Chapter 1: Turning pages.

Those comparing life to books miss one crucial aspect: unlike life, you really can't take a wrong turn in a book.

"Oh, there you are. Hey-hey-hey, calm down. Put the knife away, it's not going to help you."

The stranger's face was obscured by the clouds of smoke, the only discernable feature being his hair, burning as brightly as the fire outside the basement. For whatever reason, the man had no problems speaking even as the entire floor was engulfed in smoke, thick and heavy, charring the lungs and burning the eyes. Propped against the wall was a little boy holding a kitchen knife in his hand, the only emotion currently residing in his bloodshot eyes being fear. Primal, similar to that of an animal facing down a predator that had cornered it, driving the prey into making the most absurd decisions. The majority of those don't go well. Neither would this one.

"What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this?!"

The boy's voice would otherwise be incredibly high-pitched from the terror, but all the smoke in his lungs just caused this phrase to sound hoarse. Even breathing was difficult as every breath brought more smoke inside, slowly suffocating him.

"Oh, I'm sorry kid, it's really nothing personal", the stranger replied, after which he paused to think for a second and continued, "Well, maybe a little. But really it's more of a message than anything. A message that unfortunately involves your family's blood as ink."

At some point during the arsonist's rambling, all sense left the kid, causing him to charge at the figure with a knife on the ready. Just as prey loses its self-preservation instinct when there is about to be nothing to preserve, so too did the boy rush in the last ditch attempt to save his life. Or at least take someone's with him.

A desperate measure, with no chance of success; a loud "BANG" echoed through the basement and the little figure stumbled, dropping the knife and falling on the floor. His mouth opened in a cry of pain, but only a cough came out, each one bloody. Similarly, his left hand was also drenched in blood from the wound. He was finished.

"Well, I knew I was going to become a child killer today. Hey," the shooter took a step towards the boy, something that he no longer saw. "You've got any kittens nearby?"

With a panicked breath, a man sat up in his bed, the room around him almost completely dark, barring one ray of light coming down from the moon above. His heartbeat still going out of control, he grabbed his face with one hand and his left side with the other, the finger sliding across a scar. Slowly but surely he regained his conscience. Eventually, the memories of who he was and how he got here returned to him, further reducing the panic. Finally, he remembered the breathing exercises designed to calm one's thoughts, which were performed promptly. A minute's worth of exercising cooled his head and left him thinking. So… now what? I'm not falling asleep anytime soon. Meditate? Maybe stretch first?

Taking a step out of the bed and looking around, he arced his back, cracking at least a dozen vertebrae and letting out a sigh. He was in his familiar cell, containing a very minimal amount of furniture. The only thing out of the ordinary was a massive bookshelf, stuffed with books, journals, and manuscripts.

After going through the usual routine of stretching, jumping and practicing some of the most basic moves performable in a cell, the lone inhabitant of the cell sat down in the middle of the room with his legs crossed. Each consecutive breath was slower and slower, each thought heavier and heavier…

Opening his eyes yielded no results, as for kilometers around him was darkness, thick and heavy, but warm and welcoming. The sight may have been useless here, but after being here long enough, one would begin to feel the rhythm of the dark, slow and calm like waves washing the coast. And if that's not enough, he could always change the scenery. It was his mind after all. For now, though, a couple of candles sufficed to give something for the eyes to see. All that remained is to wait a little. Visitors wi come eventually. Or rather, a visitor.

For centuries people have gazed into the abyss in search of answers. In some cases, the abyss gazed back, smiled and offered to be friends. Similarly, those who pleaded the stars to show them the way have been given direction and much, much more. But those were matters of distant, distant past. Long before the four kingdoms. Long before even Dust itself. Surely no deity could survive for this long? Eventually, all divine entities lose their worshippers, turned away by the inaction of their god, if it ever existed in the first place. After that, the deity simply... ceases to exist, as there is no one to give it form through their faith. But what about those who never needed living beings to feed off their worship?

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, but did not alert him since he already knew who he was going to see. Or, rather, not see. The human silhouette approaching him consisted of pure darkness. The figure had no discernable facial features, but the overall shape of the silhouette, the way it moved and even whatever clothing it seemed to wear indicated that it was a woman. Or, at the very least, the entity before him chose to look like a woman to him. After all, who knows what goes on in the heads of beings older than gods themselves?

The feminine shape quietly laughed as the young man kneeled before her. "It's been three years, Darius, yet every night you greet me like this. Do you never get tired of this?"

"Please," he shook his head, a grin stretching across his face. "The day having to kneel once tires me out will surely be the day I retire from service… if I ever live to see it. Besides, don't tell me you don't like seeing mortals on their knees?"

"Not with that attitude I don't. If I ever feel like making someone kneel, they are mortified, not desperately trying to hold back laughter!" After the traditional exchange of snarky remarks the silhouette changed her tone to a more serious one. "I take it the nightmares don't stop?"

"You'd think they would after three years, but no."

A minute of silence was shared between the two as both were deep in thought, each thinking of different matters. At some point, the shade broke the silence, her calm voice echoing in the emptiness they were standing in. "The nightmares can wait. You're spending most of your nights here anyway. Do you have any more questions for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he nodded. "Relating to my imminent departure to Beacon. Why? I was under the impression the academies were founded with the explicit intent that we wouldn't have to throw more of our men against the Grimm. And does it necessarily have to be me? Do we not have someone… less conspicuous?"

"Of course we do, Darius," the woman shrugged. "Many of them, in fact. I won't be the one reminding you what your Order is all about. But I don't want someone else, I want you to be there. Is that truly so much to ask?"

"I obey your every word," Darius bowed his head. "Yet if the reason as to why you want me there is what I think it is…" he sighed, an uneasy feeling weighing him down. "Then I can only trust your judgement that I'm ready."

"You are as ready as you can be hiding here, away from the world," stepping a bit closer, the silhouette reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. "I think it is high time you got out there and… made a statement. In a way only your family could."

"I am very concerned what it is you mean by that. And for the record: I truly am not looking forward to the reception I'm going to get there."

"Surely you realize you won't be the only one who will have it rough there, Darius?" the intensely feigned naivete in the woman's tone only further served to mock him. "Unlike those, however, you have the option of completely avoiding this by simply changing your name for the time being. Option you have declined multiple times. You have sworn to avenge your family and redeem its name yet you are unwilling to make the first step. Maybe it's time to choose: do you abandon your legacy and start writing your own, with all the benefits and hardships that it brings, or do you reclaim it? But then again… Haven't you made this choice three years ago?"

Each word of the woman caused Darius' shoulders to slowly slump. When the silhouette finished talking, he closed his eyes. He had nothing to refute the being's argument. He never had. Why does she always have to be right? Alternatively, why am I being such a wuss?

"I understand. Thank you."

"You always do. That's what I like about you," suddenly, the woman embraced her follower in a motherly gesture, not something Darius witnessed all too often, but not a complete novelty for him. After carefully taking her hands off his shoulders, he replied:

"You're very good at explaining things. I'd be surprised if somebody persisted in their ignorance after talking to you on the subject."

"You would be. Not everyone is willing to accept the knowledge I offer. But sometimes ignorance is bliss. Now then. Since we're done with pep talk for at least a month or so, what would you like to learn?"

"Actually…" the young man paused for a second, trying to find the right words, "I would like to be left alone for the time being. Take a look at my progress, so to speak. Maybe wallow in self-pity over the choices I've made in the last seven years. It is my last day here, after all."

"You can't spend your life regretting something you can't change and doing damage control, Darius."

"I've managed, somehow."

"I wouldn't call what you had three years ago a life. I will leave you for now, but as today's lesson, I want you to consider this: at some point, there will be no wrongs to right. What will you do then? What will you live for? As of now, you're actively running away from the only goal you have in life, which is understandable, considering what would follow if you do accomplish it. Maybe it's time to set new goals?"

The woman turned around and began walking away from Darius, eventually fading into the black abyss. Left alone with his thoughts, he just stood there for a minute, then sat down and whispered to himself:

"But what kind of goals?"

The boy blinked a couple of times and closed his eyes, drifting off into the memories…

The four kingdoms of Remnant have names beyond the ones they bear officially. While there are combat schools scattered throughout the world, very few can compare to those in Vale, which is why it is oftentimes called Remnant's Bulwark by the more poetic individuals, gathering and training this world's protectors, standing guard against the everlasting onslaught of Grimm.

Vacuo, or the Charred Plains, where the sun has turned the majority of the surface into a smoldering desert, forcing the population to build their civilization underneath the earth or around rare oases, yet also allowing massive forests to grow up, where the trees are replaced by solar arrays, collecting energy that constitutes for about half of this world's electricity needs. More and more arrays are built every day, yet the desert does not seem to end…

Mistral, the fiery soul of Remnant, a land where the two opposites manage to coexist in peace, and the greatest volcanoes can be found on the coast of an endless ocean, creating breathtaking views. Mistral as a whole is peppered with volcanoes, each of them creating swaths of fertile earth and attracting every assortment of wildlife. It is also home to the dominant religion of Remnant: the Church of Light. For what is fire other than a physical manifestation of Light, repelling the darkness around us and lighting the way forward? And what is a greater source of light other than the Sun? Truly, a wondrous body, like a magnificent father…

Lastly, there is Atlas, the city which never sleeps. Every technological advancement, every bit of information either originates or eventually finds its way into Atlas, and the government makes sure that it is properly guarded, whether through cyber-security, or a corporeal one. One of the most notable things about Atlas is its skyline, much higher than that of any other kingdom. Hundreds of skyscrapers litter the landscape, blotting out the sun and creating a city in the middle of the sky. Yet what of those that happen to be in the shade?

Like every other kingdom, Atlas suffers from a phenomenon called "slums". Home to those that cannot afford a living in the city, building on its outskirts, weighing down on the budget and dragging the economy down, adding another problem on to the list for the city's administrators. Unlike the other kingdoms, however, Atlas' slums are even more nightmarish to inhabit and are even harder to escape, likely trapping those within them for the rest of their lives. Every problem that slums in other cities have is multiplied by the fact that there is barely any sunlight, and the spots that somehow remained out of the grasp of the Atlesian architects are fought for, and those battles are bloody. Every day is a battle for survival, every day is a battle for a spot beneath the sun. Very few survive to bathe in its glow.

It is there that two young boys, one no older than eleven and the other about fifteen, were conversing, surrounded by mud and rubbish cast aside by society and even the inhabitants of this Light-forsaken place. One of the boys was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted from a sprint, a loaf of bread in one hand and a knife in the other. His hair was dirty and completely messed up, yet underneath a layer of dirt and grease a glint of gold could be seen. Shock was easily recognizable in his gray eyes; even at this young age, they already bore a jagged edge, similar to that of the knife in his other hand, stained with fresh blood. He drew another breath and tossed the loaf to the other boy, a Faunus with grey hair and bright green eyes, complete with a vertical pupil. He caught the object with ease and a very cat-like grace, one that reminded the younger boy of a tiger, ready to pounce at the target. The Faunus then took a big bite of it, not even bothering to fully chew it and hastily swallowing it.

"Damn Darius, you look roughed up. Did a great job, though. Didn't expect you to get anything done with that tiny shank of yours."

The small boy was still breathing rapidly, trying to catch his breath. He then spoke with a trembling voice:

"Dusk, w-w-we should get out of here."

"What? Why?" the smile vanished from the other boy's face as he handed the loaf back to Darius, who didn't even bother to take it, still under the effects of an adrenaline rush. "Who'd you off to get this?"

"I didn't off anyone," he answered with anger in his voice. "I had to take it from Fenrir's gang, I scooped his eye out in the process."

"What the fuck man?!" Dusk screamed in terror, "Have you fucking lost it? He's going to fucking murder us when he gets there! Why did you do that?!"

"Because I couldn't find any food, you moron! Or did you really think you could find an untouched piece of bread in this shithole?! I'm telling you, we gotta run! Why the fuck am I even the one searching for food when you're the fucking Faunus with your sense of smell and whatever the fuck else you guys have?"

"I can't smell anything because this whole place reeks of shit and dead bodies, like we're about to become!"

Darius sighed in dismay and covered his face with one of his palms as he watched Dusk scurry around, seemingly driven mad by the prospect of imminent death. He, himself, took a look at the hunk of bread laying on the pile of wood nearby. The boy's head was uncomfortably empty, almost like his brain refused to generate new thoughts as death neared. For some reason, he was not afraid for his life. Life? That's not what I would call this. He had nothing left to lose, nothing worth living for. He had no home, no family, no future or hope.

Wonder what it's like being dead?

His philosophic exercises were interrupted by the sound of a mob converging on their location, making Dusk shriek in horror and Darius twist his knife in his hand for a firmer grip. Slowly turning around, he saw a crowd of homeless bums just like him, smiling in expectation of the upcoming slaughter. Ashen Fenrir had killed for much smaller things, always in the most brutal ways imaginable. A missing eye would not go unpunished.

The mob split in two, letting their leader come forth. Long waving hair of grey color, fiery eye with a vertical pupil, canine ears, muscles rippling underneath a sleeveless vest, long fingers with claws coming out of them: Fenrir's look was very much imposing, even as a slumlord. Darius did not know why he was in the slums instead of in some kind of secret base of the White Fang. He couldn't be bothered to give a shit.

"Tell me, kid," he said, his voice sounding more akin to a bestial roar than a human voice, or even Faunus. "Was this loaf worth it? And you, Dusk? See what you get for cooperating with humans? Especially this kind."

"Man, please, sorry, we didn't mean it!" Dusk was desperately trying to salvage the situation, while the other boy just stood silently, a knife in his clenched fist and void in his mind. "Look at this little moron! He doesn't know any better! Please… just leave us alone?"

"Dusk, Dusk, Dusk…" Fenrir quietly laughed, each exhale accompanied by a subtle barking sound, "You're a good boy, trying to protect those you're responsible for, even as... despicable as this one. But this…" he pointed at a white bandage covering his right eye, marred by a large bloodstain. "Is going too far. I've got a reputation to uphold, after all. But, I like you. Tell you what: don't interfere, and I will forget that you were involved at all. Might even take you into the gang."

Darius looked at his friend, his head still blank. As he watched Dusk turn away and cower into the corner, trembling from fear, another lone thought crossed his mind. And now you're alone. Not that it's going to matter.

"Good boy," Fenrir smirked and pointed at Darius. "Teach him some respect."

Somehow seeing the mob inch closer to him did not instill fear in his heart. Instead, he felt something else growing in his heart. Losing his parents, living in a nightmare for half a year and now being abandoned by the only person he trusted seemed to have finally shattered his mind. Anger, clouding his thoughts and scorching his heart, filled the void in his head, gave him new purpose, as well as yet another thought. Fuck it. Fuck you, fuck Dusk, fuck everybody!

He blinked and looked around; the return of his consciousness caught him off guard. Around him were seven bodies, their faces twisted in an expression of utter terror. That is, if they still had something to express it with. One of the corpses was missing both its eyes and a lower jaw, staring at the sky with empty eye sockets, bloodied fingers reaching for the two black pits. The other was missing his throat, still spraying blood over his chest, pieces of spinal cord glittering in the light of a street lamp. Others were murdered in equally horrific ways. Taking a look at his hands, Darius did not see any blood: instead, he saw his palms enveloped in a thick black mist, flowing down his arms and dissipating before reaching the floor. He turned around and glanced at Dusk, who looked like he just saw an Ursa. When he caught his gaze, he shrieked yet another time and jumped away from the little boy with a scream:

"Don't come near me, you fucking monster!"

"Dusk? What happened? Did I… kill them?" For some reason, Darius felt he already knew the answer.

"Yes, you sick fuck! Don't touch me!" Another jump and suddenly Dusk was out of sight, leaving Darius alone on the street, a lone lamp shedding light on the scene. He took another look at his hands. Both of them were covered with thick red liquid. Dropping the knife on the ground, the boy slowly sat down, familiar blankness setting in. He didn't know how long he sat there, watching the bodies. At some point, a raspy voice reached his ears:

"Hey, kid. You alright over there?"

As the darkness faded away, Darius found himself in the same room he was when he started meditating, cold sweat pouring down his body. This was way too vivid to be comfortable. Why, Dusk, why?.. Standing up, he turned his head to the left, looking at his reflection in the medium-sized mirror. Same blonde hair, same grey eyes. Lowering his gaze, he observed the results of seven years of training. He might not have achieved the same level of muscle that Fenrir had, but the only thing in his room that could reasonably compete with the hardness of his muscles was the table made of ironbark, standing next to him. Am I comparing myself to Fenrir now? I need a shower.

After a shower and a stretch, it dawned upon him that it was already morning, meaning it was about time to pack up and leave for Vale. Hm. Reliving memories took slightly longer than expected. I'm not sure if I want to continue doing this. Before he started, he pulled his laptop out of a table drawer and checked the mail. Nothing new. Scrolling down to find earlier emails, he found one from wizardofozpin . The headmaster had definitely honed his punmanship. What kind of an overly witty individual names himself WizardofOzpin? Headmasters at Beacon, obviously!

The email was, as follows:

From: Pr. Ozpin, executive Headmaster of Beacon Academy

To: Darius Silva

Mr. Silva,

Your application to join the ranks of the Beacon Academy has been reviewed and accepted. You are expected to arrive at the compound of the Academy no later than September 1 of this year. However, I would like to meet with you personally regarding the matters of your current… affiliations. Would a meeting on August 30th in someplace private suit your schedule?

With regards,

Professor Ozpin

Under that, an answer:

From: Darius Silva

To: Pr. Ozpin, executive Headmaster of Beacon Academy

Professor,

It would be an honor to meet you in person. Name me the place and the time and I will arrive there.

With utmost respect,

Darius Silva.

Darius looked at the date out of pure habit. It was August 22nd. The journey to Vale shouldn't take longer than a couple of days. I should be able to find somewhere to store my stuff, and then I've got a day or two to explore the city. Maybe even come across some of my future… Colleagues? Teammates? Friends? Friends will work.

Within ten minutes his meager belongings, consisting mostly of books, a couple sets of normal and a singular set of formal clothing was carefully piled up within one suitcase. Sleeping or meditating in armor was entirely possible and, at times, inevitable, but it was still combat gear and should be used as such. Do they even have any events with a formal dress-code? The only thing that comes to mind is some kind of prom. But hey, I got space. Wouldn't hurt. Now, where's my armor at?

He turned to the wardrobe for one last time. The armor of the Servants of Dark was before him, waiting to be donned. For all the years of training Darius had gotten more used to this armor than to normal clothes, even if the armor itself could serve as a decent garment. First, a nanofiber vest, modern analogues of chainmail. It would not stop a bullet or a Deathstalker's stinger, but it would prevent the wearer's guts from falling out because an Ursa swiped in their general vicinity, with an added benefit of keeping the owner fresh in the heat and warm in the cold. Just a great piece of equipment.

Next, a breastplate. Normally, it would have the crest of the Order engraved on it, but the last thing Darius wanted was more attention. For normal foot soldiers, the breastplates were heavier and provided full torso protection at the cost of mobility. Darius, on the other hand, opted for a more mobile fighting style; as such, isr chest piece was made of lighter and stronger alloys and was really more of a chestpiece interlinked with flexible plating to cover his torso. Although beyond practical and fairly sturdy as far as armor went, it, inevitably, paled in comparison with a full suit of armor. Still, it sufficed. It's not easy to hit the side of a constantly moving target, especially if the opponent couldn't see it. Furthermore, the insides of the breastplate were packed with combat stims, allowing very quick injections in the time of need.

After the breastplate, the exo-boots followed. A marvel of engineering, they could break falls from up to thirty meters, as well as increasing the wearer's speed substantially. Additionally, they greatly amplified the impact of a kick, allowing for more options in combat. A simple cape allowed to conceal the entirety of the battle attire while maintaining a snappy appearance, complete with a hood.

Lastly, the mask. Useful not only for intimidation, it also provided tactical UI, environment and enemy analysis and allowed to exert control over the various subsystems in the boots and the breastplate. The only piece of armor Darius didn't put on. This one is reserved for combat missions only.

Another look at the wardrobe. Only one thing left. Or, to be correct, two things. The weapons. Today's latest trend in the weapon department is weapon shift, something Darius was all too familiar with. A gun-blade? Hammer that is also a grenade launcher? Never a problem. The question is: why trap the spirit of steel in an endless array of transistors and microprocessors, when it is more than happy to serve even without it? The two scythes lying before Darius were forged by him personally and enchanted by the first magisters of the Order with the best Dust it could find. And it could find plenty. Those blades could change without any electricity or levers. All it takes is to really wish for it to happen…

Obeying their master's will, the two scythes immediately merged into one massive scythe with far greater reach and a blade on each side of the staff. Darius took one last look at the room that has been his shelter for the past seven years. Soon, someone else will move in and begin their training as well. The cycle will continue. The man left the room and headed downstairs. Before departure, there was but one loose end to tie up.

"Master Lin?"

An old man with hair of pure white color turned his head, a sad smile on his lips. Darius knew many ways to call him. Forgetful. Unforgiving. Evil bloody bastard, even. But definitely not uncaring or weak, despite his looks. Master Lin had been his mentor and his father for the past seven years. He was the one who taught Darius how to control his emotions when he was overwhelmed by them. The one who showed him how to embrace the Dark instead of fearing it as most people do. The one who trained him from a whelp who barely knew how to swing a knife into an Avatar in the making. He was also the one Darius was probably never going to see again. Death is something that the Lady of the Dark has very minimal control over, unlike her name would imply. Especially when this death is long overdue. The old man turned to Darius and spoke in a raspy voice:

"Hello, Darius. Off to Beacon?" The smile was still there, as well as the sadness. The feeling was mutual on both sides.

"You know why I do this."

"Yes, I do. Sit down. Let's have breakfast first. If you want, consider this my last will. It is unlikely we will meet again."

Lin's words sounded less like a suggestion and more like an order, and Darius knew better than to disobey his mentor's orders. Besides, Lin was right. He didn't have much time and there were still things that needed to be said. Thus, he put the suitcase down and took a seat in front of him.

"I hope you're not trying to dissuade me from going."

"I am an old fool, Darius, but I'm not a big enough fool to dispute our Lady," the smile lost some of its sadness and, instead, gained a slightly ominous tone. "I'm not here to question her decisions. I'm here to question yours."

"I have made several decisions that were mine and not hers. None of them turned out well for me. Whichever do you mean?"

"Your rage. You know it's still there. You cannot ignore it, Darius. Deep within you, it stirs, striving to break free. It is not going anywhere. I have taught you to quell it, and your oath allows you to direct it at those responsible instead of everyone around you, but eventually you will have your revenge. What then? You know that the anger is not going to vanish into oblivion. It is the fire which forms the shadow that you draw from. It is an integral part of you; something that defines you, even as you have to repress it because it will otherwise destroy you."

"Your point being?" It would seem that pep talk is far from over.

"My point is that vengeance will not bring you peace!" Lin's voice grows louder. "This is the kind of fire that only grows hungrier the more you feed it! Unless you plan to drive a blade through your heart after completing your service to our Lady, which, by the way, may easily be something you'll have to dedicate your entire life to, find something that will drive you to create and preserve instead of destroying! Do you understand?!"

"Yes, master! I do! We have gone over this topic more times than I can remember; why do you have to remind me again?! Of all the things you could have said to me right now you chose this?!" Darius was not making it easier, raising his voice as well. First she and now he chimes in. Why now? He said he didn't have much time and THIS is what he decides to spend it on?! Why does everyone feel like patronizing me today?!

"Because it is important, you nitwit! I don't want to watch you from the abyss and see seven years of my life go down the drain, as well as who knows how many years of yours!"

A burning sensation rose in Darius' chest. Shutting his eyes and exhaling sharply temporarily emptied his head of all thoughts, leaving a numb feeling. A slow breath was drawn on both sides of the table.

"Please, Master. I understand and I'm grateful for what you have done for me. But I am not the child I once was. I'm slightly smarter and understand slightly more. Additionally, I have a brain capacity larger than that of a cat. I do not need to be reminded of it every week. Is there anything else you would like to say for it not to end on such an unpleasant note?"

"Larger than a cat, you say?" Lin flapped his eyes in shock. "Why didn't you say earlier?! I could've taught you so much more!"

"You don't sound like a dying man, you know," Darius pointed at the old man having a ball at his expense.

"You don't sound like you're particularly worried or saddened by this," he replied right back.

"You got me there."

"Ungrateful bastard."

"Guilty as charged."

"Why did I even train you?!"

"To make snarky remarks as I leave you forever?"

"Correct!" The duo erupted in laughter. A handshake was exchanged, followed by a hug.

"On a slightly more serious note. I believe in you, Darius," Lin's eyes were staring straight into Darius', "The only reason I get on your nerves so much is because I believe you have a bright future before you. I believe you can restore your family's legacy in its full glory, but without the darker spots in its history. But nothing of it is going to happen if you decide that your rage is what drives you and your vengeance be your ultimate goal in life. This is the path to destruction. In this case, you would be no better than Grimm. May the Dark shine your way."

"May she guide us unto understanding. Thank you." Darius smiled. "I'm sure she will."

As Darius was sitting in the airship headed for the city of Vale, a million thoughts were in his head. What was going to await him in Beacon? What exactly did Ozpin want with him? Who were going to be his new friends, and whether they would be at all? However, if there was one thing he was not worried about, it was his fate. I have no idea what my part in this is supposed to be, but I can, at least, rest assured it won't be in vain. I guess that's something.