RWBY: A Lord's Tale

Chapter Sixteen: Gears in Motion

The elevator ride up was… rather bland.

Quin leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the numbers tick steadily higher with a mechanical ding every few seconds. His soldiers remained downstairs, his choice of course. Bringing a miniature phalanx into what was likely the most important conversation of his life so far felt like a bit much.

Besides, nothing screamed "don't trust me" like storming into the headmaster's office with a small army.

Qrow, meanwhile, was fidgeting beside him. The old man kept flicking open his empty flask, staring into it as if hoping to manifest whiskey through sheer willpower. His face pressed into a mix of habitual apathy and reluctant sobriety.

"Could make it back down," he muttered under his breath. "Fast runner."

But the elevator dinged before he made the decision.

Too late.

The doors slid open with a gentle hiss, revealing the CCTS tower's summit.

Quin stepped out, shoes soft on the polished stone, and immediately paused. The view stretched out before him like something off his old laptop's screen.

Off the very show itself.

The headmaster's office sat high above the clouds, a sweeping dome encasing them in soft grey-green tones. Wind whispered faintly through unseen vents, and the light here, filtered through crystalline glass and the colossal clock face behind the desk, was perpetually gold-tinted, like the hour before sunset.

And in the center of it all, behind an ornate desk of old ebony and panels of technology, stood a man with silver hair and tired eyes.

Ozpin.

He held a steaming mug of cocoa in one hand and gestured toward a small silver platter with the other. It held an elegant selection of donuts… glazed, powdered, and one suspiciously shaped like a tiny clock.

"Please," he said, voice warm but unreadable, "help yourself."

The room was… something else.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were threaded with intricate clockwork, massive gears bigger than him, and thick metal arms ticked quietly behind transparent panels, and above them, green-glass spheres pulsed faintly- likely components of the CCTS network.

Quin looked up. The clock face that was the window dominated the wall behind Ozpin's desk, a faint hum of energy vibrating through the glass.

He stepped inside slowly, suddenly hyper-aware of the sweat under his collar.

Qrow followed, silent now, though he gave Ozpin a long look that Quin couldn't quite read. Trouble? Frustration?

Probably both, knowing he had a mission in Anima.

"Mr. Moreno, is it?" Ozpin asked, finally turning to look at him directly. "We've got some important matters to discuss"

Because of course they did. Of course the immortal wizard with a revolving door of reincarnations had important stuff to talk about with him

"I figured… not many would send an airship for one man."

Ozpin sipped his coffee with a small, knowing smile. "No." A soft chuckle followed. "No, they wouldn't."

The silence that came after was heavy, yet not uncomfortable, as if measured.

And then Ozpin gestured to the two chairs before his desk. "Do you, Quin, believe in fairytales?"

Quin blinked, caught a bit off-guard by the question… he should've expected it, to be honest. He lowered himself into the seat, expression tight in thought before answering

"Not… particularly," he said slowly. "I believe there's truth behind myths and legends, but there's too much… artistic license taken to fully believe them."

Ozpin nodded faintly. "And yet," he murmured, "you know magic. You've witnessed the very thing most fairytales rely upon."

"Not really," Quin admitted, shrugging.

"But enough," Ozpin countered. "Enough to bring creations to life- creatures that resemble the very forces that define this world."

"The Grimm…"

As he said this, a few holographic images of his slimes appeared... he'd half forgotten about them, honestly, so he just assumed they were left in Anima... guess they were on the ship, stored somewhere in a reinforced glass jar like his system advised at the start of all this.

"...and Humanity."

Replacing the slimes were his soldiers, perfectly indescribable from regular humanity and yet could keep up with Huntsmen and Huntresses all the same... and without Aura, or Dust at that.

Quin's brow twitched. He didn't answer right away, but the flicker in his eyes said enough.

Ozpin knew, maybe not everything, but enough to know just how much of an asset he was... he was like a male Salem, capable of creating expendable and/or powerful soldiers to fight alongside humanity.

The headmaster continued, calm and deliberate. "You've drawn upon something very few in this world even know about, and even fewer can use... so tell me, Quin… do you know what you've really awakened?"

The old man was good… too good. If Quin so much as scratched his ear the wrong way, he figured Ozpin would take it as a sign of him lying, a nervous tick of sorts.

So he didn't, he sat still, composed.

Okay, no that was a lie, mentally he was screaming his ass off harder than Sanji when women were involved.

He leaned back, just slightly.

"I've been asking myself that same question," Quin started. "It feels like… unearthing something that was always there, something that just had a very low chance of reappearing."

He watched Ozpin's reaction carefully. Not the eyes, they were unreadable, but the fingers. Tapping once against the side of the mug, pausing.

"Where I'm from," Quin continued, "there were stories of scholars and shepherds who could shape life from clay or part away oceans… sailors whose very heartbeats could signal revolutions... I figured it was just hysteria, old words from older people."

He gave a humorless smile.

"But then I was reborn after meeting with this mass of white"

Come on old man, believe he talked with a brother god.

Ozpin's brows furrowed faintly, the faintest wrinkle forming in the corner of his eye… interest.

"And they helped-?" he asked softly.

"No," Quin said. "It was a bargain."

That part, oddly enough, wasn't a lie.

He was given a chance to be reborn with a system, and Vélet? Well… he got another channel for his divine TV.

( Wonder if he has MTV on that thing. )

He let that hang there for a moment.

"I don't know if what I use is… mine," Quin admitted. "But they're alive and follow me like the plague..."

Ozpin hummed quietly to himself, turning back towards the window, watching the clouds drift past the glass with that same ancient patience he always seemed to carry, measuring Quin's words against centuries of memory.

"Reborn," he murmured at last, tasting it grace his lips once more. "A curious choice of wording."

"Metaphorical," Quin shrugged. "Mostly."

Ozpin nodded faintly, but didn't press. His eyes remained on the horizon, as if the real conversation was happening somewhere just out of sight.

Meanwhile, Quin's attention drifted elsewhere, namely, the plush half-squashed in his coat pocket. Mordred hadn't moved an inch, but something about the stitched smile made Quin feel like he was being silently judged.

He flicked the plush once on the forehead.

"You're not helping," he muttered.

Then, without ceremony, he reached for the platter of donuts on Ozpin's desk and snatched two up, moving with the desperation of someone who hadn't tasted anything that didn't come from a ration pack in a week and a half.

He bit into the first like it owed him money.

Sweet, soft, the icing still just a little sticky. His brain practically short-circuited with relief.

Actual food.

His jaw slowed with every chew, like he was savoring every second of it, and a groan escaped him before he could suppress it.

Gods, was this what hope tasted like? Because he could get addicted.

That was a list of addictions now… Gambling, and now donuts? Not so bad, if he says so himself.

Ozpin glanced at him sideways, one brow just barely lifting, but said nothing.

Quin swallowed, mouth still half-full. "I didn't think the donuts would be the best part of this meeting," he muttered.

"Many underestimate the value of pastries," Ozpin replied, finally turning back from the window. "It often reveals more than any interrogation."

"Like what?"

"Their favourite flavour, for one."

Quin licked sugar from his thumb and tried not to look impressed at the joke. The old man was good. Calm, clever, and clearly used to reading people like books. Quin didn't know what chapter he was currently on, but it probably had a shitty title knowing his life so far.

Before he could say more, the faint click of the office door latch turned their attention.

Footsteps.

Crisp. Sharp, and Measured.

Quin glanced up just in time to see Glynda Goodwitch step into the room with all the warmth of a government audit.

Clipboard or no clipboard, her posture screamed business. Her eyes flicked to Quin, then to the plate of donuts, to Qrow, then back at Quin. Her mouth pressed into a thinner line.

He swallowed quickly.

"I'm not stealing," he said, raising his palms. "They were offered-"

No smile, hells not even a twitch.

"Quin Moreno, I presume," she said, her tone dry as a desert.

He gave her a small wave, still chewing. "Present."

Ozpin took a sip of his coffee and said nothing.

Glynda stepped further into the room, heels clicking like punctuation marks on polished wood. "You've caused quite a stir, Mr. Moreno… your little escort was pretty rowdy, disturbing classes with their… dance routine.."

No way... did they finally-?!

Her eyes narrowed as she pulled up the footage on her scroll, her fingers swiping through the timestamps. "I made sure to grab the part where your 'men' decided to put on a show," she said dryly.

The screen flickered to life, displaying the hallway from a security cam angle. There, exactly as described, were Quin's soldiers lined up in a surprisingly neat formation. Then, suddenly, they launched into a coordinated routine.

They twirled a collection of sticks, obviously grabbed from the walk here without him knowing and executed near impossible moves that would've made even the most kpop stars burst into tears of agony. One soldier did a quick moonwalk slide backwards, while another popped into a low crouch and spun his stick overhead.

Quin blinked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I didn't tell them to do that," he admitted.

Qrow, leaning against the wall, let out a low whistle. "Man... I've been wanting to see that ever since they mentioned it."

Glynda's lips twitched as she raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's certainly effective as a distraction."

Ozpin watched quietly, a hint of amusement playing in his eyes.

Quin shrugged. "I guess when you're left alone too long, even soldiers need to blow off steam."

He left out the part where they were just... always like that.

He glanced down at Mordred in his pocket, who seemed oddly pleased with the whole situation.

Qrow chuckled low in his throat, still watching the loop of the dance unfold on his colleagues scroll like it was the highlight of his week. "Alright," he said, finally pushing off the wall and stretching with a grunt. "Fun as that was… maybe we get this show on the road now, yeah? What's the plan with Wonderboy over here?"

He jabbed a thumb toward Quin, who responded with a little two-finger salute, still chewing on a half-bitten donut like this wasn't about him.

Ozpin didn't answer right away.

He set his mug down with a soft clink, folding his hands atop the desk, expression unreadable… but sharp, calculating.

"Still forming," he said quietly. "But he's a variable… One I'd rather have with us than… well, out there unaccounted for."

Qrow arched a brow. "So, what- another Huntsman? Are you planning to give him a schedule and join a team like the others?"

"Unlikely," Ozpin replied, eyes not leaving Quin. "His talents are… Unorthodox."

"That's a polite way to say I'm weird," Quin offered around a mouthful of pastry.

Ozpin ignored him. "He's a strategic asset, Qrow, and comparable to a maiden in some ways… more chaotic, yes, but also more… influential in grand combat, he can create life. Armies. Perhaps even more, given time and guidance."

Glynda's arms folded. "That does raise some very serious questions about the ethics-"

"I know," Ozpin said, cutting her off gently but firmly. "I'm not suggesting we use him as a tool... but if Salem were to discover him, and use his talents alongside the grimm?"

The room chilled slightly at that.

"Then having him here," Ozpin finished, "under our watch, under our protection, may be the only way we get ahead."

Qrow scratched at his stubble. "So… what's that mean for him? Classes? Combat training? Weekly therapist check-ins?"

"...Uhm, can I get a word in?'" Quin raised a hand, butting into the conversation. "...I don't want to be a Huntsmen... endangering my life for everyone else isn't exactly my thing."

Ozpin gave him a faint smile. "Then observation... we'll keep an eye on him, and ensure he isn't swayed by her."

Mordred gave an approving little squeak from his pocket… Now, all he had to do was commit treason and a civil war and he'd truly make her proud.

…

Later

The elevator doors hissed shut with a smooth clunk, and Quin gave a half-hearted wave through the closing gap.

Then they were gone, descending into the depths of Beacon Tower with a faint mechanical hum.

Ozpin stood still, fingers wrapped around his ever-present mug, eyes fixed on the empty shaft as if watching something far more distant than an elevator. Glynda exhaled quietly beside him, adjusting her glasses with practiced precision.

Qrow, still leaning just off to the side of the doors, grunted as he straightened up.

He hesitated, opening his mouth to speak before shutting it and glanced over at Ozpin.

"Mission was a bust" he started again, "was on the trail of someone when I met Wonderboy."

Ozpin glanced at him now.

"Someone involved with Autumn," Qrow went on, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Just whispers, signs, context clues… But once that kid popped up, it was like whoever I was tracking vanished off the map, barely a trace."

"Coincidence?" Glynda asked, more out of obligation than belief.

"Maybe," Qrow said. "But regardless it's gettin' scarier out there, Oz."

He looked out toward the wide windows lining the upper spire. Far off in the forested distance, the trees swayed like uneasy whispers. Clouds curled low over the mountains.

"Grimm are moving more often, more aggressive. Even with patrols, even with Huntsmen… towns are goin' dark, small ones, the ones we don't hear about till days later." He shook his head. "Let alone, it's gone to shit for anyone without Huntsmen."

Ozpin nodded once, slow.

"The world is changing," he murmured. "And the old ways may no longer be enough."

He took a long sip of his coffee.

"Which is why we'll need to see what new ones have to offer."

A girl with silver eyes.

and

A boy with forgotten magic.

Oh Salem, I wish you'd try.

2560 Words