Oh, you're sorry now? That's rich! I have half a mind to blame you for what happened last night, Artak! I may have pulled the trigger, but your actions brought him to our walls with those bandits. You gave me no choice. Had you not slept with the man's wife, we'd not be where we are now! Or did you happen to conveniently forget that!?"
There's a deep, visceral sigh from the Huntsman, Artak.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be, Anaxa. Yes, I made mistakes. Yes, I hurt Erebus, broke his trust in me. But it's not my choice to make anymore. Lady Calyd is in charge now, and she wants you gone by night. I tried telling her that it would only leave us weaker than we already are, but like I said... she didn't care."
Anaxa scoffs again. There's a certain level of revulsion in his tone that makes me feel even more pity for him the more I listen.
"So that's how it is. Neither of you cared about the consequences of your affair until they started battering in your door. Now you seek to blame me for solving your problems. For fixing your mistakes. Tell me, was this was all planned by the both of you-"
The sound of something slamming catches me off guard, followed by what seems like choking. I grab Sundered Rose and shuffle down the stairs in the blink of an eye, finding Anaxa being held up off the ground by Artak's arm against his throat.
"Don't you dare put that on me! Neither of us wanted this! You hear me? We never wanted any of this! He was the best friend I could have asked for, for decades we lived here together. He was a good man, dammit. He didn't deserve..."
Anaxa, taking Artak's inability to finish as a challenge, starts smirking, his Aura fully active and stopping him from choking now.
"Didn't deserve what, Artak? A bullet to the head? You heard the man. He didn't care about any of us beyond just ending our lives to take the village. Or is that not what you wanted to say? Maybe he didn't deserve to find his best friend in bed with the love of-"
Artak growls in frustration, rearing his fist back - though I don't let it get any closer. The sound of my throat being cleared and the mechanical clicks of Sundered Rose being extended into axe form are as loud as thunder in this otherwise silent home, causing both men to freeze momentarily.
"That's enough. Put him down, you're a Huntsman. You should be better than this."
Artak bristles, halfway to raising his voice at me - but thankfully he thinks otherwise. The Huntsman sighs and lowers his arm, letting Anaxa fall to the ground with a hand to his throat and a scowl on his face as he kneels.
"...Forgive me. Truly. I... I am sorry, Anaxa. The events of last night have been weighing on me more heavily than I had thought."
Artak runs a hand down his head, a wave of guilt washing over him as he offers Anaxa a hand, some form of peace.
Anaxa doesn't hesitate to throw it aside, lifting himself to stand on his own legs.
"I understand, Artak. You had no choice, right? Exile, by the night. I'll pack a bag and leave, and you'll never see me again. The plan was to go to Beacon anyways. This changes nothing."
Artak winces, mouth open to fight back in some way, to defend himself... but no sound comes out. He bites down whatever words he initially planned with another deep sigh.
"...Yes. You need to be gone by the night. I truly am sorry, Anaxa. She was asking for your head at first. This was the only way."
Anaxa scoffs, sneering as he brushes past Artak and moves towards me, towards what I can only assume is another room in this home, one that belongs to him.
"Wait. Anaxa, just wait a moment, dammit."
The young man in question stops. He doesn't turn, not fully, all he offers Artak is a brief glance from his singular eye. He says nothing. Artak winces again.
"...you have no transcripts. No academic history. Not even proper training. Getting into Beacon will be close to impossible for you, but... I'll do the best I can to help. I'll try to use some old channels and put in a word with the Headmaster, whatever that might be good for. Don't get your hopes up. I'm just a former graduate, so it might not even be worth anything."
Anaxa says nothing, but his eye creases ever so slightly. The fury simmers. Artak takes it as permission to continue.
"You have a month until the entrance exams. If by some miracle they let you take part, then you're in the money. The exams themselves are a piece of piss. Just basic tests of knowledge and skill. Initiation is where you'll really have your mettle tested."
The Huntsman smiles briefly at what must be fond memories, but wipes it away immediately after, pulling a stack of Lien from his cloak and offering it to Anaxa, who very quickly accepts the offered money.
I have to bite back the initial panic of hearing that we only have a month of time left before the gates to Beacon close, doing my best to keep a straight face.
Master never mentioned any of this. Hell, she didn't even mention exams. She just said 'all you need do is say my name, and the Headmaster will let you in', as if that's supposed to explain anything.
"The closest bullhead station is in the city of Kuchinashi. It's a couple weeks journey by foot. Take the first flight to Vale once you get there, book a hotel for a while and don't stop training. You'll need to be at the top of your game. That should be enough to cover it."
...huh. Looks like we have the same destination now. That's... actually pretty convenient. I just hope Anaxa won't mind rooming for two when we get there.
If we get there. Gonna be really awkward for me if he says no to letting me tag along on the journey. Mainly because I wouldn't listen.
"Fine. A month until the exams. Two weeks journey by foot. Kuchinashi, then a bullhead to Vale. Hope they allow me in. I don't suppose you have a map lying around that I can take so I can reach the city?"
Artak smiles. Slight, almost imperceptible, but a turn of the lips all the same.
"Yeah. A lot of them. I'll give you one at the gates when you leave. I'd... I'd leave sooner rather than later, Anaxa. Don't make this any more difficult for yourself, or for Anna when she wakes up... She cares about you. More than she should."
A hint of bitterness creeps into Anaxa's expression as he turns away, making his way past me toward the staircase.
"Yes, well, if she has any complaints about this arrangement, then I'm sure you'll tell her where to take them. I'll pack my bag as soon as possible. Be gone within the next hour."
He doesn't say much else. A door upstairs slams shut before I can try calling out to him, and in the ensuing silence, Artak can do nothing but turn away and leave this home.
Well, that definitely escalated quickly. The only question left, is... now what?
------------------------------------
[Raven Branwen]
I've woken up to a lot of things in my life. Things that make you terrified of what you'll see when you next open your eyes, every time you go to sleep. A drooling Grimm inches away from your vulnerable flesh, a sword at your throat, a gun to your head.
But Qrow Branwen, grinning down at me as he stands at the foot of my cot?
That's a new one. One that only means something has gone very, very wrong. I quickly find myself hating the uncertainty his smug grin brings with it as I blink away the drowsiness and rise up from the cot.
"Is there a reason you're being so chipper today, Qrow? And why have you decided to make it my problem?"
His grin only widens. I have to stop myself from drawing Omen from it's scabbard, not wanting to ruin my tent any more than it already is. Thankfully, the threat of my hand upon the blade is enough to make him talk.
"...Gepetto's dead. Sick fuck got what was coming to him. Only problem is, now the big man is angry. He wants to speak with us."
My body is moving before I can even blink, hurriedly standing from the thin blankets and donning my armour as fast as I can manage.
"You didn't think to mention that first before you spent the last few minutes smirking at me, you smug prick!?" I whisper, grabbing Omen by the scabbard and wrapping it around my waist.
"Well, I figured dear old Dad wouldn't mind if you were a couple minutes late. But you know, this is getting dangerous, Rae. You gotta fix your sleep schedule."
His smug tone only makes the urge to bash his skull in grow by the second, an urge I brush aside so as to not waste any more time before meeting with Father. Qrow still just doesn't know how to take a hint and shut up, though, because his voice rings out in the tent once again as I fasten my gauntlets.
"Really? The whole shebang? I don't think Dad is gonna care if you're ready for war or not, Rae. You're wasting your time."
I whirl on him, finger pointed squarely at his smug fucking grin as I bundle my hair with the other hand.
"And you're being a disrespectful brat. He is the leader of this tribe, Qrow."
He brushes my hand aside with a scoff, rolling his eyes as I tie up my ponytail.
"That would imply he's worthy of my respect in the first place. You expect me to drop to my knees in praise for the guy, Raven?"
My jaw tenses, fists clenching with the urge to strangle him... but I bite it back. I'm already late enough. If I waste any more of Father's time, I might be at risk.
"Just shut up and stay silent. With any luck, Father won't punish the both of us for this."
Qrow simply smirks, hands behind his head as he walks alongside me out of the tent.
"He'll punish you. Me? I'm not so..."
He falls silent, mouth open in slight shock and a bead of sweat forming on his brow. No thanks to my scathing glare, though. No, his attention is elsewhere.
I follow his gaze, and feel a small pool of dread begin to form in my stomach. Father is standing outside of his tent, waiting for us with a scowl on his lips and folded arms. Even from this far away, the sheer presence he has can be felt by all of the tribesmen.
He watches us as we slowly walk across the camp. Every face is towards the ground. Every pair of lips is silent. Each step we take echoes with the volume of tremors as we make our way towards him.
Father's Grimm-like helmet rests against his side, held close by one arm while the other hand clutches the oversized sword that rests upon his back, a very obvious threat. His long hair falls down his back to the waist, jagged and unkempt, a stark contrast to the deep crimson of his armour.
By the time we finally kneel before him, the world feels small.
We feel small.
...I hate this feeling. More than anything. I'll never stop hating it, either.
"Impressive, Qrow. Truly impressive. I gave you as simple a task as to bring me your sister, yet still you manage to fail even that. You never cease to disappoint me, boy."
He barely even spares us a second glance, uncaring for the way Qrow's teeth grit upon hearing those words, instead walking into his tent without any further comment and beckoning us to join him inside.
He's already sat down by the time we follow in after him. Relaxed, utterly in control, and smiling. Not out of happiness, though. No, I've spent a long enough time to know that he's never truly happy.
"Take a seat. After all, for the time being, you aren't my children. You're soldiers."
Wordlessly, we obey, our weapons placed to the side and hands folded in our laps. I would say Father is grinning at the moment, but neither of us can meet his eyes.
"I see you're both still good for something, at least. Not like everyone else in this tribe. I assume Qrow already told you, but given his blatant incompetence at everything else in life, I'll brief you anyways. Gepetto is dead. At least, he should hope so if that isn't the csse. He hasn't answered any messages from us for the last day."
I bite back a grimace. Leaving Father waiting is a foolish act. Something only dead men would ever do. There's no doubt he's gone.
"Of course, Gepetto was supposed to further the reach of our tribe into Southlands of Mistral, but it seems he grew... distracted. It seems he wasted the men I so foolishly gave to him for that singular purpose."
Every word is spoken calmly, but the rage in Father's eyes is plan to see. It simmers beneath the surface, growing with each second as he shakily takes hold of a warm cup of tea in front of him, teeth gritted.
"Had I not been surrounded on all sides by such incompetence, then perhaps this measure would not be necessary... but alas, the world is evolving around us. Adapting to our presence. We need to follow suit. Adapt to the changing times, or die trying. The strong cannot be usurped by the weak."
Father sighs. For a moment, I'm almost fooled into thinking there's genuine sympathy in his gaze when he looks at us, but I know better than to trust that.
"That is why I have a new mission for the both of you. A long-term one. Huntsmen across Mistral, across Remnant as a whole, are becoming a problem for our people... and I can only handle so many of them as but a single man in one place at a time."
He smiles now. The cup he had been clutching so tightly is placed back upon the table, allowing Father to lean forward with both hands upon his crossed legs.
"So to remedy that, you will become my Huntsmen. My enforcers. You will learn their tricks. Their methods. Their philosophy. And you will use that knowledge to break them. Beacon Academy is opening it's doors to a new batch of enterprising students. You'll be attending come the end of the next month."
Qrow balks, finally looking up at Father with blatant disapproval in his eyes.
"Wha- Beacon? It's halfway across the world! Why not just send us to Haven!?"
Father fixes Qrow with a glance that almost seems like amusement.
"You are the children of Corvus Branwen. The strongest man to draw breath since King Oswald took his own life. Tell me, did you really think I would settle for second best when choosing an Academy for my progeny to learn at? Besides, the better an education you both get, the more efficient you'll be at dispatching any Huntsmen we find in the coming years after you graduate."
I remain silent, flinching as Qrow opens his mouth to give a snarky jab about Father being nowhere near as strong as the King of Vale, but thankfully he chooses to remain silent. Father only smiles wider at the sight.
"How would we go about this mission, Chieftan?" I ask, staring at the floor.
Father hums, hand idly drifting to his sword, Calamity, as it rests at his side, a habit I'm not even sure he's fully aware of.
The blade itself is longer than even he is. To call it a sword in the first place is being generous. It is more akin to a heaping chunk of iron than a sword, one that he wields with barbaric efficiency.
Father never bothered with upgrading to Mechashift technology. Calamity is old, older than even he is, mottled with scratches and chips, yet still sharp enough to cleave a man in twain with ease.
Just like he did to-
"We can have some transcripts forged in a week's time. I know a man in Vacuo that would be very willing to help us with that. Our name is not yet infamous across Remnant, either. That means that, so long as you remain in Vale, you should be safe from recognition by anyone else. If the Headmaster of Beacon is as young as I've heard tell of, then he will be easy to fool."
Father pauses. Moments later, a grin forms on his lips, one that sends a shiver down my spine as he drums his fingers along Calamity's blade.
"No. You would be exposed worldwide very quickly come the day of the first Vytal Festival. I propose a better solution. Present yourself as refugees, who fled the tribe after the... rather unfortunate demise of your mother. Put on a mask of shame and hatred. Convince the world that you wish to be better, that you wish to bring an end to my campaign of violence. Deceive them."
He laughs softly, lost in the fantasy.
"It will only make the moment where you betray them all that much sweeter."
Qrow swallows audibly, his voice unsteady in the wake of Father's amusement, fingers clutching at the fabric of his clothes.
"And if they turn us away at the gates? What if Beacon decides they don't want anything to do with us?"
Father's smile remains as wide as it had before. He leans closer, just an inch, but it feels as though the weight of the world itself is bearing down on our shoulders as he clutches Calamity in one hand.
"You had better hope they don't, boy. After all, you know by now how I respond to failure. You, and your Mother..."
Qrow's teeth grit violently. His eyes flare, breaths heaved now as he reaches slowly for the Harbinger at his side.
He doesn't even make it halfway before his passive Semblance puts a stop to that idea, Bad Luck kicking in and causing a nearby candelabra to break at the stand and fall onto his leg, distracting him.
I breathe out a sigh of relief I didn't even realise I'd been holding, turning to Father and finally meeting his eyes.
"We won't fail you, Chieftain. We'll infiltrate Beacon just like you asked, and we'll learn everything we can about the Huntsmen."
He smiles.
"I know you will, I'd expect nothing less from my spawn. You have a month until that day arrives. Make the most of it. Dismissed."
We leave the tent as fast as possible after hearing those words, eyes cast down and fists clenched, but it just doesn't feel fast enough.
It never really does.