Young Writers Society

Before Humans were Dust, and before Dust, Grimm.

In the beginning, Mankind was created from Dust, new and innocent to a world wanting to kill them at every twist and turn. Creatures named Grimm were Mankind's worst enemy, beings with no soul and only a bloodlust for humans.

But we prevailed. At first, survival was unlikely, but Humans found out a usefulness of Dust. This mysterious substance allows whoever has it powerful abilities over elements and astonishing capabilities. With the help of Dust, Mankind was able to go from merely surviving to prospering. Technology advanced extremely fast and strongholds were created all throughout the land. Governments were formed, but still the ever-lingering threat of the Grimm pushed every chance it could get.

It was this persistent threat that Huntsman and Huntresses were born. It is said that Grimm were only monsters, beings with no soul. and all animals had souls. These Hunters, along with the help of Dust in the early ages, could tap into their own soul and unlock their aura, a powerful shield allowing them to be stronger than a normal person. Further refinement of these auras created Semblances, an extension of one's natural ability and aura into something unique.

You are a Hunter-in-Training. Welcome to Beacon Academy.



History in Remnant is often divided in two by an event: The Great War. Technology had flourished before The Great War 60 years ago, allowing for transcontinental communication and even flight, with the aid of Dust.

No one truly knows why the Great War happened, but it was often said that revolutionary ideas mixed with a long-aging form of government caused the common people to revolt. Because of the Great War, miltiaries (besides Atlas') dissolved into police forms and smaller militias, while Huntsman and Huntresses became the first act of defense against the Grimm. In the wake of the peace, Huntsman Academies were set up in each of the four Kingdoms. Atlas in the North formed Atlas Academy, unique in that it was connected with the country's military. Vacuo in the West formed Shade Academy. Mistral in the East Formed Haven Academy. Vale formed Beacon Academy.





Huntsmen and Huntresses are elite warriors dedicated to slaying the creatures of Grimm and whose duty is to "uphold the peace" of their world. Following the Great War's conclusion on the island of Vytal, the occupation of Huntsman was created alongside the Huntsman academies. These academies were charged to train the elite warriors whose role was to safeguard mankind's future.




They are described as "creatures of destruction" and lack a soul; hence, they are unable to use Aura. They are also drawn to feelings of negativity; such as envy, sadness, loneliness, and hatred; often congregating towards the source of these emotions.

Read more about them Here



Auras are the physical manifestation of a soul by experienced fighters. This is the Hunstmen and Huntresses' most crucial ability. By unlocking use of their Aura, these fighters can use their aura to give them strength, shields, and even healing to minor injuries. Experienced Aura users can then unlock their Semblance.

Semblances are an extension of one's aura, allowing them to have some kind of powerful property, something that often reflects their personality. Examples of Semblances are speed, glyphs, polarity, and clones.

Dust is a naturally occuring propellant, used in almost all forms of life in Remnant in current day. There are forms of Dust that reflect elements, and Huntsmen can use Dust to fuel their regular weapons or even their Semblances, making them stronger.

Character Slots:

Midori Foster - AllisontheWriter
Ginger Saffron - ScarlettFire
Ivory Absinthe-Aero - Steggy
Cordovan Cardinal - Jhinx

Haul Aeddan - Pompadour
Amethyst Halya - SpiritedWolfe
Venus Mead - Craz
Nero Akane - TheSilverFox

Perse Verence - Kaos
Mauve Gridelin - ScarlettFire
Glass Brunswick - Lareine
T - Reserved by Auxiira

"-and even to this day, we really do not know much about Dust, no matter how much we use it in today's society. It's origins are still unknown." Perse shut the book she was holding, leaving a noise in the air. "Now, can anyone tell me what scientists believe Dust is?"

A young boy with unkept ginger hair in the middle of the classroom raised his hand. "Yes, Roman?"

"It's believed to be a naturally occuring energy propellant in the world."

"Good, good. But, what does that mean? Energy propellant seems like a vague concept to me." She paced behind her desk. "Well, in its natural form, Dust allows us to manipulate energy, to bend it to our will. Many early civilizations believed that we were born out of Dust, and were the first beings not to be born from Shadow.

"Dust itself allowed us an advantage against the Grimm, and slowly we began to progress with great strides with the guidance of the energy. When refined, Dust allows the ability to power engines, create electricity, and even modify our weapons for us to take advantage of. Now, some believe that Dust's energy is limitless. The only the blocking us from taking full advantage of it is merely our imaginations. Those who..." The door in the back of the hall opened. All of her students were present today. She blinked and continued. "T-those who have unlocked the full potential of Dust may very well be the harbingers of a new age."

Perse noticed a figure enter the large classroom, cloaked in shadow. Her heart rate rose, but she cleared her throat. "Next week we will actually start hands-on with some Dust. You will get to bring your weapons to class," she picked up her gaunlets, barely stealing a glance at the figure in the corner, "but, if you try anything funky, I will call the Headmistress. Just because you have a weapon doesn't mean you can destroy whatever you want." She put her gauntlets on. "Class dismissed. See you all next week." Her speech had left wary looks in her students' eyes.

They walked out the door with their belongings, filing out as quickly as possible. The figure in the back of the room did not move. "Visitors are not allowed in the classrooms during a lecture." The figure said nothing. "If you're looking for a fight, there are stadiums for that downto-"

A chill laugh cut the tension. "I am not looking to harm you. If I were, it would not be here. It would be when you're most vunerable. And you would not put up a fight as I slit your throat."

Perse coughed, her throat suddenly dry. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I think you may." A lady stepped out of the shadows, her silver eyes piercing Perse with a knowing stare. "Professor Perse Verence, what an interesting name. Did you come up with it all by yourself?"

"Look, if you're going to insult me, you can just leave." Perse felt the veins in her temple tightening.

Perse. You mind if I call you Perse? Of course, no one has called you that in a very long time. You have grown up quite a bit. Left your history behind. Team Pomegranate, what a... unique name."

"Okay then." Perse stuck her head out the door, making sure all of her students were gone. She shut the door, keeping a wary eye on the person. "How do you know that name?"

The woman ignored Perse's question and went on, her eyes piercing, "There are many local legends in Mistral, but there was one that caught my eye. Such a powerful group, this team of up-and-coming Huntsmen and Huntresses going the dark route, doing things at night."

"What kind of things?" Perse took a step back and clenched her fists. How did she know about what they did? She tried to cover up their past to the best of her abilities.

The woman sighed, her dress shimmering in the evening light. "Oh nothing much. It's just rumors mostly. But you know how rumors float. In fact," she smiled softly, and Perse had never seen a gesture so innocent turn dark by someone like that, "a rumor popped up of some alarming robberies nearly four years ago that were desperately buried.

"On paper, you can erase what you wrote with a pencil, but it never truly goes away. It still leaves an impression. I just happened to pick up on those faint outlines." The lady smirked softly, eyeing Perse. "Like when you killed that guard because he saw you and if you didnt--you would've been caught." the words hit her. She didn't want anyone to know about that. Nor did she want to remember.

"I'm not like that anymore. I gave up that life long ago." Perse said, her eyes always seeming to find the woman's eyes under the cloak. Perse tried not to look because they were so tempting and alluring. In her head she denied it. Something about this lady demanded your full attention.

"I want to strike up a deal with you." she held up a picture of Perse and the rest of her teammates. Team Pomegranate. Tears welled up in Perse's eyes of the memories she tried to suppress so much. Mauve. Glass. Teniz. She loved them all so much, but hated what had to happen. "Your team is broken apart, Perse. They're separated, hurt, and dying, without you. Team Pomegranate could have been something amazing, Perse."

"Just tell me what you want." Perse cut in.

"I want to bring Team Pomegranate back together, Perse." The lady brushed past Perse, softly handing her the picture. "These aren't just your teammates, this is your family, Perse. They need you, and you need me. Together, we can do something special." the voice broke into her head. She denied that she liked the sound of her name on the lady's lips. It felt like it floated off her lips.

"And what if I refuse?" Perse whispered, her eyes stuck on the picture. She remembered when they took this. It was the last day of their third year, right after they won the Vytal festival. Spirits were high in all of them, and Perse wanted to do something special, something they would never forget. We would have this picture forever, just like how we would be together forever. Back when we believed nothing would break us apart. How stupid we were.

"You know you don't want to. You can't hide how you feel. Accept it."

Perse shut her eyes, blocking out the memories, blocking out this mysterious woman's alluring voice. She should have called security. But something stopped her. "I have a life now. I can't just up and abandon what I have here." She turned to the lady. "What would happen if I went through with this?"

"A promotion, of course. Work with me, and you can get a spot at Beacon Academy." She sighed softly. "Work with me Perse, and it would be benifical for the both of us. You would get the job you always wanted, and I would get the best Huntsmen and Huntresses in Remnant."

Perse hesitated. It sounds too good to be true. "What do you want with us?"

She motioned to the faded picture. "What do you see when you look at that? Me, I see four aspiring young Huntsmen who thought they could take on everything Remnant had to throw at them and still end up the heroes. They wanted to make a difference."

The woman smiled mischeviously. "I want the same thing as you, Perse. I want to change the world."

Mauve hissed, face twisted into a grimace of pain, as the young man leaning over his arm adjusted something. There was a sudden pinch and then it began to burn. He nearly ripped his arm away from the other man, but he was there to get it fixed, not to break it more. If he didn't let the man tinker away, he could lose the entire prosthetic limb. And that was something he didn't want to happen. He'd paid a lot of money to replace his arm; he didn't want to do that again.

"Watch it," he growled, restraining the urge to smack the idiot over the head. The young man grunted and readjusted where he was tinkering. The burning eased and Mauve leaned back in his seat, relieved. He'd been robbing a store when it had all gone wrong; some upstart youngling had decided that shooting at him was a brilliant idea. It hadn't been. Suffice to say, Mauve had not appreciated the bullets to his arm--or the one to his shoulder. "I should have dodged," he added lowly, staring up at the roof of the building. "I hate bullets."

"I'm sure they hate you, too, sir," the mechanic muttered, and adjusted something else. This time a sharp jolt of pain shot up into his shoulder. Mauve ground his teeth together, trying to keep the noise that wanted to escape inside. "Just a little more--the bullet hit...." The man's voice trailed off, his hands falling away.

"Oh, don't stop on my account."

Mauve's head came down and swung towards the door. A figure stood in the doorway. He wasn't quite sure if they looked male or female, but judging from the voice, it was a woman. Silver eyes met his, the only things he could make out in the shadowed doorway. He frowned at the woman.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Mauve made to rise, but the mechanic at his side pressed him back down into the seat.

"If you move too much, your arm is going to lock up," the mechanic warned him.

"Wonderful. You'll make a great listener, Mauve. Do you mind if I call you Mauve?" A shrill chuckle echoed from the shadows.

Mauve snorted. "Whatever you want," he snapped, tone irritated now. He settled back against the seat more and gestured with his human arm. The mechanis began tinkering again. "Just tell me what you want."

A figure emerged from the shadows. Most of her appearance was covered by a brown hood and cloak, but he could make out stark blue hair struggling to be contained within the hood. "You don't know me, but let me tell you a bit about myself." She stopped next to the mechanic. "Do you mind?" she asked, gesturing to the seat.

He gave her an odd look, then his gaze darted to the mechanic. The mechanic stared back at him, apparently deliberately not looking at the woman standing over him. Mauve's gaze narrowed. "Leave us."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather--"

The woman cleared her throat, a soft sound that stopped the mechanic in his tracks. She leaned in, her face only a mere inch from his ear and whispered something. Mauve didn't really care what the lady was saying; he could only hear faint sounds, nothing intelligible.

As she was speaking, though, the mechanic's eyes slowly widened. She stopped for a moment, then murmured one last thing, and almost instantly all the color drained from his face. Mauve thought his eyes would fall out of their sockets, as comically wide as they were.

The mechanic stood abruptly, stammering out something extremely formal before casting Mauve a glance and darting out the door. Mauve stared after him, then looked down at his partially fixed arm. He sighed and turned his gaze on the woman. "Happy?" he asked, tilting his head. "He's probably going to be too terrified to come back here once you're gone."

The woman sat on the chair next to him, a cold smile plastered on her face. "I'm sure you'll find a replacement, Mauve."

He snorted. "Are you kidding?" he asked, then waved the question away. She didn't need to answer that. "It was hard enough finding him, let alone someone else who's more willing to fix this stupid thing."

The lady tapped the arm, three quick clicks. "So I've heard. You have quite a reputation around here."

Mauve snorted again. "Good or bad? I could believe both."

She looked clear in his eyes. "You tell me, Mauve Gridelin." She grinned softly. "That arm must have a story behind it. I love me a good story." Her intentions were clear.

He winced and turned away, avoiding her gaze. "It's not a story I'd like to relive," he muttered, his good arm absently reaching up to touch his shoulder. "I'd rather not tell it, thank you very much."

Her look didn't waver. "Your actions tell a different story." Suddenly, she smiled, looking away. "Stories reveal themselves to those who seek them, Mauve. No matter how much one tries to bury them, eventually all mounds corrode." She tapped his arm again, more forcefully this time.

Mauve sucked in a sharp breath, jerking away from her. "[i]Don't[i] do that."

"You see, I've seen some prosthetics, but none as advanced -or sensitive- as this one." She reached at his arm, sharp nails digging into the metal like it was hot butter.

"Poor craftsmanship, then," he grunted, brushing her hand away. He turned to fix her with a meaningful look. "Why are you here?"

"Someone told me a story not too long ago about a team in Mistral of powerful Huntsmen and Huntresses. Their stories were just like the rest: young people full of hope and ambition. But that ambition turned... sour." She met his gaze evenly, her face void of emotion. "This particular group turned dark." A picture slipped into his robotic hand.

With every word, Mauve felt a sense of growing dread. He looked down at the picture and felt his stomach drop away. He recognised the faces of his three friends, one of which was somewhere around the gang's headquarters. He wasn't sure where--his father had separated them some time ago. He swallowed and closed his robotic fingers over the picture.

"And what's that got to do with you?"

"I know your history, Mauve. I also know that, despite what others think, you care for those three people in that... now ruined picture." She rested a hand on Mauve's arm gently. "I want you to join me. I plan on reuniting you with your team."

Mauve swallowed, still staring down at the now-crushed photo in his hand. She was right. He did care for his old teammates, very much. Mauve stared down at the picture for a very long time, before he let it fall to the floor. "I'll have to think about it," he said, looking towards the door, his expression curiously blank. "Leave now. I'd like my arm fixed before it seizes up."

The woman stared at him for a moment, seemingly studying him. Then she stood up. "Very well, I shall leave you to your thoughts." She moved to leave, only stopping right before the exit. "Mauve, when you join us, know this; the past is the past. My sight is set on the future." With that, the mysterious woman left.

He watched her leave, the brown cloak fluttering out behind her, with a growing sense of trepidation. What was this strange woman planning? And why did it involve his old team? His old friends? Mauve glanced back down at the ruined picture.

With a snarl, he gripped the mechanic's chair and flung it across the room. The movement siezed up his arm, just as the mechanic had warned. The crash brought the mechanic running back into the room. Mauve ignored his worried mutterings, leaning down the snatch the picture from the floor. He straightened it out with his good hand and stared down into the happy faces of his friends. He knew what he was going to do.

The roar of an engine settled into a gentle purr as Cordon put his bike in first gear. Pulling the helmet off revealed his hair in one quick flash. He glanced at the left mirror and combed his fingers through it a fast few times, restoring it to its messy, spiky norm. With a smirk, he set the kickstand and dangled the helmet on the handlebars, stepping onto the soaked sidewalk.

A light mist gently fell over the city, keeping it in a light haze as the morning traffic started for the day. Shops opened at each corner, and the usual crowds for Dust lined up for their daily buy.

Cordon lifted his jacket above his head -had to protect his hair, right?- and stopped in front of a run-down corner lot. A neon sign flickered above, reading "Buckshot." Home sweet home.

He shoved the doors opened to reveal dimly lit bar with only a few customers in it. Buckshot was the only bar open 24/7, mainly because Cordon's father really didn't have much else to do with his spare time, so he spent his waking hours here. There were a few other employees, but they only came when he asked them to, and only stayed until he kicked them out.

What looked like a run-down ex-Huntsmen glanced up at Cordon as he entered. "A little young to be in here, aren't ya, k-kidddddo?" He slurred the last word after a hiccup. Definitely had too much to drink.

"I'm not here to drink my life away, as tempting as that sounds." With a wink and a crooked smile, he left the man to his own accords and picked a barstool second to the end.

On the other side of the counter stood a man who looked much older than he actually was. Wearing just a dirty wife-beater and some shorts, his caved in back made it so he could barely see over the larger bottles of alcohol he positioned in the back. Rubbing clean a shotglass, he didn't look up. "What'll it be, son."

For a second, Cordon actually thought his dad recognized him without even looking at him, like some kind of psychic. Then he remembered that his dad would most likely call everyone that.

His throat constricted and his tongue felt like cotton. It had been years since he had even talked to his dad. He didn't use a Scroll, so communication the easy way wouldn't work, and travel to another country was hard if you didn't have a good reason. And, honestly, Cordon didn't. His dad was never one to visit, to talk, to even be a father figure to him. It wasn't his dad who raised him. It was Glass.

Tears stung his eyes as he was dragged back to reality. "I'd like a water, please."

His dad stopped the rhythmic rubbing of the shotglass. "Why come to a bar for a glass o' water, son? Not to mention in the middle of the morning."

"Well, I'm a little too young to drink, sooo..."

His dad turned to stare at him, eyes wide.

Cordon sifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable again. His dad managed to make him two feet tall with just a stare, even now. "Hey, dad."

His dad nodded and pulled out a long glass, filling it to the brim with water. Setting it down in front of Cordon, he stammered. "Lemme get you your favorite, Cordon. Lasagna and mac 'n' cheese, just like when you were little."

"No, dad, it's fine-" but he had already hobbled to the back of the place, no doubt to light the fires.

Cordon knew what this what about. He knew his dad through and through. Neither of them knew much about the other, so kind of small talk to try to learn more about each other ended in severely uncomfortable silence.

His dad waddled back to the bar, a plate of what looked like heated up macaroni haphazardly strewn onto it. "It's not much, I don't have any of the ingredients for lasagna."

"I'm not really hungry right now, dad."

He stopped in his tracks. "O-oh, of course," he started muttering, "yes, yes why could I be so stupid. I don't know why-why I even thought that." He hobbled back to the kitchen, huffing.

Cordon shifted in his seat, desperately trying to calm himself and persuading himself not to go back into the kitchen while his dad was like that. There's no talking to the man when he's like that. If he did anything now, it would end in the same fight and them not talking for years, just like when his dad moved to Vale.

So he sat there.

Eventually, his dad meandered back into the bar, his eyes red and puffy. Of course he had been crying. He had to be crying.Cordon said nothing as he faced the liquor bottles, his back to Cordon. No doubt he was trying to calm himself down. Well, at least it was an improvement to the last time Cordon saw him.

"So, son... what are ya doin' here? Little ol' Vale of all places." He said to the wall.

"Well, dad. I'm going to Beacon Academy to train."

His back stiffened, and Cordon could see the muscles coil on his worn arms. "Beacon, eh? Why not Shade or Haven? Aw, hell, even Atlas would do better than this shit hole of a town."

Cordon sighed. "Dad, Beacon is one of the, if not the, most prestigious Hunstmen Academies in all of Remnant. I barely got into this place. I could have gone to any of the other ones by a landslide. But Glass helped me--"

"Ah, Glass. That bastard sister ya found."

"Dad--" Cordon controlled his anger. "She's not a bastard child, dad. Look, I'm going to Beacon at noon. I was... I was wondering if you could watch my bike while I'm there. I'm not allowed to take it with me on the tram."

Cordon could have sworn he heard his dad sigh. "Son, if that's what you want, I'll do my best to help and support you." A pause. "I-- g'damnit. I haven't been the best parent to you over the years, son." He turned. "I'd like to fix that. I know that you're starting to be on your own now-- I KNOW WHAT TO START WITH."

The sudden outburst caught basically everyone off-guard. A man in a dark corner of the bar jerked away and fell off his site, his mug going with him. They both fell with equally deep "thud"s.

Cordon's dad hobbled over to him. "Looka these clothes. They're not suited for someone going to be a Huntsmen!" That got a scoff from the drunk ex-Huntsmen in the front. "They're not even covering anything important." He bent down to look at Cordon's groin. "Definitely not covering anything important."

Cordon chuckled awkwardly, a slight pink coming to his cheeks. "Actually, dad, these are my clothes. It's-it's kinda a style."

His dad stared at him for a second. "A style, hmm?"

"Y-yeah."

"Hmm." He inspected it over again. "Well, I don't know much about what you Huntsmen do, but if it works for you, I guess it works." He poked at Cordon's exposed stomach, causing him to jerk back in surprise.

"Hey-stop that tickles." Cordon muttered, getting even more embarrassed.

"Doing that one for the ladies, eh? Eh?" He dad elbowed his side, chuckling. "I was never one to try to woo ladies, but whatever floats your boat, son."

Cordon gulped. He really never talked to his dad about much, but especially not about his sexuality. He didn't even consider what his dad would say if he brought home a man.

It was always about legacy with his dad. Sometimes he would come home drunk, slumping into a couch and crying himself to sleep. The times Cordon found him like that, he would carry him up to his bed, and his dad would always mutter things about wanting Cordon to have a better life than he ever could.

In his dad's eyes, that included children.

Children were never an idea for Huntsmen. They couldn't think about that.

Cordon just flashed his dad a crooked smile and agreed softly. This was for a conversation later. Or never. Never works, too.

"Dad, do you have a place out back where I can put my bike? Preferably someplace inside?"

His dad stopped, confused for a second. "Oh, OH, yes. Yeah there's a garage out back. Lemme unlock it for ya, son. I a'know you got places to be."

Cordon smiled halfheartedly. "Yeah, the tram leaves soon."

His dad left to the back and Cordon was left alone in the back corner of the bar. Avoiding the stares of the few lonely souls who's life were bad enough to have to drink in the morning, Cordon left the bar and moved his bike to his dad's garage.

He was told garage, but this looked to be the place where his dad lived at when he wasn't working at the bar. It definitely looked to be the size of a garage, but was retrofitted to serve as some kind of... well he wouldn't say living quarters, because he couldn't see someone actually living like this.

Nonetheless, his dad had made room for his bike. He was standing to the side looking pretty proud of himself, wearing a wide grin that exposed his missing teeth.

Cordon stuffed the bike in and the two states at each other for a bit before Cordon awkwardly embraced him in a loose hug.

They separated and Cordon noticed his dad had years in his eyes again. "I'll be safe, Dad. And I'll visit from time to time."

His dad nodded. "Just... stay safe, son. These streets, there's something going on around here."



Cordon strode onto the ramp to the air tram, a new wave of enthusiasm in him. Seeing the tram gave him a breath of fresh air, and he swore he could see the tall pillars of Beacon in the distance.

There were so many new faces all around him as they clamored onto the ship. Some held expressions like his: bright, cheerful, and full of optimism. Some wore anxious masks and shaky fingers. And, of course a small bit were already seasick from the though of being in the air.

Cordon loved being in the air. It was so freeing. There were times where he envied birds, for their freedom. So he took any chance he could to be in the air.

The ship itself was huge and long, allowing plenty of room for the new students to walk around. Large curved windows scattered each wall to admit the stunning scenery to Beacon. There were really no seats anywhere and the middle was littered with machines that offered food and drinks to any brave, or stupid, enough to fill their stomachs during a flight.

Cordon stretched as he got onto the tram, a long smile plastered on his face. He was actually doing it. Beacon, here. I. Come.

For a moment, everything was fine. But, he remembered his dad's words. The real fight was out there, in the city. He sighed softly. At least Beacon will actually make use of their Huntsmen-in-training. He's heard rumors of Beacon sending their students on missions as soon as a month into school. This schooled believed in practice to learn, a far superior approach to any of the other Academies, besides maybe Atlas. Hands-on is the way to go when you're going to be fighting for survival, both for you and others, for the rest of your life.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted something knocked past him, pushing him to meet face-to-face with one of the windows. Turning around, the first thing he noticed was a large wicker basket. Then he saw the much smaller person trying to manuevor it around the thickening crowd of students pouring into the tram. She met eyes with me and gasped. "I'm so, so sorry!"

Another girl stopped right behind her. "Midori, maybe you should consider putting the basket above your head? So you don't run into people like..?" She glanced at me.

Cordon stood up straight and put on his best crooked smile. "Cordovan Cardinal, ladies. But you can just call me Cordon." A weird smell floated to his nose, and he sniffed in a couple of times, his expressions souring a bit. "Does anyone smell... fish?"

The girl with the wicker basket's -- Midori -- faced grew pink.

The other girl cleared her throat, seemingly trying to change the subject. "The name's Ivory, Cordovan, and this is Midori. I assume you're new to Beacon as well?"

"Cordon-- and yeah, I came all the way from Sanctum in Mistral."

Ivory looked unimpressed. "Why not go to Haven Academy, then?"

Cordon shrugged with a grin. "Beacon is where all the action is."

"Hmm." Ivory turned to Midori. "Let's go find a place to put our stuff, so you don't have to keep carrying that basket around. It was nice talking to you, Cordovan." She nodded to him.

"Actually, the name's Cordon. Good luck at Beacon, ladies."

Ivory stopped in her tracks and tilted her head in his direction a bit. "And what do you mean by that?"

Cordon shrugged nonchalantly. He was gonna enjoy this. "Oh, nothing, nothing. Just... well skirts aren't gonna protect much, are they?"

"Are-are you mocking my battle-dress?" Looks like Midori wasn't the only one getting red anymore.

"Doesn't look very battle worthy to me. Have you actually fought in that thing? It's probably gonna rip before you kill your first Grimm." He folded his arms behind his head in, pretending not to care. "Ah well, it's not my problem. Just hope you're not on my team. Wouldn't want to lose a member before the first mission even started."

"Listen here, buddy. Even though my outfit isn't suit to fight, I'm training to fight. Also, you're the one to talk." Ivory pointed to his chest. "You're only wearing a jacket. Honestly, you could get cut there."

"At least mine makes me look cool." Cordon resisted sticking his tongue out.

Ivory gasped. "Excuse me! My dress is very pretty and way better looking than your piece of rubbish jacket. It's not even leather. Leather is better, you know."

Cordon looked down at his jacket. "I think it looks pretty cool. At least I can move around in it." He shrugged. "Good luck running down a Grimm, tripping over your dress." He tipped an invisible hat to the two girls and turned to walk away, grinning. Oh, this is gonna be a fun year.

A/N: For some background on Midori and how she got here, check out this side story I wrote earlier about her.

So this is Vale, Midori thought, looking about her new surroundings in wonder. The wide, paved streets were a sharp contrast to Sun Village's bumpy dirt roads. Sticking to the raised sidewalk on the side of the road, out of the way of passing cars, Midori realized there was one thing she did miss about home: the fresh air. Whatever was coming out the pipes of those clunky machines smelled like... sickness.

She stopped to rest for a moment, leaning against a lamppost and hoping she wouldn't draw too much attention to herself. The wicker basket she clutched to her chest and her rustic attire practically screamed farmgirl. She drew her hood over her hair - the last thing she wanted right now was for people to see the feathers. Immediately, she wrinkled her nose.

The odors of the fishing boat that had ferried her from Patch lingered on her worn, violet cloak where she'd tripped and fallen on the wet, fishy deck. The fare had been cheaper than the airships that left from the north end of the Island, but now, Midori really wished she'd just spent the extra cash.

Either way, what mattered was that she was in Vale, fishy smell or not. Now she needed to know where exactly in Vale her new school was situated. The few pedestrians on the streets at this hour kept to themselves as their intentions were to start their everyday routine, an experience Midori savored; on the flipside, however, she realized she didn't know a soul in Vale, save for Professor Ozpin.

And to get to Professor Ozpin meant actually getting to Beacon, and getting there meant knowing how to, which Midori did not.

Off in the distance, a large tower stood high above the city's skyscrapers, like a beacon. Beacon.... Of course! Midori chuckled inwardly at her joke. Even if no one was around to hear her humor, she could always rely on herself to lift up her spirits, even if for a little bit.

Midori found herself walking down random streets, hoping they'd lead her towards the school. Every time she looked up to get her bearings, though, Beacon Tower was still just as far away as it was before. It was as if she kept going in circles. And after about an hour of getting lost, these streets were starting to look the same to her, too. Maybe she really was going in circles.

Dejected, Midori sat down on the curb, placing her basket next to her, within arm's reach. She was hungry, but she'd eaten - and then promptly lost - all of Mrs. Foster's spicy curry buns during her brief sea voyage. Still, she lifted the basket's cover in hopes of finding something to eat; that pair of clean socks with the green lace cuffs was starting to look a bit like a watercress sandwich...

"Are you lost?" asked a quiet voice from somewhere behind her. Turning in its direction, Midori saw a tall, slender girl with light, practically white hair peering down at her through fierce-looking, hazel eyes.

"Me?" Midori asked, having a hard time associating such a gentle voice with someone so... intimidating.

The girl's gaze softened as she replied, "Mmhm."

"Kind of, yeah," Midori admitted sheepishly. "I'm trying to get to Beacon, but... as you can see, I've yet to succeed."

"Actually, I'm headed that way too," the girl replied. "I live right here in Vale, but the air trams aren't supposed to arrive until noon. Trust me, you don't want to make the trip on foot. I'm Ivory, by the way," she continued. "Ivory Absinte-Aero, but that's a mouthful, so you can just call me Ivory."

Midori introduced herself, adding, "I hope you don't mind the fish. I hitched a ride with a fishing boat back on Patch Island, so..."

Ivory just shrugged. "You're fine! Trust me, there are a lot worse smells out here than a bit of fish. And fish is tasty."

At the word tasty, Midori's stomach let out a very loud growl. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Y'know, there's this great noodle shop just up the block from here." Ivory pointed at a small building with a large billboard shaped like a steaming bowl of deliciousness. "I'm hungry too, and like I said, we have plenty of time."

She held out a hand, and Midori took it. Together, with Ivory leading the way and Midori holding her wicker basket, they were going to get some delicious food.

Have I just made my first friend?



When Midori and Ivory did board the airtram, it was a struggle, what with a growing crowd of students taking up seemingly every inch of the entrance.

As strange a sight as this might be back on Patch, Midori saw she wasn't the only young person walking around with weaponry - and an unusual sense of fashion. She counted at least three other hooded figures boarding the tram, but they all seemed so much more put-together than she was.

It could've just been the salty noodle soup she'd stuffed herself with no less than an hour before, but Midori found this environment quite disorienting.

"Ow!" That was the cry of the fifth unlucky person she'd managed to hit with her wicker basket. It was hand-woven; Midori's mother took great pride in making perfectly rectangular baskets with perfectly rounded corners. Sure, they stowed nicely on carts and shelves, but as Midori was discovering, they weren't the easiest to move about with when you're trying to board a crowded airtram.

"I am so, so sorry," she said with a wince, swerving to avoid another potential victim: a tall, fair-haired young man wearing red, woolen trench coat. The coat was unbottoned, revealing a bare, muscular torso; but that wasn't what caught her eye. Strapped to his arms were a pair of metallic disks of some kind.

"Midori?" She whirled around, instantly regretting it because the basket nearly hit her friend in the stomach.

"Maybe you should consider putting the basket above your head?" Ivory suggested discreetly. "So you don't run into people like..?" Her eyes darted towards someone or something to the side.

"Cordovan Cardinal, ladies," said a suave, masculine voice. "But you can just call me Cordon."

Midori glanced over her shoulder and realized the guy in the red coat was still there, eyeing them both with an amused expression. She felt a little silly holding her basket over her head like that with him watching. Immediately, she returned it to her side, where it promptly hit another passenger. "Sorry!"

Cordovan Cardinal sniffed the air a couple of times before asking, ""Does anyone smell... fish?"

Midori's face turned beet-red. She'd been dreading this moment all day.

Standing beside her, Ivory cleared her throat. "The name's Ivory, Cordovan, and this is Midori. I assume you're new to Beacon as well?"

"Cordon--," the guy corrected, "and yeah, I came all the way from Sanctum in Mistral."

Ivory looked unimpressed. "Why not go to Haven Academy, then?"

Cordon shrugged with a grin. "Beacon is where all the action is."

"Hmm." Ivory turned to Midori, who'd remained quiet this whole time. "Let's go find a place to put our stuff, so you don't have to keep carrying that basket around. It was nice talking to you, Cordovan," she added with a cool nod.

"Actually, the name's Cordon," Cordovan or Cordon or whatever his name was called after them. "Good luck at Beacon, ladies!"

Midori had broken into a bit of a quick stride, but Ivory had stopped in her tracks a few paces back. The taller girl tilted her head back in Cordon's direction. "And what do you mean by that?"

Cordon shrugged. "Oh, nothing, nothing. Just... well skirts aren't gonna protect much, are they?"

Ivory's face went even redder. "Are-are you mocking my battle-dress?"

With her free hand, Midori tugged self-consciously at the hem of her raggedy tunic. It hit a few inches above her knees, and was a hand-me-down made for a much taller person. On her, it could very well pass for a dress. However, this skirt never stopped her from doing what was needed. Paired with her well-worn leggings, Midori had still defeated plenty of Beowulfs without even skinning her knees. She doubted Cordon had as much experience fighting Grimm as she did. The small amount of time she was in Signal, they never went on missions, never went to fight Grimm. Looking around, Midori suddenly realized that she probably had more fought off more Grimm than most of the students in here.

She kept that information to herself as Ivory and Cordon traded insults about their respective senses of fashion. Midori wondered if she should stick around and watch, or get as far away from them as possible. Those discs Cordon had strapped to his arms looked pretty dangerous. Midori had no clue if Ivory had any weaponry on her - all she had was Dreamcatcher. Hopefully, this wouldn't escalate to that kind of a fight.

Eventually, Cordon gave up, but not without getting the last laugh. With a parting sassy remark, he tipped an invisible gentleman's hat to Midori and her friend before sauntering off with a smug grin on his face.

Midori put a cautious hand on Ivory's arm. "Are ... you all right?" she asked tentatively.

"UGH!" was all Ivory had to say. Midori didn't need clarification.

Outside, she heard the light, rumbling hum of the airtram's engines coming to life. Slowly, the ship rose higher and higher off the ground. Soon enough, the big, unfamiliar buildings and streets of Vale were seemingly reduced to the scale of Ruby and Yang's dollhouse.

Midori's stomach gave a little lurch as it dawned on her how high she was off the ground - higher than she'd ever been in her life - but she swallowed hard and forced herself to enjoy the view. Who knew when she'd see something quite like this again?

He was haggard - looked that way, felt that way. Nero hadn't slept in...well, days. Not as though he had any plans to anytime soon. His aura was keeping him awake for now, but eventually he would have to rest. He tried not to think about that. That didn't matter, not right now.

The boy slouched, head bowed to face the dirty floor of the bus as it slowly purred across the streets of Vale. He wasn't in the mood to see fancy cityscapes or happy pedestrians, though he could honestly say he never was. A few quiet conversations drifted past his eardrums, but they were drowned out by the obnoxious sound of the bus. Eyes scanned sleak, shining buildings and the robust feel of the city, with its graceful and composed feel and heavily refined appearance.

What am I doing here?

The flight had been rough. Airport security had been a nightmare, what with the new security put in place, and his weapon hadn't helped in that respect. Apparently there was an influx of new criminal activity in the town so the "security" was trying to help prevent the crime before it got in the country's boarders. It was more of a nuisance than anything. There were few things he wanted to do more than be stuffed in between strangers without even the ability to listlessly look out a window for hours on end, watching as his home gradually vanished in the distance and he ran away from his family name. He shouldn't have been so willing to leave. His mother had taken the time, effort, and spent the money to ship him halfway across the world. He wished she hadn't, but some small part in him knew that it was best for both of them. It didn't stop the fact that it was selfish of her to do so. Yet, some part in the back of his mind nagged at him. Was he being selfish, too?

He shoved that thought aside. Hopefully, his mother was fine. Yet he'd wanted to help pick up the thousands of shards scattered across the ground with her, and hope wasn't exactly something that his family had in great abundance.

Nero felt like a failure. He wanted to do something, figure out what to do with his family's reputation and its demise, but he'd agreed to come, and that was it. Had she thrown him away, kept him at arm's reach to keep him from doing something stupid? That seemed likely. Had she just wanted him gone, give him a new chance by making him forget about the old one? Also likely. But what did he know?

He felt so alone in his thoughts. Yet, he wasn't, well, at least, not quite. The bus had been almost full before he'd gotten on, thanks to his lateness (which he could blame on, once again, airport security), and he'd taken a seat right next to someone a little familiar. A short, but strong-looking person with orange hair, a colorful outfit, and a smile. Nero remembered that he'd seen her before, and her accent (which he could easily discern from the few conversations she entered) all but confirmed it; this was a girl he'd seen every now and then at Sanctum. Never talked to her, of course, but he rarely talked to any of his classmates. It seemed like a really small world now, given the circumstances, except she was the only person he could recognize. Everyone else was a stranger, with their strange lives and odd faces and odd accents and distracted mindsets and lives of their own and...

breathe.

He was alive - the semantics could be dealt with later. At least, that's what he hoped.

The girl was busy having a conversation with someone else, or something else; Nero really couldn't care less at the moment. All he wanted was to get off this stupid bus as soon as possible.

Nero pulled on his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists. That reminded him of his weapon. He pulled the hard light sphere out from the makeshift backpack he'd been given a couple of days ago - had it been? - and turned it around in his hands. It didn't react, remaining as quiet and as complacent as ever. Which, given he didn't want to accidentally attack a bus full of people, was good.

A quick glance to his right, and there was the girl, still chatting away. And, to his surprise, she had a weapon, or some kind of device, as well. It was somewhat hidden, and for good reason, but he spotted a chakram. Fairly dangerous, that, although he couldn't really see what it looked liked.

Of course, Nero grumbled. She's probably going to Beacon as well. With any luck, we're teammates.

"What's that glow-stick you have there?" The voice was the girl's. It took a second for Nero to recognize that she was talking to him. Nero stammered in response, unsure of what to say or do. Partly because he was surprised that somebody was actually trying to talk to him, and also as he didn't want to be the person to explain that he had a weapon. Again, in a bus full of strangers. Why did the world have to be so complicated?

"Uh...it's...a gift?" said Nero, slowly moving it away from her view.

"Is there anything special about it?" The girl leaned closer. Nero was unnerved.

"Yes! er...no. A little bit?" What was he going to say? The boy blushed in embarrassment. It was time to change the topic to something that didn't give him as much social anxiety. "Umm...who are you?"

"Venus Mead," she replied, rather happily. She made to touch the sphere, but Nero quickly moved it away. "Are you going to the Academy too?"

"Um...where?" Nero passively lied. If he didn't look so nervous and jumpy, it might've actually worked.

"Oh, you are!" Venus said, easily seeing through the ruse. She returned back to her earlier seating position, clearly bemused. "That's your weapon, I bet."

"Don't mention it," Nero whispered under his breath in frustration and embarassment, in response to a few odd stares in their direction.

Venus seemed unbothered by this, but she did change the subject herself, resorting to puncutual formalities. Not Nero's style of conversation, but still preferrable. At least, until she asked, "So, what's your name?"

"Nero," the boy replied instinctively, and then hesitated, the syllables of his last name on his lips. There wasn't a damn way he was going to say it. The last think he wanted was, of course, unwanted attention - he'd already had enough of that back home. The whispers, glances, rumors, the fear of walking down the street without someone pointing him out. His mother had assured him that he wouldn't receive such attention where he was now, but he sincerely doubted that. Rumors spread like wildfire, didn't they? Especially the bad ones?

don'taskdon'taskdon'taskdon'task Nero silently hoped, looking away from Venus to inspect another, very interesting spot on the ground.

"Do you have a last name?" inquired Venus in what was a geniune, honest voice, even if every inch of Nero filtered out those words as having the opposite tone.

damnit, though Nero, whose brain now scrambled for a quick and effective response. "I...I...," he stammered, now incredibly tense. He was on the fringe of panic. Did he say his last name, and risk making an enemy, or at least somebody with the gall to question him or his family? Or did he not, and come across looking like an awkward fool? Or, worse yet, have secrets to hide? damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

In a turn of luck, he didn't have to. With a loud screech, the bus halted, jolting everyone within it. A loud gruff voice called out that they'd arrived at their stop, the bus doors shuffled open, and a stream of people pouring down drowned out any response Nero could've made. Venus seemed to try to say something, but, in that brief period of time in which they were effectively separated, people just barely familiar with each other rendered to almost the status of strangers once again, she stood up and joined the crowd. Nero saw her leave fairly quickly, vanishing into the gathering. Evidently, she was confident enough that she would see him again, and she was right about that. Too, Nero guessed she wanted to see the sights and get a glimpse of the Academy. He was too tired to care, but, if he hadn't been, he would've felt the same. A few seconds passed until Nero realized that he'd let the only person he knew so far in Vale slip between his fingers, and he got on his feet.

"Sorry! Sorry about that!" he apologized as he tried to shove his way towards the bus's entrance, which was no easy feat. Awkwardly shoving aside other people, he got the impression that he was stronger than he'd previously imagined. However, that carried with it its own emotional weight and memories, and he discarded the thought as he exited the vehicle, only to find himself facing a much larger one.

In spite of the large crowd that had gathered in a place that was clearly by the center of town, they - and he - seemed puny in comparison to the towering air tram that seemed to loom far above his head. The mechanical masterpiece was glorious; certainly larger and more impressive than much of what Nero had seen during his glory days in Sanctum, which was saying something. The terminal itself was expansive, but opened out into a bright sun overhead, the light scattered among the countless bright and showy buildings of the city. Suddenly, Nero understood why this city was as famous as he'd been told, and had the reputation that it did. Even in his tired, exasperated, burned out state, he couldn't help but be impressed, and perhaps a little giddy at the realization that he would be jumping onto it on his voyage to Beacon Academy.

Then, of course, he remembered that he had somebody to look for.

Panicked, he looked about him. Nero couldn't see Venus anywhere. Countless people in business suits traveled from or to work, or wherever they might want to go; they were joined by masses of merchants hawking goods, ordinary folks, and a small smattering of young-looking people. This latter group seemed innocent enough, their outfits splashes of color in a sea of gray and beige, but Nero had the suspicion that these, too, may be students, and he could've sworn, for the brief second or two that the crowd parted enough for him to see (damn his short height), that he saw some of then with weapons.

What joy.

And then, all of a sudden, he heard sirens in the distance, echoing past the assembled gathering of people. For a few seconds, he was able to see police cars, speeding down the streets at incredible speeds as unfortunate drivers spun out or turned away from them and their quarry, which appeared to be a few other dingy-looking vehicles trying their best to speed away. There were some shouts of alarm in the crowd, particularly among those closest to the streets and cars, and the people in general seemed very curious by this, but nobody made to respond or do something. Perhaps this was fairly normal here? What did he know?

"Nero!"

The boy felt a hand on his shoulder and screamed in an undignified fashion. Wheeling around, he found, to his annoyance and relief, Venus. And she seemed especially happy, which was not good news.

"What do you want?" half-barked, half-whimpered Nero. Confidence was something else he could add to the list of things he wanted, but couldn't have.

"Did you see that?" Venus seemed especially hyper now. The boy knew he was going to regret asking, but he decided the better to be done with it.

"Yeah...so?" replied Nero, trying to fake a casual voice while still being a little scared. He failed, of course. He cursed under his breath at every individual who bumped into him, thanks to the density of the crowd. At least nobody was interested in hearing the two talk, particularly as whispers were drifting elsewhere about the same incident. Who would focus on two teenagers?

"Where's your spirit of adventure?" teased the girl. "Why don't we see what's going on? Maybe we can do something about it!"

"I don't think getting myself killed before I even show up to Beacon is a good way to help," said Nero bitterly. This girl was the only person he knew, but she was infinitely infuriating, with her undaunted nature and optimistic personality.

"Oh, come on," dismissed Venus with a wave of her hand. "You just admitted you're a student in the Academy, and I know that sphere of yours is a weapon. We can fight for ourselves if we need to, and I'm sure we have the skills to do it." She began to make her away across the crowd, taking a few steps before calling back to him. "Come on! Let's have an adventure!"

And then she was gone.

Forget complicated - the world was unfair.

On one hand, he wanted to forget about it. Hide, stay quiet, not make a spectacle of himself on his first day. Yet there was that ever present reminder that she was still the only person in this city he knew. And, of course, she was likely going to be a teammate of his. He felt those strings nagging at him again. What if she gets in trouble, and gets herself killed, and I could've done something about it? He was guilt-tripping himself, and he couldn't stop, mainly as it was true. She was throwing herself into a potentially dangerous situation, and, as the first person resembling a friend she might've made in this city thus far, he had an obligation help her.

Nero sighed. One of those days.

He sprinted into the crowd to follow her through the streets of a city he didn't know, surrounded by people he didn't know, going into a situation he didn't know, all for the sake of somebody he barely knew.

And, for once, he was almost okay with that.