Chapter Text
Sulfur clung to Glynda like a phantom, each inhale burning down her throat as if an inferno raged around her still. Her eyes watered from the lingering smoke and heat. The singe marks on her clothing documented every close call, every plume of flames turned away with but a moment to spare, but more telling still was the way she took the steps to Beacon’s highest tower with care, one at a time, conscious of every move.
The relief efforts were still afoot, the sirens louder still than the pound of blood in her ears. Students were corralled into their rooms in a frenzy, and two dozen firefighters crowded around what remained of the CCT tower. At least half of Ironwood’s forces stalked the forests around Beacon, prepared to kill on sight.
And still, there was no sign of the witch.
The night assisted her escape no doubt, the sky moonless and black, and Glynda could almost feel her slipping farther and farther from the school grounds—and the clutches of their esteemed general.
As much as every inch of her burned in unfamiliar exhaustion, the taste of a real fight echoed deep in her marrow, her feet yearning for pursuit, her fingers curling into fists at her side. There were few who managed to push her to exhaustion; even fewer still who inspired the hollow hunger of a depleted Aura.
Cinder Fall had done both.
“—any idea what this could do to us?”
General Ironwood’s deep timbre gave him away as the door to Ozpin’s office came into sight, and something spiteful curled her lips, leading Glynda on. He sounded as though he knew Cinder Fall would escape them, and that explained the scent of slaughter which hung heavy in the air. His pride would have been carved bloody at such a disastrous blunder, and all after just making such considerable claims about the effectiveness of his forces.
Ozpin’s voice came softer, ever the mediator, ever the pacifier, and even standing at the door, Glynda couldn’t make out the words. Her mouth slanted into a frown, remembering it was also on Ozpin’s watch this had happened. He was responsible as well.
Knocking once, she pushed the door open without waiting for a response. The room was the highest point of the school, the central tower from which one could observe the entirety of the campus and edges of the nearby Emerald Forest. Panes of glass made up the walls, the emergency lights staining the colorless room in red and blue. Nestled in the high ceiling, countless gears groaned as they continued to spin.
As soon as Glynda entered, General Ironwood snapped to attention, recoiling from the desk placed strategically between himself and Ozpin. His neck strained against the tight collar of his white uniform, and at the hems of his ash-covered pants, there were fresh coffee stains.
No matter how quickly he retreated into composure, Glynda didn’t miss the overturned mug, the coffee running across the desk, or the narrow look Ozpin shot her from behind his folded hands.
Above them, the gears clanked and turned, endless; and below, the firefighters’ sirens wailed like banshees.
“Sir,” Glynda said, adding her voice to the chaos as she moved briskly towards the desk. “You requested me.”
Despite himself, Ironwood seemed a touch relieved to see her. She kept her cool, only lingering on him for a second before returning her focus to Ozpin. Glynda didn’t want Ironwood to misinterpret her examination as an invitation to speak.
Ozpin’s eyes were ringed with shadows, his face unusually severe beneath lofty silver bangs. Stiffly, he reached for his mug, turned it right-side up, and began mopping at the spilled coffee with a cloth pulled from one of the desk drawers. Glynda imagined she would have felt more than an ounce of pity for his predicament if she hadn’t been so exhausted herself. Not to mention, having Ironwood in the room was bound to worsen the situation. He had a way of escalating things.
“Yes,” Ozpin said, in that sure, steady way, finishing with the spilled coffee and tucking the rag back into the drawer. “Yes—I don’t think anyone is more qualified than you to speak on what happened tonight—”
“Talk is the last thing we need now.” Ironwood cut in. “The enemy is gaining distance every moment we spend talking. We need action.”
“Deliberate action, James. We cannot rush headlong into the unknown.” Ozpin’s patience had been tempered by time, but even so, Glynda could hardly see how he managed it. “Glynda, you were the one to find Cinder Fall within the CCT. What was the situation when you arrived?”
Glynda cleared her throat, remembering. “The silent alarm had been tripped, and I received an alert through my Scroll. I thought it might be a group of students, but when I arrived, she was there instead.”
“Do you know what she was doing?”
“I believe she had accessed one of the computers, but I wasn’t able to see more.” From over the top of a monitor, Glynda had seen but the briefest flash of gold beneath her dark bangs, like a serpent nestled in the undergrowth. Then she’d struck. “We engaged one another promptly.”
At her side, Glynda could see Ironwood fidgeting. Ozpin ignored him. “Did she take anything?”
“No sir. Not that I could see.”
Ironwood tore away from them, pacing around a small circle. He was losing his composure again, and his voice was fraught with agitation. “Fantastic. At least that’s established. Now, are we going to do something about this?”
“James, please,” Ozpin tried.
“And what do you propose?” Glynda snapped. “You’ve already sent a battalion out into the streets.”
Ironwood startled for the briefest moment at the accusation in her voice, but recovered quickly enough to muster a response: “We follow her trail. She couldn’t have disappeared without a trace, and I have specialists who could uncover it—”
“And then?”
Ironwood squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, meeting the challenge in Glynda’s gaze. “Even Cinder Fall cannot withstand the full strength of our forces.”
“We mustn’t be too bold,” Ozpin said quietly, denying Glynda the satisfaction of a quick retort. “Even among us, Glynda is the only one who has fought Cinder Fall one on one.”
Glynda straightened, vague pride shining through the mist of exhaustion.
“How did she hold up to expectations?”
“She was… Savage.” Insufficient. Glynda tried again. “Lethal. More so than anyone else I’ve ever fought.”
Merely alluding to the clash filled her with an uneasy prickling. When she blinked, she could see the woman still, wreathed in a corona of hellfire. Cinder was no Huntress, not like Glynda. In her, Glynda sensed only the capacity for annihilation.
A lump which tasted of ash had formed in Glynda’s throat, and she had to swallow past it to say, “If reinforcements had not arrived when they did, I’m not sure which one of us would have been left standing.”
Ozpin tried to look unaffected, even as one of his hands instinctively lifted to touch the brooch on his scarf. A nervous tick, and for good reason. Nothing and no one had been able to keep up with Glynda before this. Confusion crossed Ozpin’s face and then vague fear. Even Ironwood had been moved to silence by Glynda’s words.
For the first time since she’d arrived, no one spoke, each tangled in their own thoughts.
Outside, the remains of the CCT tower gave a last sputter of smoke, one final tongue of fire rising to the sky before relenting to the firefighters. In the flashing lights of the trucks, the tower stood at half its height, crumbling walls like grasping fingers reaching towards the sky. Little remained of the place where Glynda and Cinder Fall had drawn first blood, and all of it was charred and broken.
Ozpin breathed deeply, his expression smoothed into neutrality. Then, to no one in particular, he said, “On the night of the dance, no less.”
Glynda frowned, looking through the window to the dark edge of the forest. With every passing second, a sensation like nails across her neck told her Cinder Fall was already gone, and failure churned her gut, unusual and uncomfortable.
“James is right,” Ozpin announced. “We must address Cinder Fall more directly.”
“Sir—” Glynda began, incredulous, but then hesitated. He didn’t surprise her very often, but when he did, it was usually for good reasons.
In this, she just couldn’t see it.
“Yes!” The moment of shock wore thin too quickly on Ironwood. He jumped back into the fray, ready to push this unexpected advantage. “If we could just get her coordinates, we could send—”
“I think that would be unwise,” Ozpin said, surprising them both again. “If Glynda is correct in her assessment—and she has never given reason for doubt—then what we need here is experience, not numbers. Your forces would be better positioned here, to defend Beacon against further attacks.”
It was Ironwood’s turn to hesitate. Ozpin had lost him, but Glynda had an ugly suspicion she knew where this was heading.
“We can’t lose her trail,” Ironwood insisted.
“I agree.” Ozpin smiled, calm now, confident. “We’ll send the only person who has gone against Cinder and lived to tell the tale.”
Glynda refused to flinch as Ironwood turned on her, looking as mortified as she felt.
“You’re sending Glynda after her?” he asked, jerking back to Ozpin. “As if you don’t need her at Beacon, now more than ever? If anything, her role tonight only proves that she’s needed here!”
For once in her life, Glynda had to swallow the fact that she was agreeing with Ironwood. “With all due respect, sir, I believe I’m best needed here as well. Beacon is my—” Her throat tightened, eyes flickering towards Ironwood. “—responsibility.”
Instead of giving an answer right away, Ozpin turned his chair to look out the window. His hand trembled as he clutched his cane and rose shakily to his feet, his old injury threatening to topple him. Still, he stood tall, his shoulders broad, eyes forward. Taking a few steps toward the window, he stopped only when he could reach out to touch the glass.
Slowly and without turning, he asked, “General, how do you feel about throwing dozens of men at a single enemy, and receiving nothing but death?”
“Unacceptable,” Ironwood answered immediately. “But a price to pay if victory is achieved—”
“And if it never is? Cinder Fall will never accede to a battle on your terms. She is not an army to be met in the field. She will strike when it is convenient, and advantageous for her, and when it is not, she will return to the shadows, as she has done tonight.”
When Ironwood remained silent, Ozpin lowered his voice, a touch of sympathy bleeding in. He glanced over his shoulder, silhouetted in red and blue.
“I understand that your forces have tangled with her before, but this cannot be personal, James. You won’t avenge any death by sending more of your people to the slaughter.”
After a long moment, Ironwood deflated somewhat, his shoulders crumbling in. He said, “If she is as mighty as Glynda claims…”
Ozpin turned back to the glass. “I believe she is exactly as mighty as Glynda claims.”
“Then…” Ironwood grappled with his pride, working each syllable from his mouth. “Then perhaps you’re right. If you are going to send Glynda…”
“I hope to speak with her about that now.”
Without you was implicit. Even Glynda caught it.
Ironwood was useless tension. He gave Glynda a complicated look, his mouth opening and closing again. Glynda met his gaze, guarded. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him conflicted, and something about it made her uneasy.
Finally, Ironwood managed, “If you send Glynda, Beacon will have my troops.”
Before Ozpin could even acknowledge the vow, Ironwood turned and was moving towards the door. Once it had clicked closed behind him, Glynda and Ozpin were alone.
The second they were, Glynda’s doubts spilled forward. “Sir, this is a mistake. There has to be someone else we can send. I’m meant to be here!”
“There is no one I trust more than you, Glynda.” Ozpin spun slowly, mindful of his bad leg. He gave a small smile, but it was weary. He slouched back into his chair, softening now that Ironwood had gone. “I have known many Huntsmen and Huntresses during my long life, but none of them hold a candle to you.”
The praise should have banished all doubts. It didn’t. A torrid mix of dread and uncertainty filled her to brim. She belonged here at Beacon. Save short assignments to other parts of the world, this had been her post since becoming a Huntress. To leave it on such short notice to ordinary soldiers made a cold sweat prickle between her shoulder blades.
“Sir, I can’t leave the school,” she said, a touch desperate. “Beacon is my home.”
“And it always will be, Glynda, but… I fear there may be something sinister afoot here. Cinder Fall… I can’t help but wonder what is at stake if we don’t stop her,” Ozpin said, and his eyes went far past her, as though looking at a distant game board. “Her attack doesn’t make sense unless there something bigger going on.”
There had been scarce few times when Ozpin’s intuition had proved incorrect, but even so, Glynda couldn’t quell the anxiety within her. Her fingers twitched. Her throat constricted. Everything in her felt tight and hot and shaky. She couldn’t stay calm. She couldn’t relax.
Couldn’t—until she could. Like the ebb of a tide from some bottomless sea, calm overtook her, bit by bit, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of that fear.
In but moments, cold resolve was all that remained. She was in control of herself. She was ready.
Ozpin must have seen it in her expression. “This is your mission, Glynda. Hunt down Cinder Fall. Bring her back—alive, if you can. If she proves too powerful for you, do what is needed.”
It hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but his words still latched onto her pride like bristling burrs, digging in deep to draw blood. Of course she could catch her.
Glynda was a Huntress. She could hunt.
She had lost Cinder’s trail, for now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find it again. She would find it again. The acrid smell of cold smoke and burnt hair tore at her nose even now, and she knew finding the source was only a matter of following the stench. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Glynda reasoned, and if she was to leave Beacon, she would gladly be the one to smother this particular flame.
Breathing deep, she closed her eyes. The wear from her clash with Cinder was a constant, dull ache in her. Her Aura was restoring itself in measures, no longer empty, but far from useful.
“When does my mission begin?” she asked, a hollow note in her tone.
“Will you be fit to leave by morning?”
Glynda nodded, not needing to hear the rest. “Yes, sir.”
Even if she had to leave the school to others, even if she must go on her own—with patience and determination, she would track down the witch and put an end to her.
Glynda turned on her heel, but before she could reach the door, Ozpin’s voice bade her stop. Turning to meet his eyes one last time, Glynda found them weary, his smile faint.
“I have faith in you, Glynda” he said, his fingers curling around his brooch. “You’ve never let me down.”
She nodded and then left to prepare.
The streetlights raced across dark window panes, a lone, black car zipping down abandoned streets, ash still clinging to its exterior.
Within, Cinder Fall shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her head tilted toward the pass of lights outside, the thick column of smoke reaching towards the stars just visible over the distant high-rises. Roman drummed his fingers across the leather interior of the SUV next to her. Their driver, one of his boys, kept his eyes glued to the road, ripping down the highway in a bid to escape the city before the army could catch up with them.
By now, the distant whir of General Ironwood’s air fleet resembled the buzzing of gnats. It would be some time before they cleared the forests around Beacon and moved into the city, and by that time, Cinder would be gone, disappeared like smoke between the General’s clasping hands.
Empty air was better than burnt palms, but as certain as her escape, General Ironwood would not see it that way.
As if he knew it just as well, Roman fidgeted beside her, alternating between playing with the rim of his hat and running his fingers through his hair. He only stopped when his Scroll gave an electric chirp, Mercury’s name flashing on the screen briefly. Then Roman snapped it shut and tossed it between them, his lips pressed flat.
Shooting her a pointed look, he snapped, “You couldn’t have gone for something a little more subtle?” He leaned forward, rapping his fingers on the center console. “Move it, buddy. We’ve got ten minutes before this city’s crawling with every soldier and mech old Jimmy boy can throw at us.”
The driver glanced over his shoulder and nodded, and as the car lurched forward, Roman fell back in his seat, digging through his pockets for a cigar.
“I hope your need to know mission was worth having a bullet with our names on it in every rifle from here to Signal. I don’t do jail, and I definitely don’t do military jail. Just for making me consider that possibility, I’m charging you double—triple.”
He pulled a cigar from his case and set it between his lips, but when he went for his lighter, he growled. “Dammit, did Emerald… Cinder, give me a light, will you? I’m going to skin her when we get back—”
Gold eyes needed only pass over the end to set it ablaze, and Roman stopped short, blowing out the flames spitting at the end of his cigar. He cursed, shooting her another glare, but pulled it back to his lips and took a long drag. Acrid smoke filled the SUV, making Cinder tense and prickle, and Roman’s gaze flickered up and down over her battle-worn suit, the statuesque still which carved her of angles and jagged edges.
Steam curled at her lips, her lungs like the soot-filled bellows of a forge, and in the pass of the streetlight, her nails flashed crimson as the blood drying across her clothes.
Exhaling a stream of smoke, Roman waved his cigar towards her, asking, “What’s stuck in your gums? You not get what you want?”
Perfectly even, she replied, “The mission was a complete success—more than that, even.”
“So? What’s the problem? Goodwitch tear you up that bad?”
Nails like claws dragged across the tops of her thighs, making fists in her lap. Just the mention of her sent a thrill down her spine, something vacuous and ravenous settling deep in the pit of her stomach. A smoldering on the edge of hunger, the heat of it making her suit glow softly. Glynda Goodwitch had exceeded all expectations; not simply meeting her in battle, but pushing her back, the tower around them warping with the force of their collision.
Just the memory inspired a full-body tense, muscles prepared to dodge, deflect, destroy. She’d spent herself fighting heartbeat by heartbeat, the battle changing each second, forcing her to her limits just to keep up.
There were few who could make her sweat, even fewer who could make retreat appear attractive. Glynda Goodwitch had done both.
She’d felt the capacity for it in their first meeting, when Glynda Goodwitch had called down a storm of ice upon them. She was power and magic welded into human shape, and Cinder had suspected, had considered—but now she knew. There was no doubt, could be no doubt, not after getting so close, after tasting the calamity at her fingertips with her own flesh and blood.
Fire ignited through her veins, the vestiges of her tapped Aura consuming what remained of her wounds in wisps of smoke, and Cinder bared her teeth in a beastly smile, eyes gleaming.
At the razor edges of her teeth, Roman looked away, wincing and taking another drag of his cigar. “Freaky. Whatever. Just make sure you keep me out of it if you want to bark up that particular tree again. All the hazard pay in the world isn’t worth playing games with that witch.”
Cinder inclined her head at the word choice, exhaling softly in what could have been a laugh. “Not to worry. You’re going to Vytal next.”
“Vytal? Hmm… Let me guess: the White Fang again? Funny how you never seem to be around when the mutts are involved.”
Cinder continued, “I have a number of small operations there. Concern yourself with the transports to Atlas, and be ready when I send you a list of things to acquire.”
Scoffing, Roman asked, “Don’t you keep Emerald and Mercury around for shit like this? Or are you gonna ditch them now that you’ve got them nice and enrolled in Beacon? Might actually learn some manners…”
“They’ll joining me soon. They have their own mission.”
Roman laughed, leaning across the seats and giving her a cutting smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you actually liked the brats—”
“Beacon won’t be safe for very long,” she cut him off, all flashfire irritation. He wrinkled his nose, withdrawing. “I’ve just found the last piece I need. From here, we’ll be moving very quickly.”
“Right, right. With whatever you have planned.” Roman leaned back into his seat, pausing briefly to watch the city limits sign come and go. Only open road lay ahead of them, dark and endless, not a soldier in sight. He took another drag and offered, “Won’t miss that dump. It always had too many cops for my tastes.”
Cinder’s expression cooled, and she turned away, gold eyes boring into the darkness on the other side of the glass. Roman smoked, his cigar burning down to a stub as the car cut through the darkness.
Finally, Cinder asked, “Have you considered what I said?”
“About what? …Oh right, that. A safehouse for when your big plan finally kicks off?” Roman grunted, shrugging. “Thought about it.”
“Keep thinking. There will be casualties. I don’t know how extensive.”
He didn’t respond, but Cinder knew he’d heard her.
Silence descended between them again, Roman sinking back into his seat, his head turned away, hand propping up his chin as he finished the last of his cigar. Regardless of whether he heeded her or not, there was no denying it wouldn’t be long now.
The components were all falling into place, piece by piece, bit by bit. A few weeks more, and they’d have everything they needed, and then it would be time for the final, crucial part of all of this. Turning back towards the darkened window, Cinder saw her reflection in the glass, a serpent’s smile curling her lips.
For now, there was still work to be done, but after tonight, Cinder knew the time to acquire the Witch would come—and soon.