“Why are you here, Weiss?”

  The question leaves my lips with all the enthusiasm of someone woken up too early on a Saturday morning.

  Weiss Schnee straightens her posture as if delivering a speech. “Well, since my teammates have decided it would be prudent to take a passive approach in the face of these outrageous circumstances, I have taken the liberty of seeking out more…” She pauses, flicking her fingers in search of the right word. “…illuminated individuals.”

  “So, everyone else got tired of you?” Nora chimes in, head resting on the armrest of the couch.

  “Hmph!” Weiss huffs, crossing her arms defensively. “If such is the price of pursuing truth, then so be it. Yet, I had hoped—”

  Her words spiral into a self-righteous monologue, but my attention shifts to the creak of my door as Rin steps into the room. She moves toward me, head down—bed hair tousled and her features bare without the usual mask of her Semblance, even her scar. I move over to make space for her on the couch, and she sits silently, tucking her legs beneath her.

  Weiss suddenly freezes mid-rant, her gaze snapping to Rin. She raises a trembling finger, her expression a blend of disbelief and scandal. “What… is that?”

  “A Faunus,” I reply, already exhausted by the direction this conversation is taking.

  Weiss throws her hands up. “Is everyone here a Faunus?! Am I some kind of Faunus?!”

  “No, you’re just… kind of a bitch.”

  The words slip out before I can stop them, and the room falls into stunned silence. Weiss gasps as if I’ve just committed a mortal sin. “How dare you?!”

  Pyrrha clears her throat, stepping into the fray with her usual grace. “Weiss, I’m sure we all understand how… distraught you might feel right now, but perhaps it would help if you explained what exactly you expect us to do?”

  Weiss draws a deep breath, visibly composing herself. “As always, one can count on Pyrrha to be the voice of reason.” She adjusts her posture and adopts a tone of forced civility. “What I expect is for you—Team Juniper—to assist me in locating Blake and any of her associates so that they can be brought to justice.”

  Pyrrha’s polite smile falters for the briefest of moments, her right eye twitching as she processes Weiss’s proposal. “Would you mind… stepping outside for a moment? I believe we need to discuss this as a team.”

  Weiss hesitates but eventually nods, sweeping out of the room with her usual air of superiority. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving us to bask in the blessed quiet of a warm Saturday morning.

  “What do you think?” Pyrrha turns to me, her worry plain as she begins to pace.

  I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. “We should try to find Blake. She’s smart. This’ll make sense… somehow.”

  Pyrrha presses her lips together, unconvinced. “I agree, but isn’t it a little presumptuous to think we can find her when her own teammates don’t know where she is?”

  Nora, now splattered across the table with the grace of a cat in a sunbeam, lifts a hand lazily. “But we do know. Rin and I spent a few weeks in downtown Vale before Beacon started. Lots of Faunus there. If the White Fang’s around now, that’s probably where Blake went.”

  Her words hang in the air, a mix of truth and danger. I glance at Rin, who nods subtly, confirming her claim. “That’s where I’d go… Less… People…”

  “Well,” Pyrrha murmurs, her gaze shifting toward the closed door, “then it seems we have a starting point. Now we just need to decide what to do with her.”

  I let my thoughts swirl for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing against my temples. Athena’s blessing could have made moments like this effortless, but without it, I’m left guessing, reaching blindly for answers. So, I stick to what I know.

  “Can you…” I hesitate, then force the words out. “Can you take Rin and go look for the rest of Team RWBY?”

  Pyrrha tilts her head, surprise flickering across her face. “You want Weiss with you? In a... humble neighborhood? Full of Faunus?”

  “If they pull out the pitchforks, I promise I’ll call.”

  ?

  “Excuse me, sir! Have you seen any violent Faunus rampaging through here? …Sir? Sir! Are you associated with the White Fang? Are you a criminal, sir?!”

  Weiss’s sharp, clipped voice slices through the muggy air as she drives away yet another poor passerby. Most of the day has blurred into a frustrating haze, with me and Nora doing our best to keep Weiss on a leash while walking towards the industrial district.

  To say the area isn’t welcoming is... putting it mildly.

  The transition from the commercial district to here was jarring. While the former showed clear signs of recent unease—VPD presence, assaulted businesses, and an uneasy tension clinging to its streets—this place feels… resigned. Hardened.

  The storefronts here bear visible scars, windows boarded or patched with haphazard repairs. Thick iron bars shield displays, rain-streaked grime dulling their surface of every facade to a dreary monotone brown. Every building feels like it has adapted to survive apathetic violence, not as a possibility but as a reality woven into daily life.

  This isn’t an incident. It’s not something to rally against or report to the authorities. It’s just... normal.

  I glance at Weiss, who is now interrogating an older man stacking crates outside a dimly lit warehouse. Her pristine demeanor feels almost offensively out of place against the backdrop of patched walls and filthy pavement.

  She waves a hand dramatically in front of the man’s face. “Sir! I demand to know if you’ve had any encounters with the White Fang in this area!”

  The man gives her a flat, unimpressed stare before disappearing through the warehouse door without a word.

  “Weiss…” I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing deeply. “You can’t demand answers from people like that. We’re not here to threaten anyone.”

  Weiss spins around, glaring daggers at both of us, but thankfully doesn’t respond. Instead, she brushes an invisible speck of dirt off her jacket and marches ahead, head held high.

  Nora sidles up to me, her expression conspiratorial. “So… you brought me along because I’ve got a really big hammer and she’s gonna get us into some really big trouble, huh?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Nora’s grin widens, her sharp teeth flashing for a moment before she falls back into her easy, careless posture. I can’t help but smirk at her candor, but her words give me pause. Truthfully, I don’t know much about Nora beyond her boundless energy and uncanny ability to make light of any situation. But I’ve been watching, and beneath the jokes and bravado, there’s something I don’t understand.

  As Weiss strides ahead, no doubt on the hunt for her next victim, I seize the moment.

  “Nora,” I say, careful. “Is everything okay? Between you and Rin?”

  Nora freezes. Just for a second. It’s subtle—a hitch in her step, a flicker in her expression—but it’s there. Then, like a magician flipping a card, she recovers with a bright smile. “What? Yeah, of course! We’ve known each other forever. Why wouldn’t we be okay?”

  I don’t buy it, and I think she knows that. “Sure, but you two are… I don’t know. You’re always close. Always watching out for each other. But never… you know. Together-together.”

  Nora blinks, clearly caught off guard, and I press on. “When we’re fighting, it’s like you’re always looking for where she is and running the other way.”

  The teasing tone doesn’t mask my curiosity, and for once, Nora doesn’t answer back with her usual quip. Instead, she glances down, looking for nothing.

  “Hey, you two!” Weiss’s voice cuts through the moment. “Are you planning to be useful today? I just found someone who knows where Blake is.”

  We exchange a glance before hurrying after her.

  Standing beside Weiss is a young Faunus, maybe late teens. He’s a little plain-looking—short hair, sun-kissed skin, and the kind of scruffy clothes that suggest a hard day’s work rather than fighting for rebellion. His small, curved horns peek out from under his mop of hair, but there’s nothing intimidating about him. Just... a guy with horns, worn down by life.

  “Y-yeah, I know Blake,” he stammers, shifting awkwardly under Weiss’s scrutiny. “She spent some time with us. Great girl, that one. Helped out a lot.”

  I take a cautious step forward, keeping my tone steady. “By us, you mean...?”

  “The White Fang,” he says with a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite his clear nerves. “Well, sort of. There’s no official branch here in Vale. We’re just people. You know... of the people, for the people. All that.” His attempt at a confident smile is betrayed by the exhaustion in his eyes as he wipes his brow with a rag. “Did... did something happen to her?”

  This guy seems harmless, and no one looks more surprised by that than Weiss.

  “We’re... just looking for her,” I explain. “She had some trouble back at the academy and ran off. We’re worried.”

  The Faunus nods slowly, then turns to hoist a crate onto an old, battered truck. “Well, I’ve gotta finish up here, but if you don’t mind riding in the back, I can take you to the Animal Shelter. She might’ve passed through there.”

  “The Animal Shelter?” Nora echoes with a grin.

  “Yeah,” the Faunus replies, rolling his eyes with a sigh. “My father hates the name. That’s probably why it stuck. A lot of jokesters around here.” He leans down with a grunt, struggling with the weight of a particularly large box. “Name’s Thomas, by the way. Just... give me a second to load this… and we’ll be on our way.”

  Before he can protest, Nora steps in, grabbing the crate with one hand and hoisting it onto the truck bed like it weighs nothing.

  “No, no! That’s really heav—” Thomas’s voice dies in his throat as he watches the petite girl toss the box up with ease. “That’s... very unfair. But I do appreciate it.”

  Thomas quickly hops into the driver’s seat, leaving the three of us to figure out where to sit. Finding space among the piled-up luggage turns out to be a minor quest of its own. Weiss, unsurprisingly, is not in the mood to compromise.

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  Nora, growing impatient, shoves me backward. Before I can complain about her putting me on my ass, I’m suddenly far more concerned about her ass. She plops herself down on top of me without a hint of hesitation.

  “There,” she says, grinning as she taps twice on the side of the truck to signal Thomas. “We’re all where we wanna be, right?”

  The truck sets into motion, and I stare up at the sky, half-winded, my thoughts tripping over themselves. “Nora… You can’t just…” My voice falters as I try—and fail—to decide where my hands are supposed to go. I feel heat climbing up my neck making rational thought a distant memory.

  “What?” she teases, leaning back until her head nearly brushes my chin. “Is this seat Faunus only now? I thought redheads could catch a ride too.”

  Weiss looks absolutely scandalized. “Excuse me?! Is your entire team this inappropriate?”

  Nora doesn’t miss a beat. “We can switch places on the way back if you want. He is looking kinda handsome today.”

  I look away, determined to focus on literally anything else—the creak of the truck, the rumble of the engine, the distant hum of the industrial district passing us by. Anything but the fact that Nora is very comfortable where she is.

  Weiss, of course, is unmoved. Instead, she pulls out her rapier and takes the lid off a nearby barrel. A few apples and oranges tumble out, rolling to a stop at her feet.

  “Weiss…” I groan tiredly. “Can we at least not steal from them? Please?”

  “Hmph.” She brushes off my complaint, her expression unreadable. “You’re far too trusting. Appearances can be deceiving, and you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. He’s a member of the White Fang, after all. We have no idea what kind of foul schemes might be waiting for us. And I will be ready.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Realizing we’re going nowhere again, I let out a slow breath and close my eyes. The truck’s vibrations hum softly through the wood, but it’s the solid warmth of Nora against me that draws my attention. Her presence is overwhelming—her body is strong, powerful in a way that feels both protective and impossibly heavy, like she’s holding me as much as I am holding her. She’s always been absurdly strong, and now I understand why. She feels dense, steady, and no matter how much I might want to move… I can’t.

  Worse, I don’t want to.

  Her soft chuckle pulls me back. I feel it more than hear it, the vibration resonating between us. “See?” she murmurs, her voice low as she turns her head slightly, her breath grazing my ear. “Isn’t everything better when you just… relax and stop overthinking?”

  An answer forms in my mind, but it dissolves as quickly as it appears. Her closeness is intoxicating, scattering my thoughts like leaves in the wind. She shifts slightly, her weight settling more fully against me, and I can’t help but notice every detail—the curve of her hips, the warmth of her back pressed to my chest. My fingers, resting cautiously just above her waist, seem to have a mind of their own, tensing slightly as though testing the moment.

  She lets out a contented sigh, and I feel it ripple through me, her comfort somehow infectious. “There you go,” she whispers, her tone teasing but softer now. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

  The tension I’d been holding in my shoulders slowly fades away, replaced by something quieter, steadier, comforting. And for once, I let the moment happen.

  ?

  “Here we are,” Thomas announces as he hops down from the truck. The afternoon light filters through cracks in the building's metal siding, casting jagged patterns across the pavement. Nora stays behind to help him with the luggage.

  Weiss and I step in first.

  The building in front of us appears to be some sort of… refitted warehouse. Faunus of all ages fill the space, though most are children darting through the maze of crates and blankets. The building feels alive, buzzing with a strange mix of exhaustion and resilience. It’s not the chaos of neglect but the carefully maintained disorder of life. The warehouse itself is a patchwork of improvisation: mismatched furniture, stacks of crates doubling as tables, and blankets spread across the floor.

  It’s… hard to stand here. Hard to breathe in the weight of it all. The first glance is enough to tell me these people aren’t just living here—they’re surviving, day by day. Supplies are passed hand to hand with practiced precision: crates of food disappearing into the back, bundles of cloth distributed with quiet urgency until they reach the people who need them most. Every gesture carries a sense of hunger—not just for food, but for comfort, an honest yearning for… anything provided.

  There’s no malice in the looks we get, just disinterest and exhaustion. A few curious glances linger on Weiss and me before the Faunus turn away, preoccupied with their work. It is… humbling, and I’m not sure what to do with that feeling.

  “Hey,” I call to Thomas as he steps in behind us. “I don’t see Blake. Maybe we could help out while we wait around?”

  Thomas blinks, clearly surprised, but shrugs. “If you’re serious, head to the back. Nana’s in the kitchen. She could always use an extra pair of hands.”

  I glance at Weiss, who nods reluctantly. She doesn’t look comfortable, and I can’t blame her. Without a word, she follows me deeper into the warehouse, away from the open floor.

  The kitchen is a small corner of silent activity. A massive figure hunches over a long counter, chopping vegetables with a rhythm that speaks of long-years of practice. Pots simmer on aging stoves, filling the space with the comforting aroma of something hearty, hopefully enough for the few dozen families we just saw.

  “Nana?” I ask tentatively, a bit intimidated by her sheer size.

  The figure turns, revealing a face both ancient and kind. Her snout twitches slightly as she takes us in, and a slow smile spreads across her face, weathered and warm. It pulls at the deep scar running from her chin to her neck, a brutal mark that’s impossible to ignore.

  “Oh… and who might you be, my dear?” Her voice is soft but raspy.

  I fumble for words. “We’re... students. From Beacon. We’re looking for a friend.”

  At the mention of Beacon, her expression lights up with genuine delight. “Ah, Beacon!” she exclaims, straightening slightly. “How’s Ozpin, dear? That man—he doesn’t take care of himself, does he?”

  Weiss steps forward then, her usual formality reasserting itself as curiosity sharpens her features. “Do you... know Director Ozpin?”

  Nana chuckles, a low, gravelly sound that morphs into a brief , violent cough. She waves a clawed hand dismissively before leaning her weight against the counter. “Know him? Sweetie, who do you think owns this place?” She laughs again, though it’s softer this time, almost wistful. “Were it not for him, few would have made it out of Atlas. Men like him...” She shakes her head, her voice trailing off. “There’s too few of them these days.”

  “You… are from Atlas? No…” Weiss’ voice falters before steadying again. “From Mantle?”

  “Even lower than that,” Nana says. “Used to be a whole other city down in the mines. But that’s the past now.” She gestures to the simmering pots with a flourish of her knife. “So, what can I do for you? I hope your friend isn’t in one of these. Folk around here do get hungry.”

  I laugh nervously, scratching the back of my neck. “No, we… We were just wondering if there’s anything we can do to help while we wait.”

  Her gaze flicks over me, then Weiss, assessing us like she’s sizing up an old set of tools. “Well, young man,” she says, a grin curling at the edges of her mouth, “if you can put the sword aside and pick up a knife without embarrassing yourself, there might just be.”

  We… Tried.

  Cooking was a disaster waiting to happen. Thankfully, a few others took over after giving us some hurried guidance, sparing the food—and the residents—from total calamity. Instead, we were put to work serving meals and attending to the dozens of people who passed through during the next hour. It wasn’t easy.

  Everyone needed something—whether they admitted it or not—and the sheer weight of that need was overwhelming. Trips back and forth became dizzying, every tray carried and question answered pulling at a thread of exhaustion neither Weiss nor I dared acknowledge aloud.

  Eventually, we found a moment to sit, both of us quietly absorbing the chaotic hum of the warehouse. I noticed Weiss’s wide eyes as she watched the others, moving silently between corners of a space brimming with quiet desperation. For all her grace and precision, she seemed... shaken, her movements wooden, as though unsure if what we were doing could make even a dent in these fractured lives.

  The moment broke when a little girl approached, no more than two years old, her steps wobbly but determined. She clutched a worn doll in one tiny hand, its face partially threadbare, one eye missing entirely. Staring up at Weiss, the toddler pointed at her own face, tracing a line over her eye in quiet mimicry.

  Weiss froze. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said softly, her voice unsteady, as if the words were unfamiliar. “That was… a long time ago now.”

  The little girl didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, she threw the doll into Weiss’s lap, her small hands gesturing toward the doll’s face before she waddled back to her mother. She returned moments later, clutching a mismatched button and a frayed piece of string—neither of which remotely resembled the originals.

  Weiss hesitated for a moment before pulling a delicate pin from her tiara. With quiet determination, she broke off a small piece, using it to fashion a makeshift needle. Her fingers moved carefully, stitching the button into place while the little girl watched with wide, trusting eyes. The patchwork repair was uneven, imperfect, but the child’s smile as she took the doll back was radiant, giving Weiss a hug before running away.

  Thomas and Nora found us soon after, their expressions guarded but urgent. Thomas, in particular, seemed to struggle with his words as he approached. “Hey,” he began awkwardly, his eyes flickering between Weiss and me. “My father just arrived. I told him you guys were here, looking for someone. He… keeps things under control, here and there.”

  I nod, forcing myself to my feet. Weiss lingers for a moment longer, her eyes still distant as she stares at the little girl disappearing into the crowd with her mended doll. Only when she noticed both Thomas and me waiting did she stir, pulling herself back to reality with visible effort. She rises slowly, her movements heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains. I wasn’t sure she’d heard a word Thomas said, but she followed nonetheless.

  We follow Thomas to the far corner of the building, to a cramped office. The room reeked of stress—receipts, manifests, and ledgers spilling from every surface in a chaotic maze. Behind the desk, squeezed uncomfortably into the space, sat a man impossible to mistake. His presence fills the room despite its size, his frame large and powerful even under the wear of age and relentless toil. Yet it isn’t his bulk that catches my breath.

  It’s his face.

  A scar, brutal and raw, carved its way across the entire right side, branding him unmistakably—S.D.C. The letters seared into his skin like an accusation, stark against his weathered features. His gaze, heavy and distant, pins us without effort. And those eyes... they are something else entirely—both deeply commanding and soullessly empty.

  And then there’s the horns. Or rather, what was left of them. One stood dark and solid, a proud testament to what he once was. The other was nothing more than a jagged stump, roughly amputated, the wound long healed but impossible to ignore. It makes me drop my gaze, a wave of discomfort knotting my stomach. I swallow hard, forcing myself to look back up.

  “My son says you’re looking for one of ours,” the man says at last, his voice like gravel dragged through tar.

  “We’re looking for one of ours.” I step forward, matching his gaze.

  The man leans back, unimpressed. “Hard times if you’re out in the streets, hunting your own people.”

  “Better than your own people being on the streets, wishing they could hunt.”

  Beside me, Nora and Weiss shift uneasily as the man’s expression darkens. He nods, slow and deliberate. “Beacon’s always been good to us. And by what I hear, seems that hasn’t changed. What do y’all want to know?”

  I cannot help but smile faintly, glancing at Weiss. She hesitates for a beat, then steps forward. “We’re… We’re looking for a woman. She said she used to be part of the White Fang. The… other White Fang.”

  At this, the man’s expression tightens. His jaw clenched as he swallows the words like a bitter pill. “You’re looking for trouble, then.”

  “Only if they don’t know what’s good for them,” Nora quips, her hammer resting easily on her shoulder.

  The man raises an eyebrow at her before shaking his head. “Sorry to tell you, but the White Fang—”

  His sentence is cut short as Thomas bursts into the room, his face pale and tight with panic. “Pa… We’ve got people asking for you. They… They’re White Fang. No mistake.”

  The man tenses immediately, his powerful frame coiling like a spring. “All of you,” he barks, his voice low but urgent, “out the back. Stay on your toes.”

  There was no room for argument, and none of us tried. Thomas led us through a back door into a narrow, dark alley, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. The shadows swallowed us as Thomas gestured for silence. We crouched low beneath the window of the office, just out of sight but close enough to hear.

  From our vantage point, I can see the front of the building, where a large vehicle had pulled up. At least half a dozen figures emerged, each armed, but only one entered the building—a figure wrapped in black and red.

  Through the window, I catch glimpses of the younger Faunus stepping inside. His mask, a sharp contrast against his fiery red hair, conceals much of his face, but his voice carries clearly in the tense silence. “I remember you,” he says, the words laced with a mocking edge. “Blud, right? Makes sense now. I never knew where you old folk ended up. Did Vale treat you well?”

  The older man, Blud, straightens, his broad shoulders rigid. “It did... until we started getting news from the west. Now, every Faunus is just another White Fang maniac.”

  The younger Faunus chuckles, low and venomous. “As it should be. Human kindness is unreliable—we both know that.”

  “What do you want, Adam?” Blud growls, his voice laced with restrained fury. “Your people have never cared for us. Never cared for Vale. So why pretend now?”

  Adam tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the edges of his masked features. “Pretending? No, Blud. We’ve grown. We’re stronger, more united, guided. I lead my own branch now, and it’s time for Vale to face the truth.”

  “And what truth is that?”

  Adam’s smirk deepens, his tone smooth but chilling. “That we are the ones allowing them to live, not the other way around.”

  Blud scoffs, a bitter sound born of disbelief. “You’re trying to push back a race that outnumbers you five to one.”

  Adam’s eyes gleam from behind the mask. “That’s just another way of saying we only need to kill five each. I’m well ahead of the count.” He pauses, his voice dropping. “Besides, your people seem miserable enough already. Revolution is but a single stroke away. All they need is a little push.”

  Blud’s fists clench at his sides. “So that’s why you came.”

  “We’ve got people emptying the docks as we speak. When the dust settles tonight… Let’s just say I don’t need anyone running around, calling themselves the White Fang.”

  The room falls into a heavy silence, the tension crackling like a live wire. My instincts scream as I crouch under the window, ready to break through the glass. I have to act, to stop this—but a sudden voice freezes me in place.

  “Jaune!” Aphrodite’s voice is a whisper in my mind, desperate and sharp. “Don’t. You cannot. Don’t.”

  I hesitate, her warning clawing at my resolve. But the choice was made for me.

  A dark, swirling glyph materializes inside the office, Weiss’s rapier pointed through the shattered window. Gravity-dust surges, slamming Adam into the ceiling, the impact shaking the office. Before he could recover, Nora tears through the thin wall with a wild swing, debris scattering as she launches herself at the stunned Faunus. He struggles to parry her massive strike with his sheathed blade, the unexpected assault forcing him to react, not attack.

  I feel Aphrodite’s disapproval like a weight in my chest, but there’s no turning back now. I step forward, power rushing through me.

  ?

  Victory was within our grasp—for a moment.

  Then it slipped through, as if the world itself rebelled against our efforts. Adam moved like a shadow come to life, each step radiating controlled fury. The air thickened, the night seemed to darken, and every advantage we thought we had dissolved. His blade, a crimson streak of deadly intent, cleaved through the gloom like fire. Each swing was a proclamation: not just an attack but an execution, dismantling our hopes with ruthless precision. His strikes didn’t simply cut—they punished, shredding aura and flesh alike.

  I brace behind my shield, enduring the relentless onslaught. The first blow sends a jolt through my body. The second cracks my stance. By the third, my arms tremble, muscles screaming in protest. Nora fights beside me, unyielding as ever, her defiance burning brighter with every hit she absorbs. Weiss, sensing the danger, leaps onto the roof of a nearby building, summoning a flurry of razor-sharp ice spears. They glint like stars in the moonlight before hurtling toward Adam in a deadly cascade.

  He doesn’t falter. The frozen projectiles scatter harmlessly, dismissed with effortless precision. His attention locks onto me, unrelenting, and I bolt into a nearby alley, the narrow walls my only shield. My boots pound against uneven stone, my breath coming in ragged gasps as his shadow looms behind me.

  I spin around just in time, summoning Aphrodite’s power into my blade. When our weapons clash, the collision splits the night, showering sparks into the dark. The force surges through my arms, threatening to drive me to my knees. His strength is monstrous, each blow heavier than the last. Yet, against all odds, I hold. For an instant, surprise flashes behind his mask—he hadn’t expected resistance.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  He rolls sharply, his kick slamming into my side and driving me into the grimy wall. I raise my shield on instinct, a desperate barrier that deflects his next strike, a blade swing meant to sever rather than wound. Before I can recover, Nora slams into him, her hammer descending like a thunderbolt.

  Adam counters with ruthless efficiency. He presses his sheathed blade into her stomach and fires, the detonation sending Nora away as the sound of breaking ribs slices through the chaos. She falls to the ground, breathless but still alive. Adam shifts his gaze upward, scanning for Weiss.

  The opening is there. I take it.

  Casting my shield aside, I grip my massive, enhanced sword with both hands and swing with every ounce of strength I can muster. The strike is monstrous, a single arc so heavy it could cleave a house in two. The impact sends a shockwave through the air.

  Adam stumbles, his dust-forged weapon splintering under the blow. For a moment, I think I’ve done it. He staggers, visibly straining against the force. But then, the strength of the strike is absorbed by the blade, leaving him standing. My chest heaves as I stumble back, gasping, the dark pressing in around us.

  “You…” His voice is low, tinged with mocking amusement. A sinister laugh ripples through his words. “You’re interesting. Really interesting. Maybe in your blood, I’ll finally find some answers.”

  Seconds stretch like hours as he begins to pace toward me, his movements deliberate, his presence suffocating. My heart races so fast that it drowns out my thoughts. I tighten my grip on my sword, knowing I can’t hold him back again.

  But then, the night explodes.

  A thunderous crack tears through the silence, a raw, unrestrained force of nature. Lightning splits the sky and slams into the street just feet from where I stand. The impact roars like divine wrath, throwing Adam into the distance. His body rolls, limp, down the street before coming to a stop.

  For a moment, I can’t process that I’m still alive. My ears ring, my breath catching in my throat. And then I see her.

  Nora is standing, her form barely holding together, arcs of golden electricity crackling off her body. The energy leaps to the ground, snapping viciously at the debris around her. She’s radiant, terrifying—her entire being consumed by the storm.

  “Nora?” My voice wavers, my back pressed against the alley wall. I feel trapped, caught between two forces I can’t hope to match.

  Her eyes meet mine, but they’re hollow, distant. She’s not there—not fully.

  “Nora!” I call again, louder this time, stepping toward her cautiously. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her expression softens. The storm begins to subside, the golden arcs dimming until they vanish entirely. Her hammer drops slightly in her hands, and her breathing steadies as awareness returns.

  I step closer, hesitating for only a moment before gripping the handle of her weapon alongside her. “Weiss,” I murmur, glancing toward the rooftops. “She’ll have found a way out by now.”

  Nora nods faintly, exhaustion clouding her features. Together, we move, the alley still smoldering behind us. There’s no looking back.

  ?

  Later that night, I receive a message from Weiss. Her team managed to intercept the operation at the docks. It had been messy, but no one was seriously hurt—not on their side, at least. It was a victory, technically. Yet after what we’d endured, it felt hollow,

  As for Nora, she barely made it to bed before collapsing. Even in sleep, faint arcs of lightning ripple across her skin, the residual energy snapping harmlessly into the blankets. I sit beside her for a while, watching the rise and fall of her breath, the hum of static filling the silence. That single moment—the thunderous strike that turned the tide—keeps replaying in my mind. It feels like a distant echo and a fresh wound all at once.

  “Aphrodite,” I murmur into the stillness. “What... happened?”

  Her voice brushes against my thoughts. “You should sleep, Jaune.”

  “I can’t,” I admit, exhaustion weighing on every word. “You need to stay here until… Until they’re ready on the other side. Twenty-four hours, at least.”

  A soft, exasperated huff answers me, and suddenly, she’s there. Not just a voice, but a presence. She materializes in my view, holding the faint strand of power I carried to her, its glow like a flickering ember. “Apollo, right? I knew the flavor was familiar. Though I didn’t expect him to hand over his domain of Charisma so easily.”

  Her gaze softens, and for a fleeting moment, she looks almost human. Almost tired. “Where do I start?” she sighs.

  “Are you dying?” The question slips out before I can stop myself.

  “Yes and no. My soul… is struggling to remain tethered to this world. You would call that death. For us, it’s... more complicated, even if the result is very much the same.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  She laughs, a brittle, almost bitter sound. “Jaune, I don’t mean to insult, but there’s little a single human can do to sustain the existence of a divinity.”

  “Then… what?”

  Her eyes narrow, and her expression hardens. “Then I find more,” she says quietly. “Hundreds at least. Millions if possible. Souls to resonate with—souls willing to believe, to revere.”

  I stare at her. “But you won’t?”

  “I can’t!” Her voice rises, sharp with frustration. “Not while Poseidon rules the human realm, forbidding anyone else from setting foot upon these lands! Do you think I like being a ghost, Jaune? A whisper in your mind? Oh, the things I would do were I allowed to roam the earth among your kind… But I cannot.”

  Her outburst lingers in the air, raw and unguarded. I let the silence stretch, fixing my gaze on the gentle glow of the moon through the window. Its light feels steady in contrast to the storm within her.

  Eventually, she exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders. “You felt it, didn’t you?” she asks softly, resignation in her tone.

  I meet her gaze, my thoughts muddled and heavy. “Why?” I whisper. “Just… why?”

  Her lips press into a thin line before she answers. “Not every god struggles as I do. Certainly not Artemis.” Her voice grows bitter. “She’s found plenty of bodies willing to carry out her will. And Adam? He is nothing if not eager. That boy belongs to her intimately, even if they’ve yet to meet. He is a servant of her Hunt, through and through.”

  It’s… too much. I don’t even know what to say.

  “Poseidon… God of the seas, right?” I manage, grasping for understanding.

  “No,” she corrects sharply. “God of land and sea. A common mistake, but a meaningful one. He rules the mortal realm just as much as Zeus governs Olympus.”

  “And Pyrrha is…?”

  “A champion of his,” Aphrodite replies, her words clipped. “Chosen. Blessed by the tides. He has…” Her teeth clench, her frustration palpable. “A mighty grip over mankind, granting him the privilege of picking and choosing. And so, he remains unbothered by this... this bow of chastity that impedes me.”

  A million questions swirl in my mind. I want to push further, to keep asking about the whys and hows, about her family and their fractured ties. But I know where her line is drawn, and I’ve pushed it far enough for one night.

  Instead, I turn my attention back to Nora.

  “I don’t know,” Aphrodite mutters, her voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier edge. “I… I thought I’d have to intervene. And while I’m thankful it didn’t come to that… this worries me, deeply.”

  “Was that… a blessing? Or her semblance?”

  “Both,” Aphrodite answers, her gaze distant, her eyes staring into something far beyond this room. Fear stretches her features, her expression almost alien in its rawness. “It was both.”