Isra was woken by a knock at his door. Turning in his bed, he saw his father enter. "Get up. If you want to go to this academy, we leave in twenty minutes." His father's tone made it clear that he'd only recently been talked into helping. Knowing that his father would only wait twenty minutes, he raised himself from his bed and set a timer on his scroll. Twenty minutes to get my kit made up and meet Dad outside. Seems doable. He glanced over to the set of armour he acquired the previous day, piecing together how the pieces should fit in his mind before he began to don it. Chain undersuit comes first. Then what? Cuirass? Yeah, let's go with cuirass. After that… greaves? Yeah, those then sabatons. Socks before shoes and all that. That should cover lower-body armour. Then throw the robe on to cover the fact that I don't have any armour for my thighs, and I can start in on the upper body. Pauldrons? Nah, I won't need them right now. We'll just go with vambraces and the gorget. Time check – nineteen minutes left with change. Let's go to work.

He undressed, taking a few moments to inspect himself in the mirror before he put on a pair of trackpants and a long-sleeved shirt to protect his skin from the chainmail he was about to put on. Strong enough to hold my own against people who want to kill me, tall enough to be intimidating to the same, slim enough to fit in a vent, but just narrowly too tall to be comfortable in one. Nihil novum sub lunis. He picked up the chainmail shirt to get an idea of the weight he was going to be putting on his shoulders, smiling as he found it far lighter than he expected it to be. He slid the shirt on, tugging on the sleeves to get it to fit him well. Little tight, probably made for someone a little shorter, but otherwise good. The armour proved a tighter fit, thankfully eliminating the annoying jingle that the chain was producing whenever he moved. As he tied the robe around his waist, he stood in front of the mirror again, inspecting how the armour looked on him. Yep, just as expected. Little tighter than I'd like, but it's workable. The sun slowly crept into his room from his window, the armour's shine blinding him when he stepped into its gaze. And there's the flaw. Probably should have spent a little less time polishing yesterday. He picked up one of the loose armour pieces on his bed and scuffed down the pieces he was wearing with it, continuing the process until he could comfortably endure his own reflection in sunlight. Alright, armour's good. Time check – ten minutes left. He slipped the twin belts over his head, reaching to adjust the fit when he noticed the buckle wasn't where he expected it to be. Instead, his hands found a note.

Saw you had this thrown together. Thought you might want something a little more secure, so I stitched them into one. Buckle's on the opposite side to this note. – Mom.

He shuffled the improvised sling around and saw the buckle was where his mother had mentioned it. He loosened the buckle a couple of notches, allowing for the slight increase in size that the cuirass he was wearing gave him, before sliding his weapon, firmly attached to its scabbard, onto his back. The belt that was to hold the additional tubes was soon to follow, as were the tubes. He placed the box on his bed, sorting the tubes in accordance with the different Dust types they contained before placing them into pouches. Fire on my right side, then lightning, then ice, then earth, then wind at the left. Should work out, as I don't think wind'll do anything with this. He noticed this left one pouch unoccupied, which he slipped his scroll into as he made one final check of the time. Six minutes twenty. Should be just long enough to pack my bag. Possibly grab some toast if I put it on now. He considered stepping out to the kitchen, but decided against it. When has toast taken six minutes? His decision made, he turned his attention back to packing his bag for Beacon. Pulling a duffel bag out from underneath his bed, he threw together a list in his head of what he'd need. Toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, et cetera. Grab a separate bag for those, as it's not all I'm taking. Clothes – something so that I'm not wearing what I am now all the time up there. Light entertainment – a book or something. Power supply can't be guaranteed, and Basil's probably a little nervous after that stunt I pulled at the Dust store. Surprised he didn't call me yesterday, actually. As he moved from place to place in his room, collecting what he thought necessary for Beacon, his mind wandered back to Basil and the others. Wonder if they got found. According to Basil, Em and Cam both took off at the first sign of sirens, so they're probably safe. Basil, on the other hand, I had to make an exit for. Hope the police liked fireworks more than they liked Basil.

Basil sighed as another call to Cam went unanswered. "Damn. You sure Cam got out okay, Em?"

The Faunus looked across at him, breaking from her arrangement of the haul to answer his question. "Considering I was in shotgun when we left, I'd say he did, yes. Could it be he's trying to lay low and all your calls, in addition to racking up a bill for you, are just making it harder for him to hide? As you'll recall, Bas, Cam's about as straight-edge as they come. He's only with us because we pay well."

"You know that for a fact?"

"If he was with us for any other reason, he'd probably speak more. As it stands, he says exactly enough for us to be able to work efficiently."

Basil glanced back down at the portrait on his scroll – a stern-faced man with close-cut hair, his expression clearly telegraphing irritation at the picture being taken. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Think we should check in with Isra?"

"You said his distraction was blowing up the shop. I doubt he got away from that without being caught."

"What if he did? He's the only one of us with a semblance, and everyone knows how weird those things can be."

"You forget his semblance is the ability to Vacuise any other semblance."

Basil raised an eyebrow at his companion's turn of phrase. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Vacuise. It's like… you know what Vacuo's famous for, outside of huge deserts and a very subsistence-based society outside the main city?"

"Yeah, they do cheap knock-offs of- oh. I get it now."

"Yeah. Isra Vacuises other people's semblances. Seeing as we didn't see him grabbing anyone who had a semblance, I doubt he had one to run for us."

"What if he came along with it?"

"Don't be stupid, Basil. We both know Isra fills us in on whatever semblance he's running, if he grabbed one we didn't ask for. And, considering our line of work," she waved her hand over the mixture of lien and Dust crystals arrayed in front of her, "I think invisibility would be an incredibly useful semblance. Of course, knowing what we do about his semblance, I don't think we'd be able to get invisibility. Maybe a little bit see-through, but not total invisibility."

"Yes, well, even then your Eminence might serve as a countermeasure for such acts of subterfuge."

Em's hand snapped out at Basil, sending a Dust crystal flying towards him with deadly accuracy, only for it to bounce harmlessly off his forehead. "Don't call me 'Eminence' again. And stay out of the dictionary until you know how to use the big words. Next one's going to have much more force behind it."

Basil frowned, rubbing the spot where the crystal struck him as he picked it up. "You know, you still haven't got around to telling me how you got so good at throwing things."

"Long story, Basil, and I'm not in the mood to tell it."

"Dust, Em, you've been living in my apartment for almost a year now, and every damn time the doorbell's gone off you've always answered it with a kitchen knife lodged in the wall next to the door. I measured the group once when I got bored. What the hell have you done with your life that lets you throw kitchen knives off-hand with a two-inch spread?"

Em returned to her work as she replied, a bitter note behind the words. "I'm a Faunus, genius. Do the math."

Isra flew out of the church doors, bag haphazardly slung over one shoulder with his weapon's stock protruding over the other, cramming the slice of toast still in his hand into his mouth.

"Sorry I'm late, Dad. Had a little work left on the armour."

Michaeus nodded as he looked at his watch. "Nineteen minutes. Very nearly late. Get in."

Isra paused, taking a moment to check his scroll. Nope. Timer's definitely expired. Went off while I was grabbing some food. Why would he… Doesn't matter. A small smile formed as he opened the trunk and slipped his bag off his shoulders and inside. The reason why his father seemed to be playing with him still eluded him as he got into the passenger seat and slid his weapon off his back. He placed it between his legs, holding it in place with his knees as he shut the door. He turned his head to look at his father, only to be greeted with the sight of his father lighting a cigarette.

"You don't smoke, Dad. At least, I never saw you."

His father nodded, taking a puff and exhaling the smoke out the window. "You're right. I don't. I also didn't tell you to find your own way to Beacon after twenty minutes." He chuckled grimly as he started the car. "Guess I'm doing all kinds of things I shouldn't today."

Isra caught on to the intent behind his father's words quickly – a talent he developed out of necessity. "Things like letting his son go to Beacon, right?"

"Yep. I know you were listening yesterday. Heard about that favour and everything. For all your time using my semblance, you still haven't figured out how to avoid it."

Isra looked down at his weapon, then back up at his father. "Maybe I will eventually. What was that favour about, anyway?"

Michaeus took another drag on his cigarette, flicking the half-smoked remains out the window. "That… is a very long story."

"We're going to the skyport. I'm sure we've got time."

Michaeus looked at his son with an air of amusement. "You're not going to let up on that until I tell you, right?"

"Maybe."

"How's your history?"

"It's pretty good. Why?"

"Thirty years ago."

"Not much happened thirty years ago, Dad."

"Wrong. The head of Beacon Academy – Ozpin – made a rare public appearance thirty years ago. My father – your grandfather – and I were negotiating with him and several other Huntsmen to get the Cerulans here ingrained with the Huntsmen. Combine our knowledge and resources to try and make our jobs easier. To say the least, it was tricky. There were splinter groups within the Order that didn't want to see the Huntsmen and Cerulans united because of Penumber."

"Where the Huntsmen burned down our headquarters and killed thousands."

"The Grimm they released killed thousands, Isra. The Huntsmen didn't kill nearly as many Cerulans as some people like to think. Doesn't stop our records from chalking up Grimm kills to the Huntsmen. But I digress. Ozpin was making an appearance for… I don't remember. It doesn't matter. But it was an open-to-the-public affair, and some of these splinter groups thought it'd be a good idea to try and kill a prominent Huntsman to start their revenge. While Dad busied himself with the diplomatic side of things, I formed a group that would go to this event and stop anyone from trying to kill Ozpin. Now, when we got there, the local security – SabSec, I think it was – didn't exactly take kindly to us, as they thought we were going to try and kill Ozpin and use the excuse that we were looking for assassins as a cover. They told me that if they saw anyone approaching the stage from the crowd, it didn't matter if they were friendly or not, they would get taken down with as much force as was needed."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. I was the guy warning them. Whatever the case, I told my guys to spread themselves among the crowd and keep watch for any suspicious behaviour. My plan paid off, as one guy pulled out a bomb or something – I didn't care about what it was because it got taken care of by the Cerulan that saw him – but that wasn't all. I tried to warn the security chief about the bomb in the crowd but he told me to leave before I could say anything. As I walked away, and I should be grateful they let me walk out, I saw somebody start pushing through the crowd ahead of my improvised security. I look back at the chief and see he's too busy with something, so I decide to take my chances. I put on a pace towards where this guy is going and see him draw a gun. Now, they had metal detectors and everything here, so the fact that this guy had a gun is pretty surprising. I start running, drawing the attention of every guard in the room, and tackle this guy to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hand. I spin him over onto his front and start patting him down for any other weapons. As I search, I find something like four knives all secreted away in pockets on this guy's suit. I didn't get much of a chance to look for more, as a SabSec baton to the head is something that doesn't exactly offer a lot of mercy."

"They knocked you out?"

"Hey, as far as they knew, I was an assassin trying to frame some guy who wanted a better look. I can hardly blame them, much. When I came to, this Ozpin guy was standing over me and offered me a hand up. He asked me for my view on what happened, as they brought things rather rapidly to a close after I tackled the guy. I told him everything, from the rumours of an assassination attempt to me seeing the guy I tackled draw a gun. The whole time, Ozpin's eyes never break contact with mine. It's strange, to say the least. When I stop talking, Ozpin looks me up and down and nods. He says 'Mister Feher, it would seem I owe you my life, then. Do you happen to know who the man with the gun was?' I told him I didn't, but the gun was familiar. It had Cerulan designs on it, the Order's sigil on the handle and things like that, and he nods again. Tells me that if I ever needed anything from the Huntsmen that I just need to call. That's what the favour was."

Isra nodded as his father finished his story. "You had one on Ozpin? I'm impressed, Dad. I didn't think you did that sort of thing."

"You'd be surprised what your old man did when he was younger, Isra. But that's enough talking about the past for one drive." His hand moved from the wheel to the radio, switching it on and selecting a station. "You like Schnee radio?"

"Little self-promoting, but I'll take it."

"Self-promoting? You're the last person who should be talking about self-promotion after that stunt you pulled yesterday."

Isra opened his mouth to reply, but found himself drowned out by the sound of the radio as it began to play another song by the company's heiress. 'Mirror, tell me something, tell me who's the loneliest of all?'

The song reached its end as the car pulled up to the skyport, and Michaeus turned down the radio. "Well, Isra, here we are. Good luck in Beacon, and don't get yourself killed up there, okay?"

Isra nodded as he opened the door, placing his weapon against the side of the car as he got out. "I'll try not to, Dad. Don't go expecting miracles."

"You're coming out of that school alive, or so help me Dust I'll bring you back from the dead myself. Like hell am I telling your mother that you died trying to avoid going to prison."

Isra laughed as he walked around to the back and retrieved his bag, his father's remark reminding him of his mother's infamous temper. Yeah, maybe going to Beacon wasn't the wisest choice in that regard. "I'm a smart kid, Dad. I know better than to do anything too crazy."

"Yeah, but you were still dumb enough to get caught in a burglary. Not only that, you were dumb enough to get caught six times. Most people stop after one."

"Most people aren't stuck in a situation of 'do not want' when it comes to their life either."

Michaeus cocked his head back, then nodded. "Fair point. Anyway, we've probably burned enough time here talking. Your mother's probably going to be mad that I'm holding you back from Beacon if we keep going. See you when you can get back to us, Izzie."

"Bye, Dad." He sighed as the car pulled away, leaving him standing by the roadside. He smiled ruefully as he finished the farewell with a whispered correction. "It's Isra, not Izzie." He turned around, looking up at the signs to find out where the departure lounge was. Alright, inside and go left. Should've asked which gate the Beacon airship was due to arrive at. Ah, they've probably got desks for that anyway.

Half an hour later, Isra walked over to a section of the concourse filled with people who looked his age. Finally. Looks like I might be a late arrival, though. He shouldered his bag and forged ahead into the crowd of students, intent on looking like he blended in despite his armour and weapon.

His efforts were soon rewarded when a woman arrived at the gate and turned to face the crowd. "Good morning students. I am Professor Goodwitch, deputy headmistress at Beacon Academy. Form a line in alphabetical order and we shall begin."

Isra looked around and saw that the other students were all shuffling about in accordance with Professor Goodwitch's request. Well, no reason to be defiant. Find the 'F's and fall in. Several murmured questions and Isra had found his place in the line, twelve places from the start of the line. As the sound of the students arranging themselves died down, Professor Goodwitch spoke again.

"Very good. Please have your admission papers ready, as I will be checking them before you embark."

Isra's eyes widened, then he glanced down at his bag, frantically trying to remember if his parents had made any mention of 'admission papers' while he was around them. A quick glance along the line revealed that there were still 12 students ahead of him, with the first's papers only just getting checked. 12 people. Long enough to come up with an excuse? It better be. His mind reeled with possibilities, ranging from the mundane excuses of 'I left them at home' to the more fantastical 'I was robbed of them on the way here'. Or, we could always just go with the truth. No shame in honesty. Just, you know, the judgement of everyone in earshot. A second glance along the line revealed that several more students had been checked off, putting his place in line at 4. 3 ahead of me. Decision time, truth or lie? A third glance was unnecessary, as he'd followed the line up to Professor Goodwitch herself. "Name?"

Isra looked the woman up and down, trying to grant his mind a few precious seconds to finalise its decision. Truth it is. "Feher. Isra Feher."

Isra noticed a small window pop up on the professor's scroll as she entered his name, only for it to quickly vanish with another typed command. "Go and board the airship, Mister Feher."

Isra stood slightly straighter, surprised that he hadn't been asked for admission papers like the rest of the line, or so he presumed, as he'd been too caught-up in his plans to get out of explaining why he didn't have his to notice. "Thank you, ma'am." He nodded quickly and walked into the airship, eyes searching the interior for a comfortable place to wait out the trip to Beacon.

Moving towards one of the steel girders that lined the passenger compartment, Isra placed his bag down before leaning against the girder and closing his eyes, confident that nobody would try to talk to the silent man in armour.

His confidence in his unapproachability soon proved misplaced, when he was nudged awake by one of the other prospective students. "Hey, you're actually sleeping? Dude, you're going to Beacon. How the hell can you sleep?"

Annoyed at this unwelcome intrusion into his rest, Isra decided to shut down the conversation as quickly as he could. "Evidently by leaning against a support in this ship and closing my eyes. Now, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to it. If you still insist on waking me, I would prefer if you did so when we arrive, instead of mid-flight."

The boy shrugged, undeterred by Isra's condescending reply. "Alright. What's with the armour, though? Just about everyone else is wearing, you know, regular clothes, and you look like you've just stepped out of a history book. Is it an heirloom, or…?"

"What's your name?"

"Nichol. Why?"

"Well, Nichol, some people don't really go outside much. As a result of this seclusion, they don't really know what constitutes 'normal clothing'. I've been part of a religious order for my entire life, and I figured that the robes we wore weren't really 'in vogue' with the current fashion scene. While the armour may seem a bit antiquated, it's better than a heavy blue robe, on the merit that it doesn't look like I just came from morning services. Does that answer your question? If it does, do me a favour and sod off so I can get some sleep."

Isra noticed the slightly hurt expression on Nichol's face, and felt a pang of guilt cross his mind, but refrained from acting on it, instead choosing to let Nichol guide the outcome. After a few minutes, Nichol finally aired his response. "Could you have been a little ruder there?"

This guy's not going to let up anytime soon, is he? Could do with knowing a few names going in, though. Isra, now having abandoned any plans of sleeping, replied in a manner he hoped was conciliatory. "I could've been, yes. But I see your point. Sorry about all that." Extending a hand, Isra introduced himself. "I'm Isra Feher. Not exactly a morning person, as you found out."

Nichol, accepting Isra's conversational olive branch, shook his hand. "Nichol Kapfer. And how many people really are?"

"Hm, not sure. Probably not anyone who says they're a morning person, though, right?" A short nod and a laugh from Nichol reassured Isra that he was pursuing a favourable direction. "Hey, you know anyone going in this lot?"

Nichol paused, considering the question. "Just about everyone I know from Signal's going, if they're not already there. I know there's also a few from the other kingdoms. To be honest, I'd say this is all people who almost made the cut at the start of the year. You know, I don't think I know where you're from. I know the Fehers, they were a pretty big name way back in the day, but I don't recall seeing a Feher at Signal. Did you go out-of-kingdom, or…"

Isra blanched at the question. Coin flip time, Isra. Truth or lie? Just remember – Beacon's a big place, and somebody's going to call you on it if you go making things up. Truth's probably the safer bet here. "This is going to sound weird, but I don't have any formal training. Never been to Signal or anywhere else."

"Wait, really? How the hell did you get into Beacon, then? From what I heard, it takes something really special to get into Beacon if you didn't go to Signal or somewhere similar."

Isra smiled, wondering if he should maintain the truth. "I guess you could say I am something special, Nick. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. So, how do you know about the Fehers?"

"Some of the books I read back at Signal kept talking about how the Fehers were one of the first families to be part of the Kingdom of Vale and manned the city walls almost constantly. 'No matter time or age, a Feher stands ready to temper Nature's rage'."

Isra chuckled as he heard the rhyme. Not my family, but I'll take what I can get. "Yep, that rings a bell. Figured now was as good a time as any to try and get back to basics, you know?"

"What, so you magicked your way into Beacon?"

"No, I've got skills. Fighting skills, not so much computer skills."

Nichol leaned back against another nearby girder, allowing him some comfort as he spoke. "Sounds a bit specific. How much do forged scripts cost?"

Isra reflexively answered, having dealt with people who advertised themselves as being able to forge combat transcripts for admission to places like Beacon. "Depends on who you ask. There's a guy in the industrial district that does them for 300 and a- Oh damn. You wanted to find out if I forged some combat transcripts, right?"

"Sounds like you know enough about the business."

"Long story, but I didn't pay a single lien to get in here. That much is true."

Nichol raised an eyebrow, his mind already piecing together what transpired. "You beat him into submission, then?"

Isra looked around, searching for investigative eyes and ears before responding quietly. "Yes, but not for a script. It was as a favour to somebody."

"Oh yeah? Favour to who?"

"A friend of mine. Let's leave it at that, as I'd rather not go too much further down that road in public."

"Cloak-and-dagger shenanigans? Or criminal enterprises?"

"Little of both, with some more of the latter thrown in as garnish. Just know this, Nick: If people come up asking me if I'm a criminal, I'll be coming back for you. Not a word of what I've just said to anyone, clear?"

Nichol paled as Isra advanced on him, the intimidatory effect of Isra's size and armour coming together in a truly effective manner. "Crystal." He relaxed as Isra smiled, halting in his advance and turning around. "You know, they say these teams are decided by us. If that's true, I'd really like to be on your team. Or even you on mine, whichever works." Isra shot Nichol a sideways glance as he spoke. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Isra snorted, amused by just how intimidated Nichol was by his display. "Quibus non est nostrum loca eligere." Isra paused, searching for an appropriate translation. "If we are meant to be grouped together, we shall be."

Nichol nodded, apparently displeased by Isra's response, but Isra couldn't tell if his displeasure came from him perceiving the statement as Isra declining, or thinking Isra had insulted him during it. Before Isra had time to clarify, the ship's intercom switched on, notifying those aboard that they would be docking in two minute's time and to ready their belongings to disembark. "Do you know where we're supposed to go when we land?"

Nichol picked up his bag, which had been lying next to Isra's for the entire trip, or so it appeared, before cheerily replying. "No, but it can't be that hard to get around. Somebody has to know where we're meant to go." Isra reached down and collected his own bag, before following Nichol. Filing off the airship and onto Beacon's campus, he looked around, with no small amount of awe, at the sheer scale of Beacon Academy and its grounds, before moving with a crowd of students towards the school proper. Entering a large, circular building, Isra noted that Beacon must have been receiving airships from more than just the city alone to account for the sheer number of students present, unless the entire student body of Beacon had been brought out for the ceremony. Moving further into the crowd, he kept his eyes focused on the podium at the front, and, by extension, the staff standing nearby. As the flow of students began to thin, the staff moved, with one man in particular moving towards the microphone taking centre stage. Testing the microphone, he began speaking.

"Good day, students, I am Professor Ozpin, head of Beacon Academy. Your travels have brought you here in search of knowledge." Or to avoid a prison sentence, but knowledge fits the overall reason. "To hone your skills, and learn new ones. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people, human and Faunus alike. A noble goal, but I look among you now, and I see not one of you capable of living up to such a goal. Noble sentiments, doubtless, are among you, but no noble people. People without temper, without fortune, without that which ensures we do not depart from those we protect. You assume that time will cure you of such ills, if you even know you have them. You assume that time, like it does all other ills, will cure this one, but I can assure you it will not. Only sheer adversity and hardship will cultivate that viewpoint Huntsmen are so prized for. Hardships like what you will encounter here, should you be willing to take the first step now. Are you?"

Having delivered his speech on the incoming students' shortcomings, he left, allowing a woman, presumably his assistant, to continue the address. "Initiation will take place tomorrow morning, for now you have the opportunity to familiarise yourself with Beacon Academy. As prospects, you will be bunked in the ballroom, and it is recommended you leave whatever bags you brought with you there. Finally, would you please refrain from interfering with lessons or with student affairs around the campus, as many activities require a level of foreknowledge that most of you probably lack." With that, she also left the stage, leaving the students to organise themselves. Slowly, the crowd took on a semblance of order, filing out through another exit, hopefully in the direction of the ballroom.

Isra was overwhelmed by the size of the school now that he had the opportunity to wander, the recommendation to visit the ballroom forgotten in his awe. His exploration occupied much of the remaining part of the day, his sense of time only returning when he looked up at Beacon's towers, lit up a brilliant orange in the dusk. "Umm, hey, are you lost?" Isra jumped, swiftly returned from his thoughts by the question. "Sorry for spooking you. You just looked like you could use some directions."

Turning around revealed that the voice belonged to a girl, much shorter than he was, with red hair and a strange red cloak that seemed familiar. "Uh, yeah. Do you know how to get to the ballroom from here?"

"Oh, you're new! That explains everything. Professor Goodwitch doesn't really consider that new people don't know Beacon yet, and Professor Ozpin tends to leave things like that to her. Ballroom is in the central building, right wing. You're approaching from the back, so it'll be the wing on your left. Need to know where anything else is? Bathrooms, where to go for initiation, the ballroom? Wait, you just asked that last one. What about the other two?"

Isra chuckled, amused by how eager this girl was to help him. "No, thanks. I'll find everything else you offered as I need to. Thanks for the help though."

"No problem. Good luck in initiation!" She shouted as she walked off, leaving Isra cursing himself for not asking about the cloak. I swear I've seen it before…

Isra walked towards the ballroom, deferring any focused exploration of the campus to after initiation, should he make it. As he walked in, he saw the room littered with sleeping bags and pillows, some occupied and some not. A quick scan of the room showed that very few areas of the floor offered any opportunity for uninterrupted sleep without anyone stepping on him, save for the corners. To the corners it is, then. Probably not worth pulling out a sleeping bag right now, though. Sleeping in the armour'll give you more time to adjust to it, after all. He cut a path carefully through his fellow prospects, navigating to the emptiest corner in the room, throwing his bag against the support when he got close enough. He pushed on certain parts of his armour, testing how much give they had before lying down, positioning himself in such a way that the armour pieces gave him some semblance of support as he slept.

Victoria had busied herself with retrieving as many records as the Cerulan database held on Fort Penumber since Magnus confirmed where they were travelling. The whole sorry history of the place was now held on her scroll, from illustrious founding by Cerulus himself to the Huntsmen's sack of the place 120 years ago. The stories of Penumber's construction were much more interesting to her, as she'd heard the stories of its destruction enough times to make her sick. However, there were some elements of the destruction that seemed… out of place, especially given the reputation of a group such as the Huntsmen.

"Sir, permission to ask questions?"

"It's about Penumber, I take it?"

"Indeed, sir. The reports say that the Huntsmen slaughtered almost everyone in the Fort. I looked at the local census of the Fort… For there to be as few survivors as our records say, the Huntsmen would have to have killed hundreds of non-combatants. Women, children, the infirm, anyone not holding a weapon. Considering how the Huntsmen style themselves…"

"That can't be right?"

"To put it lightly, sir."

"Everyone's got their secrets, Consul. Most people want their dark secrets buried, and quite a few succeed. The Huntsmen being one of those few. Good publicity will get you just about anything, especially if you say you were cleaning out a cult of Grimm-worshippers. I'm sure you've read those files." Magnus' eyes narrowed and his hands tightened on the wheel as he spat out the justification the Huntsmen used for their attack.

"But killing women and children… That's inexcusable, no matter how you spin it."

"So you haven't read all of them, then. I'll spare you the effort. The Huntsmen called them 'corrupted; taken by the natural darkness that envelops all Grimm and turns them against life'." Victoria watched as Magnus grew angrier as he spoke. "Those bastards looked at us, bringing Grimm in to train the recruits, and saw a threat. Not a threat to Vale – we'd proved ourselves time and again that we could handle just about any Grimm that dared come to our walls – but a threat to them. They were scared we might be able to wipe the Grimm out. And while we still train ourselves with skills to succeed in life outside the Order, the Huntsmen don't. They specialise in fighting Grimm, so our success would mean an end to their way of life. So they came in the night, burning what they could burn and collapsing what they couldn't. They even had the gall to let our captures go. Twenty Beowolves. Five Deathstalkers. A fucking Goliath. Let's not even discuss how many Basilisks and Creeps we'd managed to bag for training. And those fucks set them free. That is why there were so few survivors. You ever seen a Basilisk loose among three-four hundred people, Consul?"

"No, sir."

"Pray you never have to. Twelve seconds and the Basilisk is the only living thing left in the area. King Taijitu doesn't even compare to that thing's killing power. So yes, they excused their slaughter of hundreds by saying 'the Grimm they housed broke free'. They conveniently left out the fact that every Cerulan that picked up a weapon was cut down without remorse. The only people the Grimm could prey on were unarmed and unprotected. You know that breach? I wish it wasn't stamped out so easily. The people of Vale could finally see what it was like for us. But instead, the Huntsmen intervened quickly. Never mind the fact that four of them were at the point of origin and, in all likelihood, were the cause of the fucking thing. Never mind the fact that their reinforcements consisted of the Atlesian Armed Forces. Nope, they're all fucking heroes. 'They saved Vale!', they cry. No, they arranged an attack and they tried to contain it. When they failed, the Atlesians and their droids came in and did their jobs for them."

"So why aren't they striking out against the Atlesians, sir?"

"It's only a matter of time, Consul. It's only a matter of time." Magnus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a dark smile creeping across his face and driving Victoria back into her reading.

A/N:

Hi reader! Just calling in to say that the update schedule for this fic has been adjusted. It will now update on Friday evenings (Saturday afternoons in Australia and New Zealand).

- Zip