Pyrrha woke from a half-remembered dream of metal and fire to find herself in a familiar place.

Slowly, she pushed up onto her elbows. All her muscles protested in exhaustion, in resistance to an invisible pressure the size of the sun pushing her down to the forest floor. She looked around. The auburn forest closed in on her on all sides, the trees stripped of leaves for a nonexistent winter, but with trunks too thick to see beyond. Or above, she realized, looking up and seeing that the naked fingers of the branches now weaved together to make a dome — like a giant overturned wicker basket. If there was any light beyond, Pyrrha couldn't see it.

Pyrrha couldn't remember why she was here, only that she was not supposed to be alone. She knew, like she knew many things, that there was no one else around. She heard no voices, felt no other presences but her own. She didn't know her own name, but she knew that was odd.

She rolled over onto her hands and knees, straining against the bone-bending grip of gravity that made her feel like she was trying to lift the very forest on her back. One limb at a time, she managed, staggering to her feet in the swelling silence. She was supposed to be here, she knew, but she wasn't supposed to be by herself. They promised her she'd never be alone.

The thought chased its tail. They promised her they promised her they promised her they…

Pyrrha struggled to walk under the weight that demanded she lie down, that she sleep, but her feet kept moving. A shard of panic weaved a scar through her mind, fearing the aloneness more than the forest, more than the addictive pull of sleep wanting her to be wrapped in a blanket of leaves in the grass where she'd awoken. She staggered to the treeline and, though it was impossible to tell for certain from the center of the field, Pyrrha could see now that the trees were, in fact, a forest — one that kept going, beyond the horizon. She leaned against the outermost tree, instinct screaming at her simultaneously to return to sleep and to seek out what she feared she'd lost.

She didn't want to be alone.

The fear propelled her more than anything supernatural could have. Pyrrha started walking, pulling the weight of the forest behind her, draped in its silky promises of sleep. She was unsure of what she was looking for, but sure she'd feel it the moment she found it.

And she started to feel it.

The more she walked, the less she dragged her feet, the less pull the clearing had on her. Soon, she was walking upright. Almost normal. Almost natural, like all of this was and wasn't.

She carved a path through the trees until she began to notice the trees were alive again. And taller. Much taller. She stared up at them and tried to gauge how high they went. They almost seemed to disappear into the…sun.

Pyrrha blinked. There was a sun above her, warm and bright and everything the auburn forest never was. There were birds in trees and the smell of summer in the air. She tested her feet and found she could run, laughing, free from the pull of that other dreadful forest, and soon she even forgot that she had been anywhere but in this bright, warm place, waiting for something else entirely.

Pyrrha reached an oak tree she could only scarcely get her arms around. She appraised it, then reached for her belt, pulling out a small carving knife. The bark scratched her hands as she shaped the wood into the detailed relief of her favorite flower. For now, she was killing time, waiting for...someone. Waiting not to be alone.

"Faith! Faith, hey!"

Pyrrha turned at the sound of her name. Two children came jogging out from the trees, brothers, she remembered. She knew them. Her best friends.

The oldest one frowned at her. "You shouldn't go off by yourself like that."

"C'mon, Marco," the younger one laughed. "She can handle any pesky Grimm."

Pyrrha beamed proudly, twirling her knife back into her belt, beside her line of handcrafted wooden stakes and shuriken. "Bee, remind Mr. McDoubtful just who out of the three of us is going to be the world's greatest Huntress one day."

Bee elbowed his brother suggestively. "It's gonna be her, bro," he whispered.

Marco scowled at them both. "She's not a huntress yet ."

Pyrrha shrieked and pointed. "Marco! Behind you! A Beowulf!"

Marco spun wildly, looking for the Grimm. When he found nothing more than laughter from Pyrrha and his brother, he snapped, "That wasn't funny!"

"I'm training your reflexes," Pyrrha said smugly. "When we all get into Signal, we want to impress them with our super duper reflexes."

Marco looked at the floor, still flushed red from the panic. " If we get into Signal."

"Of course we'll get into Signal! Look at us," Bee announced wrapping Pyrrha and his brother under each of his arms. "We're going to kick so much butt!"

Pyrrha laughed, bright and unburdened by whatever had been plaguing her before her best friends arrived. "And even if we don't, we'll have all sorts of adventures! We can travel the deserts of Vacuo, and through the mountains of Mistral!"

"We'll go swimming through the oceans and hiking in the snow!" Bee agreed, striking a dramatic pose.

"We'll be amazing!"

"We'll be unstoppable!"

"We'll be deaf," Marco grumbled, each of them screaming in his ear.

Laughing, Bee wandered away to look at the tree Pyrrha had been carving, scratching at the underbark with his nail and whistling appreciatively. Pyrrha looked Marco in the eye.

"Are you really that worried?"

"No," he grumbled, rubbing absentmindedly at one elbow.

Pyrrha put a hand on his arm. "Marco. You're going to get in."

"But,"

"And when you do," Pyrrha interrupted, "They'll make us partners. And put Bee on our team. And we'll be so great we won't even need a fourth!"

Marco scoffed. "You don't know that."

Pyrrha rocked back on her heels, her smile never faltering. "I know I'll always have your back."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't fully hide his smile. Pyrrha thought it made him look sort of nice. In a way that had the girls in the village weighing the pros and cons of risking cooties to talk to him.

Marco looked about to say something, but glanced over Pyrrha's shoulder and froze, paling.

"Nevermore!" he shouted.

Pyrrha smirked. "Nice try."

Bee snickered but pretended to look scared too. "Oh no! Faith! It's coming right behind you!"

With Bee in on it, she decided to play along. Feigning terror, Pyrrha quickly grabbed three of the carved shuriken at her hip and announced proudly, "Don't worry! I'll protect you!"

She turned, smiling—

—to the sight of a Grimm dragon the size of Beacon Tower bearing down on her.

Pyrrha swore fiercely and dove out of the way of a blast of fire, rolling and knocking her armor painfully against her breast as she ducked behind an outcropping of rock. Her armor? No, that wasn't right. She wasn't… She was…

"Lady Adelind!" someone shouted. "Are you alright?"

Pyrrha looked over, squinting in the dark. With only the moon as her source of light, she could just make out a mop of blond hair where a man was cowering behind a boulder some feet to her left.

Pyrrha offered the man a thumbs up. She pulled off her helmet to clear her head and rid herself of the rattling feeling in her skull. She was in Grimm country; she had a mission to focus on.

The dragon roared, a earth-shaking sound that rattled Pyrrha's bones against her armor. It took once more to the pitch night, fading into the pitch night above the treeline and circling the clearing. A dragon that size wouldn't want to risk get grounded by chasing after inconsequential prey. The effort it would take to get back in the sky wouldn't be worth it to a creature as intelligent and ancient as that.

Pyrrha was flattered she'd gotten it's attention.

"Lady Adelind?" her squire called again, sounding nervous. "What should we do?"

Pyrrha looked over and smirked. She dug into her armor, between her breasts for her flask, and took a long pull of cheap whiskey. Her squire almost dropped his sword in surprise when she tossed it over to him. There were few things more enjoyable to her than flustering the man. He almost reminded Pyrrha of… of someone else…

Another roar as the dragon circled ever tighter, waiting for one of them to get out in the open.

"It's liquid courage!" Pyrrha called cheerfully. "Drink up! You're going to need it!"

The blonde choked on his tentative sip. "Don't say that I'm bait again ."

"I won't have to say it," Pyrrha teased, swiping back the sweaty blonde hair from her own face. "All you have to do is think of the lines of women out your bedroom door when you tell them that you slayed a dragon."

As she talked, Pyrrha drew her own sword and double checked it's Dust cartridges. The last thing she needed was for it to malfunction with 50 tons of muscle trying to get her between its jaws. She snickered as she looked over and saw her squire downing the rest of her flask.

"Get over here so I can tell you the plan," Pyrrha shouted.

Her squire nodded and shakily stood, ready to sprint over. The dragon screeched suddenly, right above them. Pyrrha caught the gleam of its white mask just as it drew breath, but she was already running for her petrified squire. She swore colorfully before shoving her squire into the dirt and throwing herself over him.

The torrent of fire came down. But Pyrrha felt only a tingling warmth, like when your foot falls asleep for too long. The grass caught around her, as did the trees. The stone they were behind smoothed nearly to glass. The taste of ash filled her mouth. But Pyrrha did not burn. Being fireproof was very conducive to dragon slaying.

It's breath expended, the dragon took off again, fanning its own flames with two powerful beats of its wings. Pyrrha pulled her squire's head up from the dirt and gracelessly threw him over her shoulder, running for the cover of the rock outcropping. Throwing him down behind the barrier, Pyrrha shook him, which felt...very unlike her.

"For the love of the motherfucking king ," she hissed, "so help me, Arc, if you get me killed, I am going to kill you ."

Her squire's hair was singed, and if his shaking was anything to go by, he was very much in shock. Still, he managed a nod, his eyes coming in and out of focus. "Understood, m'lady."

Pyrrha clapped him on the shoulder, shaking off her too real concern. "Now, you see that cliff face?" She pointed. Her squire nodded. "You're going to run for it on my signal." She grinned at him toothily. "I'll be bait just this once."

Her squire sighed in relief. "You're too good to me, Lady Adelind."

Pyrrha mussed his hair affectionately. "Good dragon snacks are hard to come by, Arc."

She laughed at his expression and stood. In one smooth motion, Pyrrha drew her sword, expanding it to three times it's size. She hit the dust trigger that ignited it and the whole thing caught on fire. The dragon would need to be blind not to see her now. Pyrrha heard the screech and, with a song in her heart, bolted into the forest in the opposite direction of her squire.

She wasn't sure how long she ran. She leapt over overturned trees, across streams, around larger stones. She ran with a smile on her face, from what she loved more than anything in the world. Or… Or was it to...

Pyrrha slowed to a stop. All at once, she had no idea where she was or how she got there. She turned in a circle. Trees pressed in on her from all sides of a forest she didn't recognize. Not fiery red, nor bathed in summer, nor pines large enough to hide a dragon. It was cold and dead from the winter, and as a fog rolled through, Pyrrha felt that grip of gravity again, pulling her down to sleep.

But, no, that was wrong. She was looking for something she'd been promised. If she could only remember . She spun again, once, twice, searching the trees for—

A light. There it was.

Exhaling, Pyrrha adjusted her hood and the basket at her elbow. She gripped her dust-studded staff in her other hand and quickened her pace to the small cabin. It was nearly invisible in the dark damp woods. Without the interior light, Pyrrha would have missed it entirely.

As she approached, she could hear someone singing off-key. Pyrrha tried to hide the giddy smile at the presence of her favorite, and only, visitor. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

"That better not be the song I think it is," she called, unlocking her front door.

"What can I say, Mother Nature?" her houseguest called back. "You don't get better than the classics."

Smirking, Pyrrha pushed open her front door to find Qrow Branwen sitting on her couch. Next to a glass of her homemade wine, his scroll sat open on the table with a music app playing. He returned her smirk with a lopsided grin of his own.

"You are so old," she teased, dropping her keys on the counter by the door. She leaned her staff against the frame and kicked the door shut behind her. "Gram liked this music. If she could drink her weight in cheap liquor, I wouldn't be able to tell you two apart."

She crossed into the kitchen to deposit her basket of groceries as Qrow whistled appreciatively. "Hey, that lady had good tastes. In music and liquor."

Pyrrha's heart panged. Gram had spent many winter months in Pyrrha's cabin, bringing special gifts and fantastical stories of her travels around the kingdoms. It hurt to remember she wouldn't be coming next year. Gram had come a few months ago, feeling sick and with a dark handsome hunter in tow. Pyrrha had been at her deathbed when Gram grabbed her hand and told her to take her staff...and take her secret.

Pyrrha put away her handful of groceries, procuring a small bottle of brandy from her cabinet and taking a long pull. With the smallest flick of Maiden magic, Pyrrha set a kettle on the stove and bypassed the pilot light to set the water boiling. "How was your trip?" she called back into the living room. "Shit on anyone's head?"

Pyrrha pulled off her cloak to hang it by the kitchen door. She could hear Qrow chuckling around his drink of wine.

"Wow, that joke never gets old," he said. "But I did meet up with a flock of blackbirds who accepted me as one of their own and named me their king. A fascinating experience. I'd recommend it to any and all hunters or huntress's who can turn into fowl to certainly try it."

As Qrow talked, Pyrrha kicked off her muddy boots and undid a few buttons of her blouse. She tousled her hair and draped herself against the doorframe to the kitchen.

"Amazing," she murmured. "That's enough small talk, don't you think?"

Qrow turned around at her voice. He hesitated only a breath before throwing back the rest of the wine he'd poured himself.

"Just about," he answered with a predatory look.

Pyrrha smiled back and met him in the middle of the room, Qrow's hands settling on her hips, ghosting up her ribs. His lips met hers sloppily, tasting like wine and smelling like whiskey. The music from his scroll played on as Pyrrha tangled her hands in his hair. With practiced ease, he grabbed her leg, guiding it to his hip. She gasped in his ear as his tongue lapped at her neck. He felt so good. Except…

Except.

Memories smashed against each other in her head like porcelain tidal waves. This was wrong. This was right. She didn't love him. She did. He was her guardian. What they were doing was wrong and if his superiors ever found out… He was a friend of her headmaster… He was the love of her life… He was Ruby's uncle… He was…

Pyrrha pulled back sharply. Doing so hurt. Like she'd forcibly moved all her bones while all her muscles stayed in place. Her body at war with her body. Her mind at war with her mind.

Qrow looked down at her, confused. "Amber?"

Pyrrha yanked herself out of his arms. This was wrong. He wasn't the one she wanted to touch her. He wasn't… They promised her… She was…

The pull of gravity grew stronger.

"I'm going to lie down," Pyrrha said thickly. The words echoed loudly in her head, but she wasn't completely sure they'd left her mouth. She stumbled in the direction of her bedroom, using every ounce of willpower to put one foot in front of the other. She fell against the door. She fumbled for the handle, feeling woozy—

Something fell from her hand. Pyrrha looked down with a delayed reaction and noticed her scroll on the floor. She reached down for it, trying not to drunkenly fall over.

"Good friggin job, Elphie," Pyrrha muttered to herself, straightening up and attempting to unlock her dorm room door once more. " It's just some drinks, " she repeated to herself with a mocking chirp, imitating her partner's voice. " You need to get out more, Elphie, all you do is read books. Gee, I wonder why."

She dropped her scroll again and stomped her foot in annoyance. The corners of her vision were still spinning and she was sure she was scanning her scroll right. With a disgruntled mutter, Pyrrha slid down the door to the floor. This was precisely what she needed tonight.

"Had a fun evening?"

Pyrrha glared up at the classmate who stood over her. "Like you care, Oz."

Ozpin's youthful smile turned down at the edges. His long silver hair was braided into a thick rope down his back and he looked down at her through half-moon reading glasses. "I was trying to make a joke."

"Don't," Pyrrha muttered, tearing her eyes away from the hypnotizing swing of his braid and bringing her knees up to her chest in hopes of quelling her nausea. "We're not friends."

"If you were less prickly with everyone who tried to talk to you...maybe we could be," he said in earnest.

Pyrrha scoffed. Right. So he could make fun of her bright green hair or weird purple eyes. So he could tell her that she had no right championing Faunus rights on campus because she wasn't a Faunus herself. So he could belittle her love of books or be jealous of her Semblance. If he was going to be just like all her classmates and all the students visiting for the Vytal Festival, she didn't need another friend. Pyrrha had one friend, and if tonight was any indication, that was already sometimes more than she could handle.

When he didn't get a response from her, Ozpin sighed. "Do you need help getting into your room?"

"No," she grumbled. "My scroll is working fine. The door is what's screwed up. Go back to hanging out with your Mistrali boyfriend and leave me to die in this hallway."

Ignoring her jab, Ozpin squatted down to Pyrrha's level. He looked so young. Did he always look this young?

"Perhaps… I could give it a try?"

She glared a moment longer, in case it wasn't increasingly obvious that she thought he was being a patronizing upperclassmen asshole. But Pyrrha begrudgingly turned over her scroll. She did really want to get into bed and sleep this off.

With Pyrrha's scroll in hand, Ozpin stood and swiped her in. The door buzzed red, not allowing entry. He frowned at the lock.

"Told you," Pyrrha said with a smug look.

"Forgive me if I doubted you in your current state," he apologized. "Where's your team?"

Pyrrha glared down the empty hallway, turning away from Ozpin. "Like I care." She crossed her arms over her legs and dug her nails into her arms. "Glyn caught a look from one of the Atlas boys at the bar and said she'd be right back."

"Classic Glynda," Ozpin said knowingly.

It was. Still. Pyrrha's gut twisted at the implication of Ozpin's words. "She's not a slut."

"I never said she was," he answered simply.

"But you were thinking it," Pyrrha challenged, getting defensive on her partner's behalf. She looked up at Ozpin with a fierce glint in her eyes.

He paused in running some diagnostic with his own scroll on the door lock and glanced down at her. Instead of answering, he handed Pyrrha back her scroll. "Did you try calling her?"

She hadn't. Wholly out of pride. Without betraying as much to Ozpin, Pyrrha punched in Glynda's glowing face on her scroll. It rang in her hands. And from inside the room.

"Are you kidding me," Pyrrha seethed. She pulled herself up, blowing off Ozpin's offer of help, and banged on the door. "Glyn! Glynda!"

"The door's locked for a reason, Elphie!" her partner's voice called back.

Pyrrha only got madder. The alcohol didn't help. "I don't care . You friggin left me in a bar full of slobbering drunk tourists! I want to go to bed. "

"You can't," Glynda reiterated more firmly.

"Open up right now or I'm lifting myself in through the window," Pyrrha threatened.

There was some mild swearing and shuffling, until finally the door unlocked. Glynda threw the door open wearing an oversized Atlesian military jacket. The open garment shaped a highway from her throat, between her breasts, and down her stomach to royal purple underwear. In her bed at the far left of the four-person room, a dark-haired boy was sitting up without a stitch of clothing on him beside the pillow he had situated over his lap.

Pyrrha's anger vanished, along with all the oxygen in the air. Her lungs contracted, pinching her heart like an aluminum can.

Glynda glared at her, making her case without saying a word. She glanced over Pyrrha's shoulder momentarily. "What are you looking at, Ozzy?"

Out of the corner of Pyrrha's eye, Ozpin ducked his head away, blushing scarlet. "Nothing," he muttered.

Her voyeur handled, Glynda's glare returned to Pyrrha. Pyrrha, who suddenly couldn't breathe and had no idea why. She knew Glynda was popular with the boys. She'd known that even before they became partners. She'd envied her for it, longed for it all the same. But seeing it firsthand somehow made it real in a way that the rumors weren't.

Without warning, her anger came rushing back. "You ditched me for some guy?"

Glynda flinched at Pyrrha's intensity, having enough sense to look marginally sheepish. "I was going to come back."

"Don't lie to me!"

The boy in Glynda's bed awkwardly threw his legs over the side. "Listen, maybe I should go..."

"No, no, everything's alright, Jimmy," Glynda called sweetly over her shoulder. To Pyrrha, she hissed, apologetic, "Look, I'm sorry I left without saying anything, but he's... I really like this one, Elphie. Can't you, I don't know, stay with Ozzy's team tonight or something?"

Pyrrha stared at her. Her hands were fists, shaking at her side. Inside the dorm, the furniture rattled in response. Her vision blurred.

Glynda blinked at her, suddenly sympathetic. "Elphie?"

Pyrrha felt the first of the hot tears when Glynda said her name like that. She whirled on her heels, slamming the door shut with her unpredictable telekinesis. She heard something crash from inside the room, heard Ozpin calling out after her, but Pyrrha only ran. She ran to the bathrooms, locking the door securely behind her.

Pyrrha gripped the sink and stared at her reflection. Tears ran down pale cheeks from violet eyes. Her emerald-green hair was a mess and she hated it. She hated Glynda. She hated how she didn't understand what was happening to her, why this was so painful all the sudden when it was neither new nor unexpected. She ducked her head and sobbed, her shoulders shaking as her knees gave out, pulling her down with an unexpected force. All at once, Pyrrha wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and pretend this had all been a dream—

There was a sharp bang on the door to the bathroom. Pyrrha jumped. She stared at the door, not daring to breathe. She got to her feet. Waiting.

"I know you're in there," a woman's voice snarled.

Pyrrha's breath hitched and she stumbled away from the door, knocking over makeup from her vanity. Her attention unfocused. Her...vanity?

She glanced back at the mirror. But it was circular now, with an ornate silver trim, and set on the worn wooden walls of her bathroom in the attic. The face that stared back at Pyrrha had black hair beyond her shoulders, golden eyes frozen wide in fear.

The knocking on the door grew more violent. "Open this door right now, Cinder," the voice demanded, "or I am breaking it down ."

Pyrrha fumbled back, away from the door, frantically searching for an escape before things got worse. And things always got worse.

She jumped as a body slammed against the door, the wood groaning under the the strain. Pyrrha backed away the whole length of the bathroom until she was cowering in the tub, begging, please, please hold. Please don't let her in.

Her pleas went unanswered. The next bang was followed by splintering wood, the frame of the door cracking, and Pyrrha ducked her head down. She curled into a ball, covered her head with her hands.

"Poor little girl," the woman's voice crooned from above her.

A hand grabbed her by the hair and Pyrrha cried out in pain as it yanked her out of the tub, dragged her across the floor.

"Poor stupid girl," the woman hissed. She pulled Pyrrha upright and jerked her head back. "Who is he?"

"No one!" Pyrrha answered frantically. "I don't… I don't know what you're talking ab—"

The woman smashed Pyrrha's face into the mirror. Glass shattered around the crater of her face and Pyrrha crumpled to the floor, driving glass into palms and knees. She felt her stepmother step closer and cowered.

"Tell me , Cinder. Or you won't have any face left for him to kiss."

"He's just a boy," Pyrrha pleaded. She could taste blood in her mouth from where her teeth had split her lip. Her nose felt broken. "Please, he's just a boy..."

"Did you think I was stupid?" her stepmother snapped, vicious.

Pyrrha shook her head desperately, ears ringing.

"Did you think I wouldn't noticed the jewelry hidden under your mattress? Or the mysterious flowers in the garden?" Pyrrha's stepmother kicked her. "Did you think I wasn't going to notice your empty bed in the night? In my house?"

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha whispered. "Please...I'm sorry…"

Her stepmother squatted down. Pyrrha curled tighter into herself. The woman grabbed Pyrrha by her bangs and forced her head out from behind her arms.

"You are going to break it off. Understood?"

Pyrrha nodded weakly.

"And if I ever find out you took what wasn't allowed to you..." A cruel smile painted her stepmother's face, her nails digging into Pyrrha's scalp. "I will personally make sure no one ever finds you beautiful again."

Her stepmother released her, but not without a final kick. It forced Pyrrha flat onto the floor, atop a bed of broken glass that tore at her clothes and skin.

Pyrrha shakily pulled herself up onto her hands and knees, feeling the biting of glass on her body, the burning of tears in her eyes. For the last few weeks, she'd known love like her father's, known the touch of something that wasn't cold and sharp and unfeeling, known something that was wholly hers and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

"Oh," her stepmother added, turning to go, "and clean up all this glass."

Pyrrha felt a fury then, the likes of which she'd never known. She looked up at her stepmother's retreating figure, opening the bathroom door to leave back to a life of luxury and ease that Pyrrha would never be allowed, and something in Pyrrha snapped.

She screamed — a wordless sound she'd heard herself howl in a tower in another life — and agony completed the circuit. Her latent aura flared. Shards of glass rose around her and, as a collective, flew at her stepmother's turned back.

Pyrrha watched, unmoving, as a hundred daggers ran the woman through. She watched as her stepmother crumpled to the floor, as she struggled to breathe, until she stopped trying. Pyrrha stared until the blood began to trickle towards her over the slanted attic floor. Gravity pulled it like a network of lazy rivers away from her stepmother's still form. Gravity pulled, it pulled...

She startled at a sound from downstairs. The obnoxious chatter of her step-sisters coming home.

Pyrrha got to her feet and reached a hand over the glass, fearing for a moment that it would not move as she moved. But it obeyed her will, melding together in the form of a knife in her hands. She saw her reflection in the blade: bloody and bruised and all cut up and, no, she'd never been hurt like this, she'd never hurt anyone, she...

Pyrrha lowered the knife and set her shoulders, stepping over her stepmother's body to push open the door on the other side—

—where a roaring crowd of faunus awaited her.

Pyrrha tried to jerk back. She struggled against the forward motion of her feet, against the sudden cacophony of voices shouting, weeping, calling for blood. The sounds echoed around the courtyard, ringing in her feline ears. She didn't want to be here. Not here. Not here. ..

A servant rushed up beside her, ducking under the flicking of Pyrrha's agitated tail. The avian faunus carried Pyrrha's weapons in one hand. With the other, he wiped Pyrrha's brow in the unforgiving heat of Menagerie's summer.

"Queen Alexandria, they are ready for you."

Pyrrha nodded her thanks, as she knew she should, but still, she resisted. But her feet kept walking, her mind buzzing in silent horror. Her heart was screaming at her bones, begging to keep looking for options, begging to do anything else but this.

Guards emerged from the palace in full armor, flanking Pyrrha on all sides. They cleared a path around her through the courtyard, dividing the agitated crowd who silenced as she passed them. Some reached out to touch her, some pleaded to her for justice. She slowed the movements of her tail, forced her breath to steady, put power into every stride. The picture of royalty. Though she wanted nothing more than to run, she had to be their queen. They needed her.

What she wanted was irrelevant.

Like a field of wheat, the crowd split open for her. They split until she could see the eye of the storm, where a man was strung up to a whipping post. Beaten and bloody, it would be almost impossible from a distance to tell that he wasn't a faunus. But Pyrrha knew, and the people did too. The individuals surrounding him paused with their whips and clubs raised at the sight of Pyrrha. She sent them stepping back, bowing, with nothing more than a practiced flick of her tail.

The human looked up at her through black eyes, and all Pyrrha's courage coiled at her feet.

He struggled through swollen lips to make out her name and a smile. "Alex," he mumbled. "Alex, thank god."

Pyrrha was thrashing inside her own head, pulling on the reigns of a wild stallion that was her disobedient body. She wanted to run. She'd take the auburn forest, she'd sleep forever like it wanted, if she didn't have to hurt this man.

"Why, Tony?" Pyrrha whispered, where only he could hear. "Why'd you do it?"

The faunus child's parents were weeping in each other's arms at the edge of the crowd. Their oldest child had their fangs and claws bared, ready to tear into the human who had been allowed in their country, who Pyrrha had allowed in her country and her bed.

"You know me," he begged. "Alex, I love you, I would never..."

Pyrrha grabbed him by the throat, dragging him up against the post to her eye level and pinning him there. She bared her teeth, porcelain and gleaming bright enough for all to see.

"Why?!" she demanded, for the fury of the crowd, for the betrayal in her heart.

Tony's eyes grew wild, like a caged animal. With his arms bound, he had no chance of escaping her suffocating grip. "Please...Alex, please…" His eyes screwed shut, body shaking. "It was just a faunus," he whispered.

Pyrrha's grip slackened, just enough to let him breathe. She wanted to shake too, to collapse and weep, but instead she extended her free hand behind her. The servant who had followed her stepped forward and hastily fastened Pyrrha's clawed gauntlet to her hand. At the sight the crowd began to rise in pitch, roars and howls mixing in with the cries for justice and blood and Pyrrha wanted to scream so badly, she feared it would tear her apart.

Duty drowned the sound inside her.

She clenched her hand around Tony's throat, strangling the start of her name from his lips. With a barely controlled trembling hand, Pyrrha raised the gauntlet, ready for a strike. The sunlight caught on the steel claws, embedded with red dust and the legacy of Menagerie.

Over the roar of the crowds, no one heard Pyrrha whisper, "I'm so sorry."

The sound of the crowd grew to a fever pitch, the roar rising and rising. Pyrrha screwed her eyes shut, begging to be anywhere else, to be anyone else. The weight of a thousand lives came down in an avalanche. Gravity pulled. And for a moment, she swore she could hear a voice in the crowd, shouting—

"Pyrrha! Pyrrha!"

The invisible pressure vanished, as did the deafening roar. Pyrrha gasped, her eyes opening. She was standing, facing the far wall of the dorm room in the dark. She had Jaune pinned by the throat under the choking grip of her fist. Jaune had both hands on her wrist, fighting to yank her off, to breathe . Pyrrha's other hand remained aloft, lifting the metal bed frames, pens, their desk chairs, the paperclips from the class binders. All morphed into pointy things and aiming right at Jaune's face.

Pyrrha threw herself back in horror. Everything came down in clanging, clattering mess of metallic objects. Jaune slid to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha whispered. She scampered back on her hands and rear, as far away as she could, until she ran into the corner of the room where Nora's dresser used to be, now tipped to it's side several feet away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"It's alright," Jaune promised between coughs. He struggled to stand and, when that seemed to be too much, got on his hands and knees and crawled over to her. "Hey, it's—"

"Stay away from me!" Pyrrha screamed, covering her face in her arms. She'd started sobbing, started to feel the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt violated. She felt horrified. She almost hurt Jaune.

She had hurt that man. She'd hurt her stepmother, she…

Jaune didn't listen to her. He gently moved her hands down from her face and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him with enough power to break his bones and buried her face in his neck, crying.

"I'm sorry," he was whispering in turn. "I didn't mean to scare you. You were having bad dreams, I didn't want you hurting…"

In Jaune's arms, the world slowly started making sense again. She hadn't hurt any of those people. She wasn't a queen or a knight or a little girl. She was… She was...

Oh god.

"What's my name?" she asked desperately. "Jaune, what's my name?"

"Pyrrha Nikos," he murmured, rubbing her back. "You're Pyrrha Nikos, and everything is alright."

There was a knock on the door. The door handle jiggled frantically.

"Jaune?" Nora's voice called. "Is everything okay?"

"Don't let them see me," Pyrrha pleaded, burying herself further in Jaune's embrace, the only thing that felt concrete and real. Her vision was still spinning. She could still hear the roar of the crowd, of the dragon, of her own voice in her ears, as clear as a bell.

"Everything's fine," Jaune called back, sounding hoarse. He moved to petting Pyrrha's hair and shouted away from her ear. "It's all good, Nor."

"Do I… Should I get Goodwich?" she asked hesitantly.

Pyrrha was suddenly bowled over with that heart-pinching despair at the mention of Glynda, the longing that felt so familiar buried in Jaune's arms. Pyrrha shook her head frantically, struggling to bury the feeling that wasn't hers, the life that wasn't her own.

"It's alright," Jaune said softly, to both of them. Pyrrha could feel his lips in her hair. "I think I've got this."

Nora's footsteps departed from the door and Pyrrha released her death grip on Jaune, if only because her arms had started to hurt from the constant tension. Jaune sat back and pulled her into his lap, resting her against his chest.

They stayed like that until Pyrrha's tears slowed to sniffles. She was exhausted. The pull of sleep felt so promising, and yet it was the last thing she wanted to do. She never wanted to sleep again.

Jaune was still running his fingers through her hair, still murmuring assurances. Pyrrha turned to look up at him and came face to face with the violent purple bruise ringing his throat.

She pushed away suddenly and stood, ashamed.

Behind her, she heard Jaune carefully getting to his feet. "Do you...want to talk about it?"

Pyrrha shook her head and hugged her arms, surveying the wreckage of the room. Their books and papers for class were scattered all over. Half the furniture was on its side, moved by whatever metal was inside it. Ren and Nora's beds were completely overturned. Even the metal hangers in their closet had spilled out, throwing everyone's school attire and formal wear into the chaos.

Jaune swallowed hard enough for her to hear. "Is there anything I can do?"

Pyrrha had been staring at her prom dress, twisted underneath Nora's overturned night table, but glanced over at his words. There was something in his voice she'd never heard before. He was a step away, one hand partially reaching for her, his eyes on her...on her lips.

Her heart raced. She stared, unsure of what he was doing, not wanting to hope as she had done so many times before. But no words came out of her mouth, so Jaune stepped closer, his hand reaching around the base of her neck, holding her steady, his eyes asking if this was alright.

It was. It was, she wanted to say, but her tongue had stopped working. Pyrrha could only stare at him, at the rapidly closing distance like she was watching a car crashing. She wanted this, she'd wanted this for so long, except…

Except.

Pyrrha jerked back from his touch, from his breath ghosting her lips.

"I can't," she said.

Jaune stared at her. "Why?"

Pyrrha couldn't find the words at first, the thoughts fighting for purchase on her lips. But by some bizarre logic, the words that came out of her mouth felt like a truth as irrevocable as the tide.

"If I kiss you, the sun won't come up tomorrow."

There was a sound from outside her window then — a scream or a scraping of metal.

"What was that?" she asked.

Jaune raised a brow. "What was what?"

Pyrrha turned to look. Jaune didn't, staying firmly in place. She walked to the window, slowly, because suddenly walking was hard again. With her hand, she wiped away the thin layer of metal filaments that clung to the glass like lint. Then she had to cover her mouth in horror.

Beacon was burning. The buildings were all alight with fire, in the school and in the distance, the horizon was a smear of lava, Vale in ashes. Grimm roamed the courtyard below her through the flames. Beacon Tower was little more than a giant matchstick, around which the Grimm dragon coiled and perched, screaming its victory into the night.

Pyrrha began to back away from the window. "Jaune… Jaune, we have to go out there. We have to do something..."

"No."

She jumped as she pushed back against Jaune's chest. His arms encircled her, holding her close against him, sending a jolt of electricity straight through her whole body.

"Jaune," she pleaded, eyes still fixed on the scene through the window.

"Stay here," he whispered, low and warm and right in her ear. "Stay here with me."

His lips brushed against the line of her jaw, and Pyrrha's knees went weak despite herself. One of his hands brushed idly over her stomach which did not at all help the warmth blossoming below his fingertips.

"We need to do something," Pyrrha fought to say, fighting the pull of temptation, the pull of force that kept trying to drown her in the siren-song of Jaune's voice.

He kissed behind her ear and her eyes fluttered closed. "You need to go to sleep, Pyrrha."

Jaune kissed again, lower down her neck, and sleep sounded so nice. Sleep in Jaune's arms sounded intoxicating and like the most logical thing in the world.

Something in Pyrrha still fought it. She wanted this, but she needed… Beacon needed saving. The world needed saving. She promised them she would. They promised her …

Pyrrha pulled away like punching under water, and turned in Jaune's arms to face him. Only to find herself standing alone in ruins. The room was abruptly devoid of life, aged a thousand years in a second. The red glow from outside was replaced by cool blue and gray. The roof was caved in and water dripped down to wild grass that grew where carpet should have been. It all shifted and blew in a draft that smelled like burning hair and ash. Where the door should have been, instead was a headstone.

Here Lies Pyrrha Nikos. Four Time Mistral Regional Tournament Champion. Sanctum Valedictorian. Vytal Festival Victor.

Pyrrha dropped to her knees to read the rest of the text, in tiny font that covered the entire headstone. A list of her awards and medals and competition wins. From top to bottom. No mention of anything else.

Shaking, Pyrrha bent forward and buried her face in the grass. The weight of gravity pushed down on her shoulders and back, so close to smothering her.

"I want to wake up," Pyrrha pleaded into the dirt. Then louder, "I want to wake up. I want to wake up!"

Pyrrha hadn't expected an answer. But a woman's voice calmly said, "You can't wake up if you don't go to sleep."

Pyrrha's head snapped up. She was somewhere else entirely. Instead of a gravesite in the ruins of Beacon, she was a thousand miles away, across the ocean, in her—

She was home .

Her house in Mistral rose up before her like part of the mountainside it was attached to. It's olive shutters and cream-colored columns looked just like she remembered them, when she'd helped paint them as a child. The ground she kneeled on smelled like jasmine and the wind carried with it the scent of a sky pregnant with storm.

"I'm out in the patio, Pyrrha," the voice called with a barely concealed weariness. "Let's talk."

Pyrrha rose and followed. She knew that voice.

The patio gate was exactly how Pyrrha remembered it too, the same lift and push trick she had to learn as a little girl to keep it from sticking. In the center of the patio, a small table was set up with pastries and tarts, all the snacks Pyrrha used to love as a child, before training forbid her from eating even one. There was a chair on each side of the table. One was empty, and in the other sat Pyrrha's mother.

"Have a seat," the woman suggested, indicating the empty chair.

Pyrrha stood motionless. "This isn't real."

Mrs. Nikos nodded, like Pyrrha had answered a question correct in class. "Very good."

Pyrrha shifted foot to foot, looking over the woman in front of her. Every freckle, every strand of hair matched Pyrrha's memory. The very dress the woman wore was one that she'd seen her mother wear in a dozen photos. "You're not real either," she tried.

"Yes...and no," Mrs. Nikos said cryptically. She picked up one of Pyrrha's favorite pastries and took a careful bite, mimicking mannerisms Pyrrha was all but sure she'd forgotten her mother had. "I am not your mother."

"Then why do you look like her?" Pyrrha demanded, anger bubbling to life now that no terror threatened to drown it out.

Without losing focus on the pastry she was finishing, Mrs. Nikos answered calmly. "Because, dear, I've been transferred from body to body so many times, I've long forgotten my own name or what I looked like. Your memory of your mother is easier to hold onto."

Pyrrha stared at this unfamiliar Maiden wearing her mother's face, her mother's voice, her mother's mannerisms. Mrs. Nikos looked up at Pyrrha.

"Unless you'd prefer me as Jaune," she sighed. "But I imagine we're both about through playing the games of your subconscious, yes?"

Mrs. Nikos indicated the empty chair. After a beat, Pyrrha warily crossed over to it and sat down. She politely declined the pastry her not-mother offered. Pyrrha waited, both women looking out over the border wall at the spectacular view of the city below, the forest beyond.

"As a brilliant girl like you has probably deduced," Mrs. Nikos said, "I am the Fall Maiden."

"The first Fall Maiden," Pyrrha clarified.

Mrs. Nikos smiled at the horizon, wholly at ease. "There is only one Fall Maiden, Pyrrha."

"I don't understand."

The woman crossed her legs, just like Pyrrha's mother would have. "Cinder Fall was not the first of her kind. Over generations, others have attempted to steal the Fall Maiden's powers for their own needs. But the magic within the Four Maidens is essential to the very fabric of all life on Remnant. It comes with a failsafe.

"See, one greedy woman can kill a Maiden and obtain her power. But you and I, Cinder and Amber, the rest of your council, and hundreds of others — we are that power." Mrs. Nikos made the motion of a downward slope with her hand. "The Fall Maiden is a pyroclastic avalanche, roaring down a mountain. The magic sweeps up aura, experience, the wisdom of civilizations. With every host, it grows more titanic, but it is still one force of nature."

Mrs. Nikos smiled over at Pyrrha. "There is only one Fall Maiden. She keeps the world turning beyond the whims of any mortal woman. But she needs to rest. To replenish the aura spent weaving miracles." Mrs. Nikos gave her a knowing look. "She shouldn't be up and about, wandering through the memories of her other lives."

Pyrrha folded her hands in her lap, crossed her legs at the ankle. "I...I didn't know."

"You could not have escaped this any more than you could have escaped a wildfire, Pyrrha. Though I admire your strength to try," Mrs. Nikos said proudly.

"My...my council," Pyrrha hedged. "I thought I was… They're all still here? No one's...gone?"

Mrs. Nikos turned to indicate Pyrrha's house behind her. Pyrrha turned too, and found she could see through the walls of her childhood home, into the infinite bedrooms where the remnants of each Fall Maiden slept restfully. All except the two on the patio.

Pyrrha felt the magic pull her towards the house with all the warmth of a lover's hand in hers, and yet...

"I can't," Pyrrha found herself saying.

Mrs. Nikos tipped her head. "Why not?"

In response, the sunset in the distance set the very forest aflame, replacing the cool scent of storm with the smell of smoke and charcoal.

Despite the sudden change, Mrs. Nikos remained kind. "You feel you are beholden to your friends and war you agreed to fight."

Pyrrha folded in on herself.

"You're right," she said, surprising Pyrrha. "The world is in need of the Fall Maiden. Dark forces are at work, trying to upset the balance." Mrs. Nikos looked particularly stern then. "It is folly to grow comfortable in wisdom and assume nothing will change because nothing ever has."

The woman stood and the horizon cleared of smoke and fire, leaving the setting sun a sliver on the horizon.

"But everything it's time, and now it is time to rest," Mrs. Nikos announced, smoothing out her dress. Pyrrha stood as well and Mrs. Nikos adjusted a bang of hair that had slipped out from behind Pyrrha's ear. "I'll walk with you."

Pyrrha followed her "mother" inside the house — past a kitchen with tournament programs magnetized to the refrigerator and a stairwell lined with photos of herself on the podium at numerous competitions — until they turned at the top of the stairs at the door of Pyrrha's room. Mrs. Nikos waited for Pyrrha to take the first step, pushing open the door and stepping tentatively inside.

Gold and silver medals draped from the wooden banisters of her bed. Trophies glinted in the fading sunset light on three separate shelves made specifically to accommodate for their height. Plaques and certificates served as wallpaper.

Pyrrha eyed the bed, then the woman behind her who didn't seem as if she would enter. "What about you?"

"Don't mind me," Mrs. Nikos said with a wave. "I'll make sure you're not disturbed. Just because the Fall Maiden sleeps does not mean that the world stops turning."

Pyrrha took stock of the room again, sharper than her memory of it could have ever been, and stared at the empty twin bed a moment longer. She feared the others' nightmares and memories might try to sweep her off into the depth of madness again.

"Could you stay with me?" Pyrrha asked softly, turning back to the image of her mother. "I'm sorry, I know you…"

Mrs. Nikos shushed her kindly. "Of course. You have nothing to apologize for." She took Pyrrha's hands in hers, the women's silken skin exactly how Pyrrha remembered it. "The seasons change, dear. People don't."

Pyrrha got into bed and Mrs. Nikos tucked her in. As the sun finally set, the swell of magic rose up around her like a slowly filling bathtub, pulling her into sleep, into rest as habitual as the turn of the broken moon around the planet.

"Don't...don't let me sleep too long," Pyrrha pushed through to say.

Mrs. Nikos smiled. "I won't."

Pyrrha felt the woman lean forward and plant a kiss on her forehead, as Alexandria had done all those lifetimes ago.

"Don't worry," Pyrrha heard her whisper as she finally went under. "You can sleep for centuries."

Author's Note: Well I'm never doing that again. I'm immensely proud, but I feel like I lost three years of my life and fifty percent of my sanity writing this chapter.

However, this monstrosity of an interlude serves a few purposes. 1) This was a writing experiment to see if I could pull off a fully dream chapter without too much confusion. 2) I wanted to portray Pyrrha's fears and insecurities in an original way, i.e. by having them mirrored in the lives of the Maidens in her 'council'. And 3) I needed to pass some important real and in-story time between chapters 9 and 11 because of what comes next. And hoo boy, what comes next.

142 Faves and 210 Follows! Welcome to all who found this fic during the hiatus. Expect the next chapter in about a month's time. Real Life hasn't completely calmed its tits for me just yet, but I am doing my best. Reviews are eternally appreciated and will always be replied to with an excerpt from the upcoming chapter ;)

EDITED AUTHOR'S NOTE 7/11: Real Life has gotten complicated as it often does, so for your sake and mine, I'm officially putting PD on a summer hiatus. I'll still be writing lighter fics over the summer months, but this story takes a lot out of me emotionally to write and the heavier stuff is going to need to wait until some things settle for me IRL. I'll still be answering reviews and PMs, so no worries about me dipping out completely. See you all in the fall ;)

Author's Notes on the individual segments:

Faith: Marco and B are modeled on Mako and Bolin from Legend of Korra respectively; Faith's carpentry and wooden weapons are a nod to her other influence, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Georgina: Adelind means "reptile" or "reptilian". Her squire is an ancestor of Jaune's, and yes, I wholly buy into the fandom theory that Jaune's line of "heroes" were all just plucky young men like Jaune who fought tooth-and-nail to make themselves into legends.

Amber: Until contradicted by canon, Amber was legal at the time of her death — and dealing with her grief at the loss of her only maternal figure in the arms of a handsome stranger.

Elphaba: Takes a lot of threads from the book and musical Wicked. In my mind, young Ozpin strongly resembles human Cedric from W.I.T.C.H. And if you try to tell me that the Vytal Festival isn't like the Olympic Village where the most attractive people in the world at the peak of physical condition hook-up in between grueling competition then you have never met a teenager.

Cinder: Some nods to the Grimm version of the fairy tale and other dark re-imaginings I used to love reading as a kid.

Alexandria: Tony is modeled on Marc Antony of Rome to mirror Alexandria's Cleopatra influences. Clawed gauntlets are a real terrifying thing that exist.

Pyrrha's Subconscious and Mrs. Nikos: Both these segments show my adoration for the writing and storytelling on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Fans of the show should be able to spot my references to "Hush" in Jaune and Pyrrha's interaction and references to "Restless" in the rest of it, particularly with the first Fall Maiden. Pyrrha and Mrs. Nikos' dynamic also takes a lot of cues from Jean Grey's relationship with the Phoenix Force in the X-Men comics (*loud coughing* particularly their first interaction in the retconning for X-Men #101 I'm a giant nerd *more loud coughing*).

Chapter Title: "Rock on, gold dust woman / Take your silver spoon / And dig your grave" -Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac