Raven’s eyes rested on the blade in front of her, glistening in the moonlight, but her mind was a million miles away. She was running her sword against a whetstone with slow, deliberate motions, the familiar scrape of stone against steel the only thing echoing in her head.

Had Tai or Qrow been there, they certainly would’ve asked why Raven was grinding her sword, would no doubt have pointed out that her blade was plenty sharp enough, already honed to a killing edge since the night before she’d set out. But they’d have been missing the point. Raven wasn’t sharpening her sword for reasons of lethality, though she would never have admitted that fact, not even to herself. She sharpened it because she took comfort in the ritual. Few of her fellow students at Beacon sharpened their own weapons these days. Ranged combat was in vogue, and those few who still stuck with blades usually outsourced their maintenance to professionals, to the cottage industry in Vale that tended to the trivial needs of Huntsmen. Not Raven, of course, she would never entrust her weapon to any stranger, no matter how well-reviewed. And besides, the whetting ritual was comforting in its own right, as its own rite, soothing her nerves as she smoothed out the edge. Some prepared for battle by meditating on koans or thumbing prayer beads, or a thousand other little gestures that did absolutely nothing but calm the mind. The whetstone just happened to be hers.

Summer Rose never asked why.

The sound of a gunshot suddenly shattered the midnight calm, followed by the cries of a hundred startled birds suddenly taking flight from the forest. Raven didn’t startle at the sound of the shot, if only because she’d heard it so many thousands of times before, developed positive associations between the sound of the shot and the shooter. She simply set the whetstone aside, craning her neck to take in the sight of hundreds of birds passing overhead.

For a moment, the flock blacked out the Shattered Moon above.

“That’s one,” murmured Summer, as she lowered her weapon. Raven watched silently as Summer made some minute adjustment to her scope. It was fascinating how Summer never betrayed the faintest hint of tension, made something as crude as gunfire look as elegant as dance. She could have been folding laundry for all the effort she seemed to exert.

Raven slid off the short ledge she’d been perched on, blood red eyes surveying the distant horizon. She was standing on a stone bridge older than the Four Kingdoms combined, built by unknown hands to connect two towns no longer found on any map. If it had a name, Raven didn’t know it, only that it was the most logical chokepoint for them to make their stand. Airborne scouts had detected one of the largest Grimm packs in recent memory making its way south, towards civilization. Since even Ursa and Beowolf struggled to ford the rushing Rudhirá River, they could be expected to attempt a crossing here.

“Must have just been a scout,” Summer said, more to herself than to Raven, as she took another look down her scope. And then she turned to peer over her shoulder, brushing aside a wayward strand of hair as she did. “Any word on our gallant reinforcements?”

Raven shrugged. “They’re still trying to evacuate the outlying farmsteads,” she answered. “You know that much fear is just going to be a magnet for the Grimm.”

“Mm.” Summer’s response was perfectly neutral, betraying no hint to her feelings. Taiyang and Raven had argued that the local militias would be more useful defending the bridge than shepherding evacuees, but they’d lost that fight to the powers that be. STRQ’s two Huntresses would draw the line in the sand, while the boys babysat the local commanders. The volunteer militiamen would expedite the withdrawal to the walled cities, wordlessly thankful that they weren’t where Raven was.

Raven had seen the estimates of the approaching horde. Deep down, she didn’t blame them.

Her Scroll crackled to life, the connection weak and choked with static. “-adies. Airborne should be coming in at 0300, give or take a few minutes…. -uck-up with the… -ink you can hold out ‘till then?”

Raven didn’t bother glancing at the clock, but into those brilliant silver eyes of Summer. They told her everything she needed to know.

“Copy, Tai, 0300. We’ll try to leave some stragglers for them to clean up.”

Summer raised her eyebrows in amusement at Raven’s familiar bravado, at the face of a woman who’d sneer down at a Goliath. Like so much of Raven, Summer knew it was a mask, though one worn for so long that the actress had all but forgotten she was wearing it.

Off in the distance, beyond the crest of a low hill, inhuman noises echoed through the night, shrieks and screams and all the sounds of nightmares.

“Well, that’s our cue,” said Raven, snapping her Scroll shut as she spoke.

Summer nodded softly, tugging at her hood. “At least recon said they hadn’t spotted any Taijitu yet.”

Raven clenched her fist. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?” she griped, only partially in jest. Maidens she hated those things.

She reached up with one hand, feeling for the mask resting atop her head. She hesitated for a moment, however, seeing the smallest of scowls mar Summer’s mouth.

“You know I find that mask creepy,” she half-spoke, half-muttered, pointedly looking away from her partner.

The sounds of the rushing Rudhirá River filled the air.

“It’s just a mask,” Raven replied, a little lamely, as she moved to close the distance between her and her partner. “Just another piece of armor.”

Summer’s scowl softened. Raven paused, a half-step from Summer, the wind gently blowing over the both of them. Something sad crossed Summer’s face, and for a moment, Raven felt like a vast distance had suddenly come between them.

But then Summer shook her head with the gentlest of shakes, and shot Raven a smile so small and so fleeting that none but her partner could ever have spotted it.

With a motion as fluid as the waters beneath them, Summer sunk her fingers into Raven’s tunic, tugging the taller woman towards her. And then she closed her eyes and planted a kiss on Raven’s lips, cool to the touch.

“Stay close to me,” she ordered with a whisper, even as she spun out of Raven’s reach, readying her weapon.

Raven exhaled, deeply, as she saw the first Ursa crest the distant hilltop. She tugged her mask down, so that a monster would stare right back at it.

“Always.”

And the ground beneath her feet began to rumble.