"Come on, Isra! We've been had! We need to go, unless you want to be found by the police!"

"Hang on, Basil, I've almost got it. I just need a few more seconds." Isra leaned out from his position in the rafters, reaching towards a large hanging Dust crystal in the room's centre. His fingers tapped along the side of the crystal, starting it to swing. His fingers continued to push the crystal as it swung closer, until he could finally grab it. Yanking it from its string, he dropped down to the floor. "Gotcha. Alright, where's our exit, seeing as you were so intent on leaving?"

"Em and Cam already bailed. We could try the back door, I'm not sure if they've locked that down yet."

"I doubt we've got time to discuss it, so let's hope they haven't. Lead the way." Isra wrapped the crystal in a rag as Basil darted out, moving towards the back of the shop, and, if luck was willing, safety.

Isra and Basil peered around the back door before stepping out, well aware of the Vale Police Department's standard operating procedure for breaking and entering. Isra looked down at the crystal he'd looted, still wrapped firmly in its rag. "Basil, I've got an idea. Get out of sight of the door." Basil raised an eyebrow, uncertain of his friend's idea and its content, but soon discarded such thoughts, nodding and retreating into the shadows of the hallway. Confident that Basil would be able to escape, Isra unwrapped the crystal. "Now, this should make quite the distraction if I get the throw right." Isra examined the crystal for a few moments, noting the size and cleavage points present, before settling on where and how he should aim for it to land and how far away he should be when it goes off. Walking back towards the storefront, Isra shook the crystal until it glowed with a faint red light. Fire. Isra grimaced at this revelation. It had to be fire. Couldn't be lightning or something that'd give me a pretty lightshow.

Reaching the door to the storefront, Isra made one last check of the size of the crystal. Bigger than my hand. Maybe half again as big. There's no way I can get far enough to not get hurt. Isra opened the door a little, watching the bustle of activity outside the store. Good. They're not inside. Should help a little. Opening the door completely, Isra threw the crystal, aiming just beneath the front windows, and took off into the back rooms. Hearing the tinkling of the crystal shattering on the floor, he shouted for Basil to run, and braced himself for the inevitable impact. The pressure wave hit Isra first, knocking him against the wall, followed seconds later by a tongue of flame stretching down the corridor, missing him by inches. As the fire receded, Isra sighed. That was too close. Basil better have made it out. "Whatever. It's not like I'm going anywhere inconspicuously. Get me while I'm hot, Vale." He sighed, inspected the damage to his clothes, then shut his eyes and surrendered himself to sleep.

Bright lights soon woke Isra from his rest. Trying to discern their source through bleary eyes returned only silhouettes dressed in blue. Rubbing his eyes, Isra decided to start the inevitable conversation off. "Vale Police?"

The officer next to Isra responded. "Yes, we were called here about a B&E. Now it's arson. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"

"Arson? No sir. Do I look like the kind of person who goes around burning buildings?" Isra gestured to himself, still ash-covered and slightly singed from the fire.

"Look, I'll level with you. Even if the arson wasn't you, we've still got you for the breaking-and-entering. So, if you know who or what set fire to this shop, you'd do well to say so now."

"Really, officer? While I'm sure that you might think the phrase 'No honour among thieves' is a universal constant, let me assure you it isn't. On that note, though, I will admit that no person was responsible for the fire. It was the giant Dust crystal that the owner was using for lighting in there."

"The same crystal that was missing when we arrived?"

"So you noticed. Well, there comes a time in every caper where you need to cut your losses and run. Sometimes, you forget you have an incredibly volatile crystal in your possession, and when said crystal gets uncomfortably warm, you tend to throw it away, not realising that it's going to detonate rather explosively and set a shop on fire. And that is how you wind up in a predicament like mine."

"Nice story, covers a lot of holes. It's not getting you out of that arson charge, though."

"Damn. Alright, take me to the station. Do I get a phone call? Or can I just tell you who I'm going to contact and your men will arrange something?"

"I'm open to the second."

"Thank you for your open mind. I intend to contact my parents, Michaeus and Helia Feher, and inform them that I have again been detained for crimes against the state of Vale. They at least deserve to know where I've been all night."

"Michaeus Feher as in Pastor Michaeus Feher?"

"The same. Yeah, I know, what's some altar boy doing out late at night with unsavoury sorts who break into shops? It's not difficult to figure out. I'll let you have a go."

The officer shook his head, pulling out his scroll, and began, as far as Isra could tell, searching Isra's surname in the database. As his image came up on the screen, the officer chuckled. "Thought I'd seen you before. Five prior arrests, all dismissed due to either a lack of evidence or, ahem, 'intervention'."

"That's the one. Say, shouldn't we be doing this in a secure room?"

"Why? You're expressing no interest in running, we've got the place completely locked down, and there's, quick count, four other officers here, all with body-cams. You're no more or less secure here, and this conversation is no more or less admissible in court here than in an interrogation room. But that's beside the point. Stand up, hands behind your back. Isra Feher, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will-"

Isra stood, obeying the officer's orders. "Yes, I know. Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. I have the right to counsel. If I cannot arrange for or afford counsel, counsel shall be provided to me at public expense. I understand these rights as they have been read. Done. I'll wait for you to take me to the car." Isra grinned as he heard the officer grow more discontented with Isra's behaviour. Marched out through the front door of the Dust shop, Isra nodded politely at the officers who turned to look at him, until he was ushered into the squad car.

Isra looked up from the desk he'd been placed at, only to see his parents walking in, instead of the detective he'd expected. "Oh no. Mom, Dad, I can explain. Last night-" Isra was cut off by his father. "Last night you should have been inside! We put you under curfew for a reason!" Isra stood, bringing himself eye-to-eye with his father. "Yes. Last night I should have been inside. But I wasn't. Did it ever occur to you why? It wasn't because I'm some kind of reprobate, good only to populate Vale's growing underclass. It wasn't because 'I'm just a teenager going through a phase'. It was because I am bored of the church. Bored of the robes, bored of the ceremony, bored of having to get up early to be charitable to people who, while I'm sure they have good intentions, don't seem to be making any actions towards self-improvement."

Helia leapt in before Michaeus could retort. "And what would you do, Isra? Would you tell them that they aren't trying to improve themselves? Would you try and guide them? That's not the point of the Order."

"I know, Mom. The point of our Order is to provide people with the ability to improve themselves, not the drive to do so, but it's ridiculous. Our sermons, our charity… it's a nice sentiment, but it's not doing anything. And here is where we arrive at why you're talking to me, in a police interrogation room, for the sixth time in as many months, for the sixth charge of breaking and entering. I. Don't. Want. This. The Order, the good-naturedness, the turning a blind eye, I don't want to be a part of it. I know my initiation's coming up in six months' time. I know that once I'm in, I'm not getting out. So I want you to know I don't want in. Every time I've brought it up, you've both shut me down, saying 'I'll understand better when I'm older'. How old do I have to be to be able to shrug my shoulders at dozens of people showing up for free food? How old do I have to be to smile politely as we have barely a dozen people showing up to anything that doesn't involve food? When am I supposed to accept that?"

Michaeus glowed, incandescent with rage. Before he could unleash it, however, he was stopped again by Helia. "And where would you rather go, Isra?"

Isra sighed and sat down, tapping his fingers on the table. "I know you're both mad that I don't want a part of the church, so, I worked out a solution there. There are dozens of volunteers who are infinitely more qualified than I am to manage the day-to-day affairs. As for my own plans," Isra's hands curled into fists in anticipation of his parents' refusal. "I want to go to Beacon."

Isra's father, still glowing, regarded his son almost with disgust at this revelation. "You want us to get you out of trouble for the sixth time, so that you can play hero at Beacon? I fail to see what is so great and mighty about being a Hunter to you. You'll go out, you'll fight Grimm, and then you'll inevitably be killed by Grimm. That's no life."

"It's better than what I think the church can offer. There's a lot of people who were made homeless by the Grimm. Some of them even remember the time when the Cerulans would have taken up arms for such a claim. Is it so bad that I'm trying to recapture that time?"

"Tell me, Isra, have you ever read any records of that time? The Cerulans of then were never praised. We were reviled for our methods. The Hunters – the same group that operates Beacon – made sure that the Cerulans were a target of hatred. And you want to go to their school, learn their ways, all because somebody who you discarded as 'useless' not two minutes before said 'Old Cerulans would've done something'?"

"Yes. If words won't motivate somebody into doing something, then maybe doing something to restore what they've lost will. And I think the Hunters can use all the people they can get, especially if things like that Breach a couple of days back are a risk."

Isra's mother, deep in thought, shook her head faintly. "You're asking us to get an arson charge swept under the rug, Isra."

"Tell them what I told you. They let me off the hook, I'll go to Beacon, get my house in order, and they'll never have to worry about me again."

Isra's parents exchanged a glance, before leaving. Isra walked up to the door, placing his ear against the window inside it. While Isra couldn't make out any distinct words, he could recognise his mother's voice, negotiating with both his father and one of the officers. The discussion went on for a considerable period, with Isra becoming more convinced by the minute he wouldn't get his wish.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the door finally opened. Framed in it was the officer he presumed he heard outside. "I don't like this, but you've got your deal. You will be released from confinement for a probationary period to be served at Beacon Academy. In keeping with regular probation procedure, if you should happen to be justifiably tied to any criminal activity during your time at Beacon, or before you are judged sufficiently reformed, then you will be detained and the full extent of the law will be used to prosecute you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Isra nodded, raising his wrists for the handcuffs to be removed. "And the shop?"

"Your parents will pay for damages incurred."

Isra rubbed his wrists, relishing the lack of metal there. "Thank you for this opportunity. At the risk of sounding clichéd, you won't regret this decision."

The officer opened the door, ushering Isra through it. "What have I got to regret? I'm not the one who's risking a prison sentence. Especially when the alternative's Beacon."

Isra frowned at the dismissive way the officer referred to Beacon, before adopting a more neutral, if slightly chastised, expression as he approached his parents. Isra noticed his father's expression hadn't changed since they last talked. "Alright, here he is. I had the desk sergeant put in a call to Beacon as well. They just need you to confirm your son's intent, and they'll tell you where to go from there."

Isra's mother nodded, shepherding him out to the car. "You know how risky being a Huntsman is, don't you?"

"Yes, mom. I'm well aware of the risks of becoming a Huntsman. There's a few dozen books, mostly diaries, on the subject in the attic. I'm under no romantic pretences about the job. Speaking of, I'd like a key to the attic. There's a few things up there I'd like to have a closer look at, now that I know I'm going to Beacon." Isra's father, who'd been silent since they'd left, snorted at his request.

"There's only old relics up there. I don't see why you'd want to have access."

"Dad, when was the last time you went into the attic? Those 'relics' have more use than you'd think. I'm fairly certain I saw some armour up there once, and I know I could scrounge up a weapon if I looked hard enough."

"Alright, if you think you can find anything useful in that mess, I don't see why I shouldn't let you up there. You might tidy the place up, at least."

"Thanks, Dad. Is it alright by you if I go up there, Mom?"

"I'm agreeing with your father here, Isra. I don't think you'll find anything useful, but far be it for me to stop you looking."

Pulling up outside the church, Isra collected the attic key from his mother, before vanishing up the ladder into the attic, eager to track down the suit of armour he'd seen. He edged through the labyrinth of boxes, filled with books that he'd read, cover-to-cover, detailing the early Hunters, when humanity was at the brink of extinction. Whilst he searched, he could hear his parents making the arrangements for his enrolment at Beacon downstairs. What intrigued him, though, was the fact that his parents talked to whomever was on the phone in the same way they'd talk to an old friend. It was almost like he was listening to a social call, not a request for him to attend Beacon. As he listened, he narrowed down the armour's location to a single corner, stacked high with boxes and paintings. As he began climbing, he heard a sentence that seemed so uncharacteristic of his parents echoing up from below. "It's been good talking again, Ozpin, but I think we should get to business, no? We're calling in that favour." Favours? Ozpin, head of Beacon Academy, owes my parents favours?

He paused in his climb to try and get a better idea of what was being said, only to soon be returned to the real world when the stack of boxes he was climbing began to sway. Checking around him, he pushed forwards, forcing the boxes to fall away from him. As the stack collapsed, he heard a distinctive 'clang', indicating he'd found the suit he was looking for. Moving boxes away from where the clang came from, he soon pulled up a cuirass, thankfully undamaged by the collapse, and covered in a thick layer of dust. Setting it aside, he continued digging, soon emerging with the rest of the suit, with the exception of thigh armour, which was lacking from the outset.

Arranging the armour on the floor of the attic, Isra searched around to find something to match it and, ideally, cover the rather obvious gap in the armour around his thighs. Still lying amid the scattered boxes which held the armour, Isra found a set of chain mail, which seemed to match the armour he'd pulled from the same pile. Checking to see if it covered the areas his plate armour didn't, he placed the now-completed suit inside one of the empty boxes that had been scattered, before beginning his slow descent down the ladder to the main floor. Walking through the main chapel, Isra saw his parents deep in discussion with a tall, white-haired man, almost immediately recognisable as Professor Ozpin. He would have stopped to listen, except that, given his recent behaviour and decisions, he felt that his parents might not look kindly upon him eavesdropping. So he continued onwards to the storage closet, where the grease and polish was kept. Still hearing murmurs from the conversation outside, Isra nudged the closet door open slightly with his foot, trying to surreptitiously learn as much about the conversation as he could.

"So, Michaeus, Helia told me that Isra had plans of attending Beacon. I was also contacted by Vale's police force regarding using Beacon as a type of probation in light of a particularly bad case of property damage. Assuming the two events are related, you are asking me to take in somebody with several arrests for varying crimes, ranging from petty theft to arson. Can you offer evidence to suggest that Isra's behaviour will change in any noticeable way once he arrives at Beacon?"

"Look, Oz, we both know I can't provide any evidence that he'll change once he's at Beacon. All I can say is that he was, before six months ago, perfectly good-natured and obedient. Six months ago, he turned 17, and was informed of his impending church initiation."

A note of interest entered Ozpin's voice. "A 'church initiation'? And what does that entail?"

"Isra would agree to give himself entirely to the service of the church, including any and all material possessions. He is then subjected to several tests of faith. Should he fail any of those tests, he will be stripped of whatever non-clerical status he may have and exiled from the church."

"And it didn't occur to you that this very news might be what drove Isra to crime? A sort of rebellion against a system he found wanting?"

"Of course not. We wouldn't have ensured his release had we known this was his plan. He would have been exiled after the first time and that would be the end of the matter."

Isra, having paused from his polishing of the armour to listen more intently, shut the door quietly, returning to his polishing with more intensity. He had no idea that was what awaited him if he remained with the church. All he did know was that if his life was entwined with it past the ceremony, it would be all the more difficult to leave. Knowing that his choices were now to either go to Beacon or risk being stuck in poverty without a reasonable chance to receive any form of charity, he steeled himself for whatever Beacon had to offer.

When Isra left the closet, the suit of armour was dazzlingly bright, and moved without even a hint of noise or effort. Having already been aware of the rather distinctive change in the armour's shape from lacking any cuisses, he appropriated the lower half of one of the order's distinctive cerulean robes also in the closet, cutting it cleanly in the centre to allow for more freedom of movement, before adding it to his suit. Placing the finished outfit back in the box, Isra scaled the ladder leading to the attic again, this time in search of a weapon. While he knew that the scattered boxes he'd left strewn about the attic would complicate his search, he also figured that it would make searching through the stacks of boxes that much easier if half of them were already spilling their non-liquid contents out onto the attic floor.

Returning to the pile that he'd discovered his armour in, Isra hoped to find a weapon that might hail from the same origin as the armour he possessed. It didn't take him long to find one in the form of a long sceptre, still shining despite the years it had to have lain unused. Examining it revealed a small button, rising above the rest of the rod just enough that it couldn't be accidentally pressed. He looked it over for any idea of what the button would do once pressed, but found no answer forthcoming. He held the sceptre at arm's length and pressed the button, instinctively raising a hand between it and his face, should the button he pressed result in some explosive reaction.

His concerns proved unfounded, as a grinding noise emanated from within the sceptre, only for a small tube to eject itself out of the base. He put the sceptre down, ignoring it in favour of the small tube that it had produced. A quick tap revealed it to be hollow, but a careful inspection yielded no indication of what the tube may have contained. He looked in the pile for any tubes that matched the one the sceptre had ejected and found several, each containing a different variant of Dust. Well, this is new. I'd seen Dust-based weapons, but not ones that actually needed Dust to run. He picked up the sceptre and one of the tubes, filled with a white-blue powder. Ice? Doesn't matter, it's probably just a power source anyway. He inserted the tube into the small receptacle that the empty tube had fallen out of and pressed the button again.

This time, the mechanisms inside worked quietly, save for a short hiss as the base of the sceptre closed around the tube Isra had inserted. The sceptre began to vibrate in his hand as it worked, with a trio of metal pieces rising from the rounded top, with two of them folding out into a crossguard while the third continued to extend outwards, ending when it was about four times the length of the rod it protruded from. Isra inspected the new additions carefully, trying to determine exactly how this weapon managed to create something far larger than itself, only for the extension to suddenly widen, transforming the longer section into a sword's blade, albeit one with the strange addition of an edge with the same white-blue colour of the Dust he'd loaded in. So, it's a longsword with a Dust-infused blade. Not exactly a ground-breaking design. He practiced a few slashes and thrusts that his father had taught him, smiling as he tested the balance of the blade. Balanced towards the blade. Bad for blocking, great for heavy swings. This wasn't designed for fighting people. He looked around for a box which may have held the weapon before he scattered them in his search for armour, eyes settling on one box with what appeared to be a scabbard still half-inside.

Taking the scabbard out of its box and inspecting it proved confusing, as the width of the throat was only large enough to accommodate the rod without the blade, not with it. Placing the tip of the sword at the entry soon demonstrated the solution, as the blade folded back into the origin rod, allowing the weapon to fit snugly within the scabbard. As Isra's hand left the grip, the scabbard extended up, surrounding the handle, save for the button that controlled the transformations, with a trigger and stock. A rifle. Made from the scabbard. Alright, let's give this a look. He picked up the new weapon, snorting with amusement as a set of sights popped out of the weapon's body. He nudged the door to the attic shut with his foot as he set his sights on a grey brick on the opposite wall. He pulled the trigger and watched as a small blossom of ice appeared on the brick he targeted. Shoots the same Dust as what's loaded, I guess. Hope I can get the sword back. Further inspection of the 'scabbard' revealed a button just above the trigger, near where his thumb rested. A quick tap of the button caused the mechanisms holding the sword in place to release, allowing him to retrieve the weapon again. As the barrel cleared the scabbard, the blade folded back out in near-perfect synchronisation. So, we've got a stupidly high-tech weapon hiding out in a church attic that's a sword or a rifle, depending on whether it's in the scabbard. Perfect weapon for a Huntsman, if the books are anything to go by.

He rifled through the pile one final time, discovering several more tubes of Dust in varying states of fullness. He walked over to the private Dust supply that the church kept in the attic and topped off the ones that weren't filled before placing them in an empty box to carry back down. As he assessed his haul, he decided to search the pile for one final item – a belt to attach the rifle-scabbard to, so he wouldn't be carrying it everywhere. Let's see… I'm six-three, and legs are half your height, or so I've heard. That means my torso's three-one-point-five. To cross it, I'd need a belt or bandolier that's about six and a half feet long. Sounds reasonable.

His search yielded nothing approaching his expectations, but it did yield two belts with just enough length to handle what he intended once he tied them together. Slinging two protrusions on the scabbard through the free holes in the belts proved an adequate sling for the weapon, as it could support its weight without either belt breaking. Returning his attention to the box of tubes, he picked up a third belt, arrayed with a series of small containers, and placed that alongside them. He made one last scan of the pile to see if anything else caught his fancy before picking up the box, sliding the sword into the scabbard and readying himself for the descent back into the church.

Descending the ladder, carefully shifting the box's weight around to avoid dropping himself or it off the ladder, he found his mother waiting for him at the bottom, looking upwards with an air of bemusement at the sight of Isra trying to carry a box down with a rifle hanging off his back by a very improvised sling. "You've been busy. Haven't seen much of you all day."

"Figured that was for the best, seeing as Dad was how he was when we left the station."

"I'm not going to say if that was a sensible choice or not, but I think you know what I'm getting at. Find everything you needed?"

Isra nodded, indicating the box he was carrying.

"Good. The headmaster at Beacon expects you to be at the school campus by 10 tomorrow morning. Lucky you that we know important people, huh?"

"Yeah. And… thanks, for not flying off the handle like Dad did."

Helia smiled. "The church life isn't for everyone. Some people, like your father, don't quite realise that sometimes. As far as I'm concerned, as long as you don't turn crime into an occupation, it doesn't matter what you do with your life. It's yours to live. Dinner's in the kitchen, if you want any."

"Thanks. I'll probably get some rest, though. Busy day and everything."

"Don't forget to eat. There won't be home cooking at Beacon, unless they let students make their own food."

"I won't, Mom. Good night."

Victoria shifted in her seat as they drove through the checkpoint, drawing a short question from Magnus. "Need to get your armour refitted, Consul?"

"No, sir. Just… nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

Their conversation was interrupted as one of the guards approached their vehicle, asking for identification. Victoria passed her ID to Magnus, who passed it, along with his own, to the guard.

"Nervous about where we're going. Forgive my reservations, sir, but there's not a lot outside the walls for the Cerulan Order. Just Grimm, some villages and a lot of ruins."

Magnus laughed at the short list the consul gave him, thanking the guard when the IDs were returned to him. "You've got a lot to learn, Victoria. There are some things that only me and a handful of people are party to right now, and you're about to be inducted into that circle." As the gate opened, he plugged in a set of coordinates into a GPS unit and passed it to her. "On that note, it wouldn't feel right to just go showing a consul around without a little work. Tell me, where do those coordinates point? Don't press the 'find' button until I say so."

Victoria looked down at the unit in her hands, and the string of numbers on its display. "Uh… do you want me to give you an exact answer, or do you want working?"

"Whichever one makes you more comfortable."

Victoria raised an eyebrow at the Princep's peculiar turn of phrase, taking a few brief moments to decipher any hidden meaning in the statement before discarding it and returning her attention to the coordinates in front of her. "Alright… Reading these directly, the leftmost is the kingdom identifier. That's the Valish code, so it's in Vale somewhere."

"Yes, and…"

"The next number is the relative location – 100 kilometres, and the letters say north-east."

"And…"

"That gives us a sector to refer to next set of numbers to. I don't have a map handy, but the only landmark I can think of that falls in that part of the wilderness would have to be…" Victoria trailed off as the location dawned on her.

"That location would have to be…"

"Sir, this is going to sound crazy, but it's Fort Penumber, isn't it?"

Magnus smiled. "Press the 'find' button and see if you're right."

Victoria obeyed the command, watching as the small computer ran through the same process she had minutes earlier, zooming in on a nigh-featureless section of land, marred only by the large black square that Victoria recognised as the ruins of Fort Penumber – former headquarters of the Cerulan Order of Vale.

"Sir, it's a ruin. There's nothing there for us to see. Unless this is some character-building exercise-"

Magnus waved her to silence. "There's only nothing there for you to see because you're looking at it from above. From the ground, there is so much more the fort has to offer. Study up, Consul, because we're going to be there for a while."

A/N:

Hello readers!

Now the story begins in earnest. We meet one of the new prospects for Beacon, and how he came to be there. Leave reviews, follow and/or favourite if you enjoyed it and want to see more faster.

Another chapter will go up tomorrow, in keeping with what I said in the prologue's note.