Chapter 12: Spouting Exposition

The difference between a pawn and a queen is that the latter realizes it's part of another's game, and acts accordingly.

With a barely audible buzz, the knife swished through the air, finding its destination in the supposed neck of a wooden training dummy. Sporting a length of about thirty centimeters, as well as a jagged edge on the backside, designed to inflict ever more grievous wounds, the knife's steel would normally not measure up to the oak, ending up stuck in the material and proving to be a nuisance when extracting, as it was anything but suited to the chopping motions, faring far better when used to pierce a vein or slit a throat. This particular dummy, however, appeared to not have received the memo, instead succumbing to the blade and letting it through its thickest area like it was made of butter and not hardened wood.

But mayhaps the problem was not with the dummy, but instead with the knife? Or, to be more precise, with its wielder: a boy of about eleven years, his most notable features being hair of hay color and a rage so unquenchable within his eyes, it was going as far as to tangibly seep into the outside world, as the boy's frame was clearly not enough to contain it. Standing in a training hall, vast and empty, dark mist materialized around Darius' figure in seemingly unlimited amounts, surging outwards and flooding the room, much less the knife he was clutching, which had the length of its blade engulfed in even thicker darkness, extending its effective range to about that of a shortsword. Having just sliced one of the training dummies in half, Darius spun around and hurled his weapon at the target in the opposite side of the ring, accompanying the throw with a sharp exhale that scorched his throat for what seemed to be the hundredth time today, as his throat was long since drier than a Vacuoan desert. As the knife swirled towards its mark, its handle appeared to be attached to a black formless tether originating from his palm and extending ever forward, lending Darius some control over his weapon; as the blade became obscured in the dummy's chest, he yanked his arm backwards, pulling out the knife and cleaving everything below its solar plexus in two.

And yet the second his hand gripped the handle again, he charged to the nearest wooden target in his sight, supplementing a sloppy, if devastatingly powerful, overhead slash with an eardrum-rending battle cry that an outside observer would likely interpret as a howl of a crazed animal, rather than an encouraging shout. He had no idea how long he'd been at it, and neither did he really care, for in his heart there was a blistering inferno; anger so maddening in its intensity that it threatened to burn him from the inside out lest he release it on something. For now, he was thankful they were wooden dummies and not living people.

Having decapitated yet another one, he raised his free hand and performed a pushing motion in the vague direction of the remaining three dummies, driven more by his instincts rather than calculation. Coiling around his hand, a thick, seemingly immaterial tendril of black mist surged from him and shot straight into the body of the target, tearing a hole about as wide as a fist in the middle of it, then bursting out of it as Darius jerked his arm to the left and snapping the nearby manikin in half. Covering three meters worth of distance in a single bound, he retracted the tendril mid-flight, instead engulfing his fist in more smoke. As his punch connected with the last dummy, the latter shattered into splinters with a thousand loud cracks.

While he had successfully massacred about thirty training dummies, Darius was left standing alone in the hall, having nothing else to lash out on other than air, and even that was impossible as his vocal cords refused to muster another shriek, instead only sounding like faulty hoses with each breath he made. Torn apart by the fire still raging in his ribcage, he felt strength leaving his legs and plummeted to his knees, mere seconds before falling further in desperate hope that maybe the cold floor could cool his ailing mind.

Alas, no such thing happened, and for an indefinite amount of time he just lied there, gasping for air and clawing the wooden planks, before he heard footsteps in front of him. With his lungs still on fire, the only thing stopping him from grabbing the nearby dagger and charging the visitor was the fact that every single muscle in his body refused to follow orders, instead keeping him in prone position.

"Darius, it's three past midnight. Why are you not sleeping?"

The voice belonged to Master Lin, his mentor and, since recently, his trainer. Or, to be correct, Darius was one of his apprentices on these training grounds. And, as was commonplace with Lin, the question asked was purely rhetorical, for he was fully aware of the reason that kept his pupil up at night. It was not much different from those that kept him awake for the previous month and a half since his initiation into the Order. And, much to Master's dismay, it was rapidly becoming apparent that Darius' condition was not going to change anytime soon.

"You know…" Darius' voice was quiet and hoarser than that of a pack-a-day smoker, but even now it was trembling uncontrollably from the anger that was tearing his mind to shreds. "…Full well… why I'm not sleeping."

"Yes, I do," Lin sighed, softening his tone ever so slightly. "You've been here for about five weeks. Of them, you've slept for four nights. You can't carry on with this kind of a sleeping schedule. Now please stand up so I can talk to your face and not your skull."

Oh, sure. Let me just go ahead and blackout with a chest full of napalm. Fuck, this hurts. Since his body still resembled an anthropomorphic mass of ooze more than a human shape, he summoned the shadows yet again and had the smoke harden enough to lift himself up in the air, holding himself upright not with his muscles, but purely with his Semblance. He couldn't help but chuckle at the dark irony of the situation. Great. I've become a puppet of my own power.

For a minute or so the two were silent as Darius was busy performing the breathing exercises that Lin taught him to at least somewhat calm himself. While bringing him back into the sane world, the anger was still there, slithering at the back of his mind, constantly reminding him that all it takes is one misstep. Still, it was better than what he felt minutes ago.

"Have I woken you up, Master?"

"No. I was preparing my equipment for the upcoming meteor shower, until I heard the sound of you thrashing our dummies. How many was it this time?"

"I… I lost count," Darius muttered. "I think I've been here for two days straight. It's becoming hard to keep track of the date." He closed his eyes for a second, feeling something salty run down his face and into his mouth. He was unsure whether that was sweat or tears. Probably a mix of both.

"How am I supposed to live like that? It's been less than two months and I'm already going crazy," he continued, yet in the back of his mind he had a gnawing feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Darius. Commandment Ten of our Order. What is it?" He sighed. If he could throw his hands up in a gesture of utter exasperation, he would. Unfortunately, strength didn't feel like returning to his assorted limbs, so for now he just rolled his eyes, still hovering several centimeters above the floor.

"'When all is lost, when your own flame is about to fade, do not lose faith. For in your most desperate hour it shall sustain you and lend you strength that you think you lack'. Except it doesn't help me at all. I've got more than enough flame of my own."

A frown crossed the face of his teacher; as terrible as Darius was currently feeling, he realized he was pushing the boundaries of how much he could run his mouth. He knew better than to anger those he depended upon, and blasphemy was the one thing Master Lin did not tolerate. It's not like he's to blame. Maybe try and not turn the one person who's sympathetic to you against you. So, he shook his head a little and said.

"I… Forgive me, Master. The last part was uncalled for,"

"Darius… I understand how you feel."

You probably don't.

"I know it is painful. You have made a terrible mistake, but this isn't uncommon at your age. Remember: regardless of how bad it may get, you are not alone. The Order is family, and will always help one of their own. I am always here if you feel lost, even if I am… not the most amicable person at times. And most importantly: the Lady always watches and protects those who are sworn to her. She knows of your suffering, at when the need arises, she will help you. Have faith."

Does this mean the need hasn't arisen yet?

"Now. We have about forty minutes before the meteor shower. I believe I have a second telescope somewhere around here and I could use some help setting things up. Would you like to participate?"

Darius threw another look at his body, suspended in the air in a cloud of smoke. He could feel his legs slowly falling asleep, which was a good sign. With a sleight of hand, he dispelled the entire cloud and dropped on the floor, and slowly nodded.

For the love of Light that tingles. Ouch.

"Thank you, Master. I would like that very much."

Consciousness returned to him swiftly, as it tended to. One second he was sitting in the midst of an abyss, lost in the memories of his relatively distant past, and the next his eyes had flung open in the tent that had been his home for the last two weeks, give or take. While in no way unaccustomed to such rapid shifts in his planes of existence, this particular awakening still had his heart racing. Oh goodie, I wonder if it has something to do with the memory I just rewatched. Why the fuck am I even doing this again?!

With a grumble that only he could hear, he got out of the tent and stood up on the roof where he'd set up camp, a floor above the team's room. It would seem that he awoke quite early, as the sun had only just begun creeping up the horizon, coloring the entire landscape gray. For a couple of minutes, he just sat on the edge, watching the sun rise and turn the sky into a strange, orange-ish shade of pink, letting the time calm his heartbeat instead of exercises. That was a pretty sweet meteor shower, though.

I should write to Lin or something. I haven't talked to him the entire time I've been in Vale.

The sudden realization came with a small pang of guilt in his chest, subtly reverberating like a pulled string. Throwing a glance back at the tent, he returned inside and picked up his scroll, soon firing up the messaging service and considering his options. After all, things aplenty had happened over the last three weeks. The question would be which of these he would want to share. So, after about five minutes of writing and editing he came to a draft that he found more or less acceptable:

Master,

Apologies for keeping out of touch. Things have been more than a little hectic, as you might imagine. But, from where I stand, it seems that it'd come to a relative standstill in the last couple days or so. Or at least I don't see people reaching for their weapons on instinct whenever I come close. Or trying to merge with the nearby corner, for that matter. Maybe it'll work out after all.

Speaking of people. I've had some time to wrap my head around some numbers, and I really don't like what I'm seeing. Our class alone (that is to say the entirety of the first-years bar me) is forty people strong. And I've heard people talking that this year's initiation was one of the harshest in the last decade! However, statistics say that at any point in time there are less than two thousand Huntsmen in the world. The math is… unsettling, to say the least.

There is, of course, positive news, ones that cross into the realm of irony, even. Of the forty people and ten total teams, I ended up with an all-girls team. Or, to be more specific, it made the most sense for me to stay with them. Surprisingly enough, they don't seem to mind me… for the most part. One of them hates my guts with a flaming passion and there's been very little I managed to do about it. I couldn't have expected it to go perfectly smoothly, of course… it's just kind of depressing. Doesn't help that for the entire time I've known her I couldn't shake off the feeling that something doesn't fit. I don't know, it may just be my bias, but after all, you did always teach me to trust my gut.

How are things back home? I imagine our little training grounds are a much more tranquil place without me. Any new recruits? Any news from our brothers in other Kingdoms? Come to think of it, we must have an outpost in Vale. Do you happen to know where it is? Maybe I could pay them a visit at some point.

I could go on writing about smaller things, but knowing you, I feel like you're not really interested in reading about what kind of teachers we have or how much senseless violence I've employed over the last two weeks. It's been some. So, on that note, I must bid farewell. I hope everything is alright.

Darius.

He surveyed the draft again and sent it with a tap of a finger. I just hope he's still there to read it.

I really should've written sooner.

Returning to his inbox, he ran his eyes across the list, driven more by habit than by possibility of him actually having new mail. To his great surprise, as he scrolled further down the list, the page suddenly snapped to the top, signaling that a new message had just arrived. And a very strange message indeed, one of its defining features being a large "ERROR" sign instead of the name of the sender. He tapped on the screen and brought up the note; instead of one's email address he only saw a long line of random signs, indicating that the service couldn't interpret it correctly… or someone attempted to obscure it from him. Taking a look at the message itself, he read:

I know you're not sleeping. Come to the tower, now. Time to learn the ropes, greenhorn.

Darius' head snapped in different directions as he attempted to find whoever was observing him, as they clearly had a line of sight on him. He walked a quick lap around the roof, but found nothing yet again. As he looked up at the nearby wall with a door leading back to the dorms, his eyes latched onto a camera attached to it, slowly turning from left to right. I see. Yeah, I'm going to have to do something with this camera. For now, however, it was not important. Bringing up the scroll again, he deleted the message and dove back into the tent, picking up his school uniform.

I guess I'm not doing my exercise routine today.

Ten minutes later Darius was standing in front of the Beacon Tower, cautiously surveying his surroundings. To his great dismay, there were no shadows to hide in, as the sun was facing the tower, thus eliminating all the dark corners. As such, he had no options but to twist his head one hundred and eighty degrees to and fro, trying to differentiate between a leaf falling on the floor and a foot stepping on it. For a millisecond, he thought he heard a quiet buzz to his left. But as he turned around, all he saw was an empty bench, complete with a bunch of trees in the background. Still, he knew enough.

"I heard you, Sir. Maybe we could get to business?"

The clank of metal against asphalt confirmed his suspicions as a barely visible shimmer went through the air, soon materializing into a person. The next thing he heard was a laugh. As was quickly becoming customary in his experience, Qrow was having a blast of a time at his expense.

"Oh don't worry. I just like it when my trainees see further than their own nose," he said, the metallic undertones present in his voice scraping Darius' ears akin to claws. Taking another step towards him, Qrow adjusted his cape so that it didn't cover his arms, leaving it to flap in the wind in an utterly majestic manner. I miss my cape. I really should've gotten a new one when getting the tent.

"You could've just sent me a normal email, you know. Last thing I need is that gibberish of an email address in my history. What kind of encryption is that even?"

"And what if somebody has tapped into your post and would see me there? I am not a person that one sees on regular basis, I'm sure you understand. Don't you think it would… arouse suspicion?" a wicked grin crawled onto the spymaster's face, as both his human and cybernetic eyes lit up with subtle anticipation. Darius, on the other hand, was anything but amused.

"So would this ridiculous address, Sir. Unlike you, I'm not hiding behind seven proxies."

"Oversight on your side, kid. Oh well," Qrow cleared his throat before derailing the conversation onto another set of tracks entirely. "That's not why I called you here. I'm sure you've been keeping track of the recent news?"

Interpreting the phrase as a question, as it should have been, Darius scratched his head while reminiscing of the last week's events that could capture his superior's attention.

"Well… I'm sure you're not interested in celebrity gossip…"

"Wonder what gave you that idea."

"And I don't think there's anything we can do about news from abroad the oceans. Although the Atlesian military complex did promise to show off some cool new prototypes next spring…" He shook his head to return to his train of thought. "So that would leave anything Vale related… Strangely enough, the month has been pretty dull so far. Only notable event, or a series thereof, to be specific, would be the ongoing spree of Dust shops robberies. So far three Dust shops have been raided by unknown assailants, one of the raids had been led by Roman Torchwick as reported by several witnesses and one of my own teammates."

He had to pause for a moment as just uttering that name riled him up. After a couple of deep breaths, he continued:

"Ahem. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," a smile crossed Qrow's features, unnerving Darius more than encouraging him, as the sight of his robotic half shining a metallic smile at him was anything but pleasant. "Now, don't you think this is a little strange? Why would someone steal Dust? It's anything but expensive, save for maybe the highest tier Dust that our local heiress uses."

"Sir… why are you asking me all of this?" While not exactly opposing the exchange, Darius was slowly becoming weary of the mind games that the academy's spymaster was playing with him. This is starting to feel like some detective novel.

"Consider it a test of stupid. You're doing pretty well so far."

Yup. We're currently in the "prove your worth" phase. Next it'll turn out he's actually a butler.

"I guess quizzes just don't let you mess with your crew," he mumbled before raising the tone so that Qrow could hear him, even though he was fairly certain that this little quip didn't go unnoticed. "Well, depending on who the perpetrators actually are, their motives could differ from a personal vendetta against every single Dust shop owner of this city to just something that requires a metric ton of Dust. It's kind of just speculation until we at least get an idea of who did those robberies or whether they're even interconnected."

"Which is exactly what you'll be doing for your entry test, kid," Qrow's fit of laughter had Darius summoning all of his willpower to not cover his ears to escape the metal carving his eardrums. I feel like his hobby is exercising torture upon his subordinates. He probably does this job for free as a side project. Just to fuck with us.

"Sir… do you actually want me to play private detective? Don't we have the police to do this sort of things?"

"Oh, we have the police alright. The thing is... You ever watched some of the comedies that Vale is so famous for? Whenever there are cops featured in the movie, there's a pretty good chance their performance will be an accurate representation of reality, because the incompetence of the local law enforcement rivals only that of a toddler. This isn't Atlas."

May the Dark have mercy on my soul.

"Strictly speaking, it's half the reason I'm even doing this. Ozpin doesn't need a pet spy network per se, it's just that having a city drowning in filth will endanger his dear students, so you."

"And the other half?.." Darius was unsure whether he actually wanted to hear the answer.

"Ozpin does need a pet spy network. Alsius, Haven, Shade: all have one. Especially Alsius. Why not us?"

I'm doomed.

"A-a-alright then," after a moment of silence, Darius had no choice but to continue the conversation. "What would you have me do?"

"You said it yourself. First thing to do is to establish whether those incidents are in any way, shape, or form, connected to each other. What, or who, could give you this kind of information?"

Oh my. I'm slowly starting to suspect all of this was orchestrated by him and Ozpin.

"The bar where Ozpin… recruited me had some kind of an underground informant that my teammate attempted to interrogate. I'm unsure of how successful she was, but I can tell it'll be much harder for him to become a father." A small wince flashed across his face as he recalled the finer details of the informant's fate. "He went by the name Junior and I'm certain you have something on him but won't tell me. He also has some connections to Torchwick as I saw him broker a deal with him. I suppose I could go ask him a couple of questions."

"Then you're off to a good start," Qrow chuckled. "I won't tell you his darkest secrets, but what I can tell you is that his name is Hei Xiong, and that very few people know it. Do with it what you will."

I suppose that's something. With a small sigh, he continued his inquiries:

"How would you have me handle this?"

"I don't care. As long as you don't make too much of a mess, rules of engagement are yours to decide. Just don't get out of hand."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Well…" another, far more sinister smile crept upon Qrow's face as he looked straight into Darius' eyes. "You should probably know that you have to do something about a certain teammate of yours. I'm pretty sure you and Blake still don't get along."

Since when did we shift the topic onto relationship advice?!

"Sir… I don't think that's relevant to what we were talking about."

"We have exhausted relevant things about your assignment. Consider it a friendly warning: Goodwitch will soon bury you first years in tasks that require unit integrity, and if you two don't sort it out, the whole team is gonna start hurting. Do something."

The man turned around and headed for the tower, soon dissipating in thin air, leaving Darius puzzled beyond belief. A loud ring from above made him angle his head, looking up. The clock was striking six in the morning.

This is not where I saw myself four years ago.

There were very few things you saw yourself in four years ago other than a shallow grave. Good thing it's Saturday. Best get going.