Weiss skittishly stands under the oppressive shadow of the Bifang-Sommerhaut cottage. All the weight of her own confusion, regret and anxiety settles on her shoulder like bloody snow. Even now the image of those scales, as white as cotton, still haunt her mind. She had never once considered that you were in fact one of them. That's probably her own fault. She always assumed faunus weren't as smart, that they were brutish, that they wouldn't be able to keep up with human conservation. The possibility of you being one never entered her mind, but truth is often abnormal and unexpected.
Does this change anything? she asks herself. Nothing has fundamentally changed about you, of course. You're still the same person you were before she discovered your scales. You're a faunus, you always were, even when she thought you were human. Even so, she doesn't care. Even though all she's ever been told of the faunus is that they are often degenerate and violent, vain and wrothful, it doesn't matter to her. You're (Y/N) first, a faunus last.
She sighs and raps her knuckle against the door. The wood is so aged that it almost seems to splinter under her touch. What should she even say to you? Apologise, surely? She chews her lip, unconsciously drawing crimson blood, and then looks down at her feet. One of them is tapping the stone anxiously. The door creaks open very slightly, and Weiss stiffens sharply. It's not who she wanted behind the door, however. Weiss' lips thin pointedly, and she suddenly becomes much colder.
"You shouldn't be here," Yushan mutters, stepping outside. Her eyes burn with a rage that's scarcely hidden by her hood. Weiss takes a step back and clears her throat.
"I'd like to speak with-"
"Yes. I know why you're here," Yushan interrupts, her eyes narrowing. "Whatever you said, whatever you did, you should know it broke (Y/N)."
"Broke?" Weiss repeats. Her voice is full of worry, which she quickly tries to hide. "I didn't 'break' anyone, that's ridiculous. Get out of my way; you're not who I want to speak to," Weiss demands, though it's lost on the older woman.
"No, you'll only make things worse. Turn around, leave and never return." Yushan crosses her arms, glaring down at her.
"But-"
"Go. Away. I won't repeat myself." Yushan's enjoying this. Scolding an actual Schnee is a dream come true.
Weiss' teeth grind together, but she steps away as demanded. Yushan re-enters and slams the door behind her, making Weiss flinch. She chews the edge of her nail, looking back at the cottage. This is her fault, though she's struggling to admit it. She pulls out her scroll and checks the text history between you and her. Since last night you've not responded to anything—not after she discovered your serpentine scales. She doesn't understand why you won't just talk to her. That's all she wants, a chance to apologise, to explain. Text after text tumbles down the screen, some long and elaborate, some short and pleading. She sighs and pulls her eyes away.
The cottage casts many shadows around itself, like a castle of darkness. Weiss feels as though the shadows might start clawing at her legs if she stays still any longer, but she can't leave yet. All her life she's been told that she must be responsible: for her family name, for the Schnee Dust Company, for her father. And yet she was scarcely told about the most important responsibility, which is the responsibility we take for other people. For when we hurt them, and for that she needs to apologise sincerely, and it is sincerely. She can't bare the thought that she hurt you, which is strange. This is the first time she's felt the poisonous feeling of guilt so strongly.
No matter what Yushan says, Weiss' path is clear. She recalls where your room is, and therefore where your window is. She sneaks around the cottage and finds it easily. The curtains are drawn but it's the only place she imagines you can be. She glances around. The street is quiet and empty, it's actually very quaint, so Weiss takes her chance. A staircase of glyphs form when she flicks her wrist. Each step she takes releases a small rainfall of sparkling lights from itself, and she easily ascends the air to your window. At that point it's only a matter of her dainty hands pulling up the window frame. The woodrot helps with that, and with some grumbling, she manages to open it. After a tentative moment, she pulls the curtains away and steps inside.
It's dim and poorly lit. The light of the sun illuminates the dust swimming through the air. She glances at the bed but you're not there. She takes a step forward and something crushes under her heel. When she looks closer, she realises it's a scale, although it's crumbled into many parts. Strange, she thinks. There's an almost imperceptible smattering of blood on the pieces. She would linger on it longer if not for the sound of shuffling.
She walks closer; it's you, curled up against the wall and cloaked by a duvet. It works with the darkness and hides you, while scales decorate the floorboards.
Weiss finds herself bereft of words very suddenly. That's bizarre, she had so much she wanted to say before now.
"Hey," she says. You shift a slight bit, though you were aware of her the moment she stepped inside.
"Please leave," you mutter. "I don't want you to see me."
"... Why not?" she continues.
Your eyes rise to watch her, though she can't see much of your face in return. "You know why, you saw. I'm a... freak," you say, though the word is too big, filled with too much meaning, it takes up all the space in your throat and threatens to choke you out.
"Because... because you're a faunus?" she asks. She finds she can't do much but question. Her hands fiddle with each other. "I know I've said some perhaps derogatory things about them—your kind, I mean—but I don't think worse of you for it. It's just... who you are."
Weiss notices a hatred boil up I your eyes. "You can say that, you can lie, it doesn't change anything. I'm an abomination. You're disgusted by me, you should be."
"I don't understand where this is coming from," she says, getting down onto her knees. She leans closer to you. "I know I made a mistake, I should have left your past alone, but it's good that I know who you are. I still..." she pauses for a second, unsure of what she's about to say. "I still consider you my friend."
"Go away," you mutter.
"What? Please, just listen to me."
"Stop. You're only making things worse," you continue, retreating further inward.
"I'm sorry. I really am. Please, tell me what I can do to make this right."
"I just want you to leave; I just want to go home," you mumble, almost like it's a prayer. Weiss frowns and reaches out a hand to touch you, but you flinch away from it. "Don't," you say.
She tries to rack her brain for something else to say, but her mind is blank and her tongue is dry. She's never had to apologise before, but she feels as though her first attempt is a failure. Despite how wrong it feels, she turns away and does as you ask. The glyph stairway returns to the world in preparation for her. As she pulls herself into the window frame, she shoots you one last glance. It's equal parts pity and regret.
She leaves and skirts the edge of the cottage, watching her own feet instead of what's in front of her. She's about to walk down the street when a voice calls to her, "Schnee!"
Weiss turns on her heels, recognising the low tones of Yushan's voice. She's leaning against her own door, and she beckons Weiss closer to her. Uncertainly, she walks toward her. She doesn't quite feel safe without Myrtenaster, but she has glyphs.
"Yes?" she replies, stood a fair distance from the looming cottage.
"I know you went into my house," Yushan says. The tone of her voice is razor-sharp and self-assured, threatening all by itself.
Weiss returns her own glare. "How did you know?"
"You're not subtle; I heard your footsteps through the floor. You should wear heels less often." Yushan shrugs. "Besides, it's what I would have done."
Weiss grimaces. "We're not alike."
"Thankfully," Yushan agrees. "Sit," she continues, herself sitting onto the stone steps that descend from the door to the front garden. Weiss sighs and realises she could do worse when it comes to company. It's still awkward being sat next to Yushan though, they're not exactly friends. In fact, there seems to be an inherent animosity between the two.
"So? What did he say?"
"Nothing much. I tried saying that I didn't care about him a faunus, but he didn't listen, so..."
"To be expected," Yushan says matter-of-factly. "(Y/N) does not care about your opinion."
"Excuse me?" Weiss shoots back. "I don't think it's your place to say that."
"It's the truth. He doesn't care if you hate the faunus or if you love them, because he finds them—us, his own kind—to be disgusting. Something like this happens maybe once a year."
"Really? I thought this was my fault."
Yushan hums, "Well, this time it is."
"Thanks," Weiss mutters under her breath.
"But (Y/N) has... underlying issues. When he's reminded that he's a faunus, he shuts himself away, and I just... wait. I suppose it ruins the illusion he tries to maintain, the illusion of being human."
"So, the bandages?"
"I put them there. If he can't see his scales, he is happier."
"That can't be healthy, just hiding the pieces of yourself you don't like."
Yushan's eyes run up and down Weiss' figure. "You would know."
"I don't appreciate whatever it is you're implying," she grumbles.
"You look like a doll; you know perfectly well what I'm implying."
"Whatever," Weiss spits. "I just want to know why. It doesn't make sense that (Y/N) would hate the faunus."
"No? Self-hate is quite common amongst my kind. When humans tell you that you're a monster, you eventually start to believe it."
Weiss grits her teeth. Part of her feels accused by that, which she knows is selfish. "So what? Someone called him a slur someday and now he's incapable of looking at his own body?"
"I suppose that's a very simplified version of the story, yes."
"Then tell me. Help me understand."
Yushan looks away. "It's not my place."
"Fine," Weiss firmly says, standing to her feet. "I'll return once he's finished tantruming."
Yushan's fists clench and ball up at Weiss' callous words.
"It's evil of you to say something like that when you don't know what he went through."
"Well, maybe I'd have more sympathy if I actually knew what he went through, mhm?" she shoots back.
Yushan opens her mouth to object but shuts it with a sigh. She may not want to admit it, but Weiss is a part of your life, and more than that, she's somebody you care for. She's trapped in this web of trauma along with you and Yushan, but she doesn't know why the web exists. "Fine. I'll tell you."
Weiss sits back down. "That's all I wanted."
Yushan hums, trying to find a way to start the story. Meanwhile, only a short distance away, your fingers grip the edge of another pallid scale and begin yanking. A pain quickly builds, like a pressure building under the earth, before you feel a tear of the flesh, and the scale is pulled away from your skin. A small scrap of papery skin and muscle remains attached to the scale, and the place it was torn away from turns red and inflamed. The pain is too familiar, it reminds you of your youth, and suddenly a monsoon of terrible memories takes you a nightmare away.
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The air is smoky and peppered with the tiniest particles of fire dust—little red sparkles that dance down your throat and settle in your lungs. They burn and cut, they make the flesh inside you raw and irritated. You cough and splutter, a few puffs of ash leaving your mouth. You groan as yet another dizzy spell comes over you and you collapse against the stone walls of the mine. Around you is nothing but rock and murky gloom, nibbling at the ends of your fingers. You try to pick yourself up, to stand, but your limbs are thin and spindly, the result of bouts of starvation. A few other miners, much older than you, walk past. One of them kicks your ribs with his boot, making you gasp and clutch yourself. He didn't do it to hurt you, he's just insensitive and unthinking.
"Hey, kid, get up before the overseers finds you," he mutters. You look up at his dirtied face with your dulled eyes and manage to nod. He holds out his arm to help you, and together you're able to pull yourself up. You sway and wobble a bit, your bruised legs not quite able to hold your weight, yet you still manage to stand. He pats you on the back and follows his friend down the mine, deeper into its jaws. You cough again when the raw, inflamed flesh of your throat is irritated by the filthy air. You don't mind it though, not when it's all you've ever known.
You follow the others into the depths, where a small cadre of fellow miners are already at work. Crystals of dust, coloured from violet to red, jut out from the stone like crude teeth. You stick close to the walls, hoping to avoid the gazes of the overseers. They'll take any chance they can get to beat the workers, probably because all the workers have tails or ears or scaled arms—they're all faunus. As expected, the mine overseers are purely human. That probably makes it easier for them—they can look at a faunus and see a monster, an alien, an abomination. When you see people as inhuman it only makes sense to beat them into the dirt. They go a little bit gentler on you though, because you're a child. If you cry and wail, they're reminded of their own kids, and suddenly they realise all the evil in what they're doing. Even so, that small kindness doesn't make your life much easier.
You slink closer to some taller wolf faunus as they strike the dust crystals with their tools. Their pickaxes are common and rudimentary but good enough. Most of the tools are too big for you, however. You're only really kept around because of your size.
"Hey, what is that?" you hear. It's barely a whisper, and when you sneak a look over your shoulder you see it came from one of the overseers. He's wearing the dark uniform of the Schnee Dust Company, and he's looking right at you. Quickly you turn away.
"(Y/N)?" another man replies. You recognise his voice—he's one of the older overseers.
"It has a name?"
"Since I started working here, yeah."
"Right. And why are we letting children into the mines?" he asks. You can feel his eyes burn into the back of your skull.
"Because it's small, can get into tight spaces."
"I see," he mutters.
"Is that a problem?"
"No. Could get rid of it if it becomes a problem, I suppose."
"What? Just turn it out into the snow?"
"Yeah. Why not, right?"
You heard the other man hum and their conversation come to a stop. The idea sends a feverish chill down your spine. You'd die in less than a dozen hours if they sent you in the snowfields around the mine. You have no idea where the nearest settlement is and you'd probably walk in circles.
"So, where'd it come from?" the overseer continues.
"Don't know. I started five years ago and it was already here."
"Huh. How old?"
"Ten or so? I'm not sure."
Your hands ball into fists and your jaw tightens. In truth you have no idea how old you are—ten perhaps, or older, maybe younger by a few years. You don't even notice if a year passes if people don't tell you. How can you be expected to keep track of your age like that? Even worse than not knowing your age, you don't even know where you came from. You've only ever had memories of the jagged stone and the taste of dirt. That means two things, either your mother also toiled away in this mine and passed away after you were born, or your parents abandoned you here. Neither idea is very pleasant. But if they are alive then they've long forgotten you, and to abandon you here means they must have resented your birth. Well, you hate them too, so you've evened the score in that sense. That hatred doesn't just come from them abandoning you, but because they were faunus, and now you have the curse of their race. If you were human, then you wouldn't be down here in the dirt with the rest of your servile kind.
That's all the faunus are in the end: a race of inhuman slaves. Your snake scales are the mark of filthy, degenerate blood. You're so much less than human, and that's why you're here in the bowels of the earth instead of the summer sun.
"Hey, (Y/N), get over here," you hear. You crane your head and notice a dog faunus across the mineshaft calling to you. His tail is wagging, he must be excited about something. "We got a hole."
You nod and scramble to your feet, rushing from one side of the cave to the other. A small group of miners have broken through the wall to another cave, but the hole is small. They can peer through it but can't get through it themselves. You already know where this is going.
He gestures to the hole and the rest back away from it. You sigh and start clambering upwards and towards it. Your grip is weak and your muscles ache from overuse, so you struggle to pull yourself through. Suddenly, a calloused hand grips the back of your threadbare shirt and forces you through.
"Ow!" you cry as you tumble down jagged stone and into the gloom. You groan and feel tears prick at your eyes when you come to a stop. You push yourself up, a rush of red fluid quickly leaking from your nose. You sniff and wipe it away with your torn, oversized sleeve. The darkness around you is endless, and you can't even see your own hands.
"Anything in there?" the man asks. His voice is somewhat fainter now.
Despite the throbbing aches all across your face, you manage to call back, "It's too dark; I can't see anything!"
"Give me a moment!" You hear the sounds of shuffling and movement, as well as conversation. As you wait, a chill runs through your body. In response you spin around, your senses sharpening acutely. Even though you're a faunus, you still need some scrap of light to be able to see in the dark, like the moon or stars—down here there's nothing. Instead, you rely on your ears.
There's a padding sound out there somewhere. Like the slapping of bare feet against smooth stone.
"Hello?" you cautiously say. Nothing replies except silence. A drop of blood drips from your chin as you stay unmoving. The sound has ceased. If something is out there in the dark then they've stopped moving. Maybe they're only a few metres from you, watching you cower up against the wall. You open your mouth to say something but you're choked by fear.
You jump and gasp when an arm is extended through the hole, holding a lantern. They're usually used to light the mineshafts, hung from the stone ceiling. "Hey, kid, ready to catch it?"
You glance around once more, still seeing nothing, then reply affirmatively, and the lantern drops down towards you. You manage to catch it when it lands against your chest with a 'thump!' You take a moment to catch your breath before gazing around. The lantern's reach of light hardly erodes the clotting darkness. You gulp and take a few steps forward, still holding the lantern high—as high as you can lift, that is, which isn't very. It's almost like exercising with a weight.
Curiously, you see two glinting lights at the very edge of the light's radius. You peer at them—trying to determine what they are—but don't step closer. You feel your body tense when you consider that they could be two eyes in the gloom, watching you. If they are eyes, then they're certainly not human or faunus. They're not blinking either. That hardly makes you feel better. For a moment you feel the urge to turn tail and run, but that would be stupid. No, it'd catch you easy if you turned away. And where would you go? You can't scramble back up that wall without help. You can only step forward, face your paralysing fear and hope for the best.
You take a deep breath into your scarred lugs and take a few tentative steps forward. The two glittering lights don't move as you dispel more of the darkness. And then you see more. A dozen more. At least a hundred. They're not eyes either, you can see that now. You almost jump for joy when you realise the glittering is dust—pure crystals of dust. There're so many crystals jutting from the stone, each one illuminated and prismatic under the lanternlight, that you feel like you're walking in the midnight sky, a new constellation at every angle. There's more than you've ever seen—and you've seen a lot over your life. More than that, the whole spectrum of colour is presenting itself to you, from red to violet and every shade in between. If this were a dream it'd be where you wake up, but it's not. You can tell thanks to all the little aching pains in your body. They're too specific, too real, for this to be the result of your own mind.
You're standing speechless for a moment before a gruff and impatient voice pierces your wonder. "Speak! Are you dead!? I swear to the Brothers, if you split your head open..."
You quickly perk up and rush back to the hole. "Still here!" you call.
"Good, for a second I was worried about that lantern. Anything in there?"
"Dust."
"Oh?" His tone becomes smoother, more warm and friendly. "What types?"
"I saw fire, water, wind. Gravity, too."
Although you can't see him, you imagine he's jumping for joy at that revelation. When someone finds new dust veins, they're always given a small bonus, just to incentivise. Well, you don't get anything like that. Technically you're not a salaried worker like the rest of them—you're just a ghost who hangs around.
"You're kidding? No? Great, we'll start busting through to your side of the cave. Uh, stay away from the wall."
You hum; it would be unfortunate if you were crushed by rock. The overseers would have to coverup the death of a child, and you doubt any of them have the competency to do that. You turn away from the wall and get a fair distance from it. There, you yawn. You hardly got a good night's sleep, not when the freezing wind gets into the workers' barracks and envelopes you like a snowed-in womb. You sigh, feeling your eyelids go heavy. You're so sleepy you almost don't notice the roughly humanoid figure hiding at the edge of your sight.
"Ah!" you exclaim, the lantern dropping from your hand and clattering to the floor. At the sound the figure scampers away, deeper into the cave. You scramble to pick up the lantern and then spin around, just in case it flies at you from the shadows. You try to listen for its feet on the stone, but the sound of your own heart thumping against your eardrums overpowers such a subtle sound. You back up against the cave's wall and try to still your rapid breaths. There's something down here. Your eyes flick about, hyperaware of whatever could be in the darkness. That being said, it seems to have retreated away.
There's nothing you can do but watch the hadows as intently as a tiger stalking prey and wait, either for the workers to break through the stone or for this monster to pounce on you. That would be easier if it weren't for the adrenaline in your blood—it distorts your sense of time and makes seconds turn into hours. How long it actually takes, you're not sure, but the workers manage to tear down the stone with pickaxes and drills. A cadre of them spill through, all too eager to feast on the riches inside. They set up lamps and get to work, barely even noticing you and your pale, frightened face.
One of them, the dog faunus you were speaking with through the wall, approaches you. His eyebrow raises curiously.
"You okay?" he says gruffly. You nod and give him back his light. He can tell by your wide eyes and the steady movements of your chest that you're lying, but he hardly cares. "Alright," he continues. He hooks his pickaxe onto a particularly large, violet crystal of gravity dust and hits it off the wall. It falls into his hand, where he appraises it. Something so large and of such a rare type would be rewarded by the overseers. "Here," he says, handing it over to you. "Better keep it close."
You nod, slightly stunned and still coming down from the terror, taking it into your jittering hands. It hums lowly, and dark figures swirl between the facets of the gem. There's power inside it, power that has gestated in the earth for thousands of years. It's spent all that time growing just to end up in your hands. It's humbling, in a way. You hide it under your shirt, aware that the others will also be lusting after it. "Go, tell the overseers what we've found," he commands. "They've fucked off to go play cards. Lazy bastards, but they'll want to hear about this."
You hum and start scurrying off back through the caves. The network stretches far and wide underground, most would need complex maps and directions, but you know it better than anyone. It's the closest thing you have to a home.
You rush through like a mouse scuttering through a maze. Suddenly, you smack headfirst into someone else. "Ow," you mutter, stumbling backwards. You clutch your head and look through the gaps in your fingers. The man you ran into is familiar, he's named Glycon and you sadly know him well.
"Watch where you're going," he spits, puffing out his chest. His face is stained by dirt and his hair is matted. He's not that old nor that strong, so his ego always needs a boost, and the only way he can get that is from harassing you. "Next time I'll crack your head open."
You wince and look away. The worst part is that he's like you: a snake faunus. His scales are a shade of dark green and they cover his arms from wrist to shoulder. His wife-beater shirt makes them very apparent, as well as his lacklustre muscles.
"Yeah," you mumble, trying to push past. Of course, you aren't so lucky. Glycon spots a glinting speck of violet light down the front of your shirt, and suddenly you're pushed against the wall by two gangly hands.
"Ah!" you grunt, your skin bruising on the stone.
"What have you got there?" he asks, a serpentine smirk hovering over you. You squirm and spasm and try to loosen yourself from his grip, but he's maybe twice your age and hardened by labour. One of his hand disappears beyond the neck of your shirt. His hands, cold as ice, brush against your skin.
"Get off me!" you cry, trying to claw at him. He snarls and slams you against the wall again, rattling your brain around your skull. As your vision blurs and refocuses, his hand has already found the gravity dust and yanked it away from you. "No! That's mine."
"Come on, you can't say no to me, right? Snake to snake, we gotta look out for each other."
"I hate you," you growl, making him laugh.
"Cute," he says, dropping you. You fall down the wall and hit the earth. He tucks the crystal into his belt, he'll probably get extra rations tonight if he hands it over to the overseers. That should have neen yours—your first good meal in weeks. Despite your hard shell, you're still a child, so you start to break down. For a minute everything seems to overwhelm you, and tears start flowing. Each one is hot and feels like it sticks to your chin too long before falling. Of course, if anyone saw you crying things would only get worse. You pick yourself up and continue your way through the labyrinth of passageways.
Suddenly, a blinding ray of sunlight hits your eyes, and you know you've found the exit to the mines. There're only a few overseers, the ones from earlier, playing a game of cards on an empty crate. There's a snowflake printed on its side in chipped white paint: the symbol of the company that owns these mines, so you're told. They basically own you as well—you're a child slave who officially doesn't exist. You wipe your tears away before they can notice and hurry up to them. One of them dares to glance up at you, but when he sees bloodshot eyes, tear streaks and dried blood, he quickly cringes and returns to his game. The other one, the older one, was smart enough to not look.
"Speak," he says, drawing a new card.
"We found more dust in the mines."
"How much?"
You weakly say, "More than I've ever seen," and he sighs pensively.
"Just when I was about to win," he mutters, standing up. The other one follows suite and you tell them where to go. The elder nods and they disappear from whence you came. Maybe they'll find Glycon and beat him half-to-death. Scum would deserve it.
You exit the mouth to the cave and look out at the world. There's a small 'town' attached to this dust mine, mostly for the faunus to live in, though it's not much but dirty barracks and a few other storerooms for supplies. The overseers—the humans—mostly live in the nearby settlements and cities. They wouldn't be caught dead living in a place like this. However, it's all you've ever known. You were born here, and you'll probably die here.
You take a few steps forward and slush oozes into your tattered boots, filling the space between your toes. Technically you're meant to go back into the mines and continue working, but your lungs will probably throw a fit if you spend another minute down there. Hopefully no one will notice you slacking off.
There's a high chain-link fence encompassing the entire mining town, and there's a few watchtowers to create the illusion of a proper defence. Grimm are always a threat to profits. And to the employees who work here, although that's less important. There're some others milling about the town: mostly miners who can't work today for various reasons. You even spot a woman amongst them. That's become more common as the cost of living continues to rise while wages stagnate, thus members of the family who might've stayed at home or worked in other professions have been forced to find employment in the mines. You're told it pays much better than other jobs available for faunus, but of course mining is dangerous. That woman you noticed earlier—her knee joint has been crushed by a cave-in, effectively crippling her. You imagine the overseers are deciding what to do with her now. You don't want to think about what might happen to her family if they lose the income. Landlords—usually humans—often aren't very sympathetic to faunuskind. That being said, you don't have a family and you've never met a landlord, so you know all this by listening to the others. Most of them are sending money back to their families in the cities, and they always have to gush about their children or the siblings or their parents. It's an alien thing to you, and hearing it just makes you feel hollow and empty—it just reminds you of what you don't have.
As you stand and watch aimlessly, you notice someone else stood by the chain-link fence. They're wearing a viridian cloak that's embroidered with beautiful designs and looks velvety to touch. It's probably the most illustrious thing you've ever seen, and it leaves you stunned, as though you've lived your life blind and just saw colours. Perhaps more impressive is the sword strapped to her back, almost two metres long, thin and straight. You can't help but creep closer, if only to check if you're dreaming this while still awake.
You walk next to her and gaze at the endless snow beyond the fence. To most people it's an inhospitable wasteland, to you it's the rest of the world. Slowly, subtly, and in a very childlike way, you try to peer under the person's hood, and in response they move to look down at you. Though you can't see much of their face, their eyes are a shade of amber that reminds you of a bonfire at midnight.
You gulp as your gazes lock with each other. Neither of you talk, but you do share a strange, wordless conversation. They hum and then walk away, leaving you alone by the fence. You want to follow them as they walk along the edge of the camp, but when they reach the gate you realise they're leaving into the deadly, Grimm filled lands outside, and decide to keep your distance. They stroll out into the snow; all the while being watched by yourself. It's somewhat stalkerish how you watch them so intently. The blizzardish winds quickly obscure your sight of them, however. Before you turn away, you take a look at the sign that's a small distance from the fence. It's nothing but flat steel attached to two poles from your side, but it apparently has writing on it from the other side. You've never seen it though; you've never even gone beyond the boundary of the mine and its little town.
Instead, you find one of the overseers leaning up against a storehouse. He's playing on his scroll instead of working, and he'll be able to satiate your childlike curiosity. You hurry up to him and catch his attention.
"What?" he says gruffly, peering over his scroll. "Shouldn't you be busy in the mines? Working?"
"Well, you seem very busy not doing your job," you shrug. He growls and knocks you over by kicking your chest. You land into the soft snow, your clothes quickly becoming wet.
"Think you're smart?" he continues. "Vermin."
You sit up and massage your head. "I won't snitch if you tell me who that cloaked person was."
"Why do you care?" he asks imperiously. "Whatever. She's some huntress, apparently. Seems more like a frigid bitchess to me. She's probably got bird flu anyway."
"She's a faunus?" you infer from that comment, as you stand up. He nods. "Oh," you say, somewhat disappointed by that. You've learned not to expect much from the faunus: they abandon their children, steal from and abuse their peers, and grovel at the feet of humans. That's all you've learned from your parents, from Glycon and the others you work alongside. "Why is she here?"
He shrugs. "No clue. She says she's hunting a horde of Grimm but we haven't seen anything. So, you gonna be a brat?"
You shake your head. "I never saw you."
"That's what I thought."
You scurry away, the sensation of cold quickly seeping into your skin. The sun is starting to set as well, so you imagine the rest will be coming up to eat and then go to sleep. You're well aware from past experience that if you don't get food first then they'll be none left, and if anyone else sees that you have food, then they'll take it. Because faunus are like that, you think, they'll snatch and steal what you have like cruel vultures.
You head to the place where the overseers hand out food. It's just outside of a storeroom, and it's pretty common to see breadlines trailing far away from it at morning, noon and evening. The guy working there spots you and puts his hands on his hips.
"Early, aren't you?"
You nod.
"Mhm, well, here's your portion," he says, throwing you a measly scrap of bread.
"Is this it?" you ask, looking up with him with dark-marked eyes and gaunt cheeks.
"Yeah. It's appropriate for your size."
You grit your teeth. "The only reason I'm like this is because you never give me enough!"
"Quiet!" he demands. "Tomorrow you get nothing. How's that?"
You hold your tongue and stomp away, angrily chewing on your scraps. No one in this place treats you with any respect. They use you, they steal from you, they treat you like an animal. You glance down at your scales. That's the reason why. If you were born a human then your fate would have been different, your horizon would've been brighter, but your birth was little more than a condemnation to suffering, and your body bares the scales that mark you as an abomination. Still chewing on the bread, you also bring your forearm up to your mouth, and let your teeth hook onto the edge of a scale. In one movement your teeth clamp down its edge and you rip the scale from your flesh. Blood trickles down from the torn flesh, catching dirt and dripping onto the snow. It puts you one step closer to being scaleless, to being a human. You spit out the scale and throw the bread away, starting to peel away as many scales as you can. By tooth or by nail, you turn yourself as human as you can be, leaving your skin inflamed and scattered with cuts. You've done this before, during earlier bouts of feverish desire to be human. But today is more violent, it's like you're ripping the petals off a rose.
You're not quite sure how much time passes as you lurk in the hidden places of the town, razing your own body and turning it sore and pained, but soon you notice the night settling and the workers heading back to the barracks. Blood specks track your path as you join them, like a trail of crimson pebbles. They crowd into the barracks, making boisterous conversation, their legs towering around you like trees in the forest. You pull your sleeves down as far as they can go to hide the peeled-away scales. Every time you brush up against someone, your raw nerve endings ignite with a shooting pain. You wince and clutch at yourself. Despite the agony running rampant across your body, it's oddly worth it. To be human is to be better, to be human is to be fixed.
The workers start finding their beds and taking off their clothes. In the past one of those beds was yours, but a few years ago they brought in more workers, and at that point only the people who could defend their beds got to keep them. As such you were banished to the cold, splintered floorboards with nothing but a rough, threadbare blanket. The worst part? Glycon was the one who took your bed.
You pull your blanket over yourself and quickly fall asleep. Tough days of labour have a tendency to exhaust the mind and body. Your dreams often aren't much better than your waking life, though.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You're woken from your sleep with a start. There's a tapping echoing around the barracks.
'Tap, tap, tap,' like the sound of water droplets falling into a pond. You sit up, the blanket falling down your chest. Your pupils are already dilated and jittery, searching for a danger you're not quite aware of. No one else is awake, but then no one else is sleeping on the floor like a dog. You stand up, the floor creaking under your feet. With the moonlight steaming through the window, you can see perfectly, though a human might struggle. As vile as being a faunus is, night vision is a useful advantage. The tapping sound seems to be coming from outside, as though something is rhythmically prodding the walls. More than that, it's moving. You can definitely hear the sound moving along the wall, approaching the window. Curiously you walk over to it, trying to stay light on your toes, as to not wake the others. This has never happened before.
You stand in front of the window, its panes marred by soil and ash. Despite that, glittering light manages to pour through and spray onto you. Then the source of the sound creeps into view. At first you think it's a twig or a stick, but the way it moves is too organic, too alive. It's a finger, dark like a shadow and twice as long as any adults. Its nail is sharpened like edge of a fountain pen. It hovers over the glass for a second, and then taps twice.
Your breath hitches in your throat and you feel your heart beat a degree harder. Whatever that finger's attached to, it's not human. Suddenly, it emerges into the light, and you take a reflexive step back.
The face is flat and white like bone. Two wide, crimson eyes, unable to blink, glare at you through the glass. That alone is enough to make you muscles freeze in fear, but the smile of the creature is even worse. It lacks any lips, instead you only see two rows of teeth stacked on top of each other, trapped in an eternal grin. The creature tilts its head curiously, and then taps again. Your survival instincts kick in, and your lungs expand to draw in air. Before you even realise, you're screaming and wailing like a banshee.
An orchestra of groans and curse words follow as the rest of the miners wake up. The lightbulb is flicked on, and a low buzzing joins the cacophony along with light.
"What?!" one of them yells.
"There's something outside!" you exclaim, pointing a calloused finger at the window. "A monster!"
Another braver soul trudges over and pushes his face up against the glass. "There's nothing out there," he says groggily.
"There was!"
"He's lying for attention," Glycon calls from across the room.
"Shut up!" you counter.
"Hey, calm down," the dog faunus says, though he's clearly frustrated. "I'll go outside, check it out." You manage to nod, even though your body is going shaky and weak. He straps on his boots and his coat and heads out into the snow. The rest of the workers try to get back to sleep or stare daggers at you. You do the same, although it's less intimidating.
When the dog faunus returns, he shakes his head. "Nothing at all."
"That's wrong," you say, stamping your foot.
He sighs and looks around. "Any of you got rope or something?"
Your eyes widen when you realise what he's about to do. You could run, but the only place to go would be outside. As you're considering your options, a hand's worth of fat fingers start yanking your arms around. You thrash, struggle and object as your arms are wrist and tied together. When they tie the knot, the rope rubs against your skin and tears away the very top layer like paper. One they're finished, they push you over. Your chin slams into the wood and you feel something crack in your jaw.
You make a soft whimpering sound, almost crying, as another says, "Make sure you get the legs, too."
You're too caught up in pain to fight back as they start tying your ankles together as well.
"Stop! Let go of me!" you shout as they tighten the bindings.
"Somebody give me a rag or something," Glycon mumbles groggily. He rubs his tired eyes for a second and then slams his boot into your chest. You're immediately winded start gasping for air. Just as you return to proper breathing, some rag is stuffed into your open mouth. You gag and choke on it, beads of saliva running down your face. It tastes like metal and grease. Glycon makes sure to tie the ends of the rag behind your face as well, keeping it secure. You can't make any sound but growling, and trying to speak just makes you choke and cough up more spittle.
With the problem of you solved, the rest go back to their beds and shut off the lights, submerging the room in abyssal darkness once more. Your attempts to shimmy your hands free fails—all it achieves is more searing pain—so you give up. Despite that, you're still alert and on-guard for the Grimm you know is out there. You watch the window intently, and seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to just under an hour.
Your eyelids are finally becoming heavy and your heart is finally calming when you hear it.
'Tap, tap, tap.' The finger returns to the glass. And just after that, the face as well. It mocks you with its toothy, lipless grin. It feels like an age has passed while it just stands outside watching you, separated by so little. And then it starts moving again. That's somehow more frightening than it just watching you. You fumble your wrists again, no matter how hopeless it seems, but the rope stays tight.
The tapping starts moving through the room, trailing from the window to the door. It might as well be the rhythm of death's march. The tapping stops. But the slow, ordered sound is replaced by something far worse: the chaotic, frenzied rattling of the doorknob. Something is trying to get through. It stops for a second, and you think for a moment that it's given up. But then you notice a fleeting light through the keyhole: the colour of blood and glowing brightly. A chill runs down your spine when you realise it's the creature's eye, staring at you.
The light retreats and your whole body shudders as the doorknob begins to rattle and shake again, till a 'click!' reverberates around the room. You try to scream, though it's muffled to silence. The door is slowly pushed open, groaning and creaking like an old witch. You hear the sound of bare feet padding on wood, similar to what you heard down below. The Grimm steps inside carefully, and you finally get a look at its entirety: it's humanoid and tall, and while each is limb is emaciated and clawed with bone, it's stomach is distended and bulging. The monster's gaze lingers on you a second longer than everything else, before it approaches the bed of a snoring faunus. You whimper and thrash about, tears pinpricking at your eyes, as the creature's devilish hands grace the skin of the oblivious dreamer. It's almost like a parent cradling a baby, but that illusion is quickly broken when the Grimm's hand wraps around his throat.
There is only a brief moment for him to awake and start screaming before the sinews of his neck began to snap, and his flesh tears away till his head is cleanly ripped from his body. Blood pours over sheets and stains the wood, while you stare listlessly. What happens next is a blur you're too in-shock to comprehend. The sounds of screaming and groaning as everyone else wakes up. Then clambering as they all flood towards the door. Only a few remain inside, none of the ones who flee spare you a second glance, even as hot tears spill over your cheeks and mix with your saliva. They all abandon you—they leave you to die. You try to stand, but the bonds are strong and your body has gone weak and jittery, so you keep slamming into the floorboards with every attempt.
One of the faunus who remained, the dog faunus you spoke so much with today, draws a knife and tries to swing at the Grimm, but it slaps the blade away and clutches his arm in one movement. You watch in terror as the arm is then cleanly torn off by the Grimm, leaving the dog spasming in a pool of his own blood. The creature's gaze turns to another faunus trying to attack it.
Thinking quick, and hyped up on adrenaline, you worm and thrust yourself over towards the knife that slid across the floor. It's not easy, but you first manage to swing your wrists under your feet so they're in front of you, and then you manage to get the knife into your hands. From there cutting the ropes around your wrist is easy, and then freeing your legs is even easier. The Grimm's attention turns to you and your heart skips a beat in fear. You scramble towards the door at the end of the barracks, your feet becoming painted in blood.
As you exit the door frame you look around the town. It's lit by the moon and stars, but all that's illuminated is the scarlet shade of blood and detached limbs. There are many more than simply one monster, it seems. And the dozens of them that are tearing everybody apart, turn to look at you in tandem. By instinct you turn to run back inside, only to almost bump right into the one you were fleeing in the first place. Its grasp reaches down to grab you, and you only just manage to dodge it's hooked fingers. You turn and run, although the Grimm have formed a perimeter around you, slowly closing in with their strange, limping gait. With no other option you drop to your legs and slide under the legs of one of them. The snow is helpful for that. As you pass between its legs you slash at it with your knife. You must have struck a tendon because it collapses to one knee, while the others all crane their smiling heads to watch you.
It looks like there's no one else left. Limbs with scales and fur are scattered about with limbs that are completely human. It seems that death cares not for someone's race, and nor do the Grimm. As you run through the slush, more and more monsters emerge from the shadows and try to swipe at you, and in the end you count at least three dozen of them murdering the town in almost perfect silence. An occasional scream or weeping may break the quiet, only to quickly mutate into the gurgling rasp of a final breath. You cut the gag away as you run, accidently cutting your face. You throw the spit-drenched rag away and keep running.
The only place you can think to run to is the front gate in the chain link fence, beyond which is the outside world you always watched. In a decade you have not stepped over the border and entered the snow plains, but now it seems you have no choice. You come to a stop just before you hit the locked gate and put the knife in between your teeth. There're even some corpses here for you to springboard yourself off. Despite the developing frostbite you start clambering over the fence, your fingers hooking onto the gaps in the metal wiring. You climb it fast thanks to the adrenaline, scaling half of its height quickly. However, just before you finally fling yourself over the top, a hand grabs your ankle. You wince as nails dig into your skin, into your scales. Despite the pain and the tears, you try to throw yourself over the fence, but its grip is unbreakable. With a final grunt and a whimper you lose your hold on the wiring and fall back into the snow.
In the centre of your vision is the shattered moon, and crowded at the edge of your vision are bony, grinning faces and fat bellies. They cluster so densely that their glowing eyes seem to rival the number of stars in the sky. Tears cloud your vision as you try and fail to sit up. You feel an uncountable number of hands start to claw at you, lifting you up between them. They each tug, and you know you're about to be ripped into pieces. With your last coherent thought, you curse your parents; you curse them for forcing you to have been born a faunus, and for abandoning you to your fate. That's all the faunus do: abandon their own.
You start to close your blurred and watering eyes, even as a star begins to fly towards you—even though it's as colourful and as bright as a summer's day.
Your eyes widen. That's not a star.
The Grimm notice it too, and they stop tugging. The star seems to fall in slow motion before it lands onto the earth. You're dropped to the floor, though you quickly scramble up to watch a humanoid figure emerge from the flames. She's wearing a green cloak. The world returns to normal speed as she draws a wide bladed sword from her waist and swiftly decapitates one of the monsters. The rest lumber towards her, and she starts dancing between them all like a cindering snowflake. Wisps of fire follow her as she carves and cleaves them all without missing a beat. The air starts to become blackened as the slain creatures evaporate and turn to dark ash. You watch in awe, and her gaze briefly meets your own. Her eyes are the same colour as her flames: amber and burning with power.
She cleaves and cuts like a butcher, and half-dozen by half-dozen they fall and die. You don't think you've ever seen something so beautiful. Not the purest crystal of dust or the Sun's halo could match her stunning movement. You watch in a daze, and soon enough she's finished the massacre. She wipes the Grimm's dark flesh from her blade and turns to face you. Two eyes, wide and alert, pierce into you. She approaches, her blade still at her side. It's definitely the woman you saw earlier. Wreaths of fire that cling to her fade away to nothing as she stands over you.
"You're the sole survivor, mhm?" she asks, gazing at the bodies decorating the snow. You nod, though you're not sure if she was asking you or herself. She doesn't seem fazed by the bloodshed at all. You turn away from it and stare down, feeling a bubbling sensation in your stomach. A second passes before the cold steel of a blade forces your chin up; the very edge pushes against your throat. "It'd be a mercy to kill you," she continues, twisting the blade ever so slightly.
Without missing a beat, you reach for the knife that fell from your mouth and try to lunge at her. She reacts fast, trained by years of experience, and swiftly kicks you in the chest. You fly through the air, tumble across the snow and come to a stop.
"Nice try," she hums as you pick yourself up. You grit your teeth and glare at her—a series of insults form in your mind, but all that comes up next is a wave of bile and stomach acid. It comes out in messy, choking bursts, staining the snow a sickly green colour. Everytime it seems to stop, another deluge floods forward. You're wheezing and holding back tears when her hand gently rubs your back. "I wasn't actually going to kill you," she says, though you're not convinced. "Just something to ponder."
You try to say something, but your brain feels like it's been fried.
"That being said, it'd be best to leave before more Deep Stalkers emerge. If you want to live, then you need to pick yourself up and follow me." She stands, watches your heaving form for a moment, and then walks away. She breaks the lock on the front gate with her weapon and pushes it open. The whole world is open to you, the world you only know through other people's words and other people's memories. She starts her track across the snow plains.
You manage to stand on your two shaky legs. But when you try to take a step, something clutches your ankle. You panic, thinking it's a Grimm, but when you turn, you realise it's nothing so good.
"Don't... don't leave me..." Glycon mutters, his hair matted and his eyes blinded by blood. One of his legs has been removed. It's a miracle he crawled over to you.
"Let go of me," you say, rather emotionlessly.
"Please..." he continues. His breath is a raspy whisper, as if his vocal cords are centuries old.
"Let go," you repeat.
"I'm sorry..."
You vision turns red and your lungs fill with stormy air. "You're sorry?! Now?! I hate you!" you scream. "You all left me to die! You're all evil, and you all deserve this!" You clutch the knife and thrust it into his wrist. It slides neatly between his bones, and his grasp loosens. "All your kind... you're all cruel... you deserved this..." you murmur, watching his breathing come to a stop. You stagger a few steps back and take a final look at your home, and all the destruction, too. The snow is red now; there's the stench of iron on the breeze. You wipe your last tears and turn away, running after your mysterious saviour before she can go too far.
The snow plains seem so large that it feels like you might sink in and drown, like an ocean. The woman's unafraid pose helps to reassure you somewhat, however. You slow down to walk alongside her, and though you look up at her, she doesn't spare a glance at you. You sigh and steal a quick look back at the mine, and for the first time in forever you get a look at what's written on that sign just outside it.
"I've never seen that before," you say without meaning to.
The woman crosses her arms and turns towards you. "So you can speak, I see." She follows your gaze and hums when she sees the sign. "Can you read it?"
You shake your head; you're totally illiterate.
She sighs. "Sommerhaut Dust Mine, property of the Schnee Dust Company," she reads, a touch of spite on her voice. That word lingers in your head: Sommerhaut. You suppose—in some strange sort of way—that mine and its people raised you. You're one of them: a Sommerhaut.
"Let's go," you say, walking away.
"I didn't realise you were the one giving the commands here," she mutters, though she walks with you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"That's it?" Weiss asks.
Yushan nods. She told Weiss a much more simplified version of the story than you one you remember, but it's enough for Weiss to understand you better.
"I see. That's... that's horrible."
"Indeed, I imagine it's enough to traumatise any ten year old," Yushan agrees, watching the clouds. "Maybe I should've killed (Y/N)."
Weiss cringes. "You can't really mean that."
"Maybe, maybe not. The easiest answer is often the correct one, and killing people is often the easiest answer."
"Sometimes things are difficult because they're worth the effort. You did the right thing," Weiss mutters.
"Never thought I'd be complimented by a Schnee."
"Mhm. So, now what?"
Yushan shrugs. "Self-hatred, PTSD, survivor's guilt. Not much I can do. Nor you, for that matter."
"What about getting professional help?"
"(Y/N) would never be willingly seen by a therapist, and any therapist would have (Y/N) committed to a mental institution. That's not good for a faunus, it never is," Yushan explains. Weiss thinks that maybe she's a bit paranoid when it comes to humans, but ultimately she knows more than Weiss does.
"Okay," she says, standing up. "I need to think about this; I'll be back later."
"Don't rush," Yushan mumbles, watching Weiss disappear into the heart of the city. She sighs. Whatever is wrong with you is not something she can stab to death, but violence is all she knows. Yushan can't help but feel like she's failing you every second.