A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 27

+++

With Cius's support, we had the chance to strike out from a base of operations until we could establish one of our own. Once that was done, it would only be a matter of time before the movement spread—first across the peninsula, then toward Mistral itself. And once Mistral was secured, the whole of Anima would follow. I had plans to clean up the east as well. Raven's gang was a threat, but one I intended to eliminate. Their removal would make the continent not only safer but more breathable, a land where people could live instead of just survive. But before any of that could happen, we needed recruits.

Word was spreading fast. A campaign was being raised to liberate the peninsula from the remnants of the old world and the bandits who plagued it. I was confident we'd get volunteers—my leadership in recent victories had proven that I could deliver results. People wanted to believe in something bigger than themselves, and I would give them that.

To amplify our message, I enlisted Sienna's men to act as my emissaries, going around town to gain recruits. Rider had pledged his support, but beyond his initial backing, this campaign would be built on our own strength. We needed recruits who were prepared for a life of hardship, not the comforts of safety. Those unaccustomed to the brutality of the world outside the walls would not survive long enough to matter. Malik and the others understood this well; they had recruited for the White Fang under similar principles.

The criteria were simple.

We needed people forged by hardship, not sheltered from it. Strength was essential, but not just physical strength—the mind had to be equally resilient. If a recruit couldn't carry their full kit across rough terrain for a day, they were turned away. If their hands trembled too much to aim a rifle, they were gently but firmly dismissed. I was not about to drag corpses across half the peninsula.

Belief in the cause was non-negotiable. Looters, thrill-seekers, or those chasing violence for its own sake were immediately excluded. Skills beyond combat were prized: medics, scouts, smiths, cooks. A campaign like ours required endurance, not glory. Discipline was paramount. Lone wolves and hotheads had no place here. I was building a machine, not a collection of mismatched parts.

The volunteers who passed the initial screening were camped on my aunt's property. It was sprawling and unused, save for the occasional livestock grazing. The camp itself was set far from the main house, nestled near the river and woods. Her worries about feeding them were assuaged by the fact we were going to be living off the land, that and some free labour for certain things.

The first week was chaos.

Recruits trickled in as word spread further. Some were eager to prove themselves, while others arrived with quiet determination. There were those who didn't make it past the first day—too soft, too weak, or simply unwilling to meet the grueling expectations we set. Sienna and I agreed early on that every recruit would go through a trial period before being formally inducted. The trials weren't just about weeding out the unfit; they were a way to forge camaraderie and identify hidden strengths.

At dawn, we ran drills. Going through the woods, setting up and breaking down camp under strict time limits, sparring sessions that left even the toughest recruits bruised and humbled. It wasn't just physical—it was mental. I wanted them tired, frustrated, pushed to their limits. That was when a person's true character revealed itself.

By the end of the week, a core group had emerged. These were the ones who fought through the pain, who didn't flinch under pressure, who helped their comrades when the weight of the pack became too much. They weren't polished, not yet, but they had potential.

Throughout all of this, I hashed things out with Sienna and Malik.

"It's going to be important that we lay the groundwork before we set out," I said, mulling over the map spread across the table in my room. "We need to know exactly what we're stepping into before we get in too deep."

By now, my room had essentially transformed into a war room.

"I've already spoken with merchants and other travelers about what lies ahead," Malik said, stepping forward and pressing his finger against the map. "The next town over, Catania, is harassed by a bandit group. They demand tribute. If the town doesn't pay up, their fields get hit. Raids, fires, sabotage—the usual."

My lips thinned. "Charming. Do we have any idea how well-armed they are?"

"They've got a few weapons. Mostly old rifles, some swords, things like that," Malik replied.

I stared at him. So did Sienna.

"How the hell does the town get bullied then?" she asked, blinking in disbelief.

"The bandits are a branch of a bigger group," Malik explained. "If the town acts up, the rest of the gang shows up to make an example of them. That, and the bandits actively camp in the town itself."

"With setups like that, I'm amazed Mistral even has a functioning economy," Sienna muttered, folding her arms.

"Crime is the economy," Malik said with a shrug. "And it's worse the farther north you go—or so I've heard."

I got the picture.

"We have our first target, then," I said, leaning over the map.

"I'd recommend sending myself and a few men ahead to lay the groundwork," Malik suggested. "When your main force arrives, we can hit them from both ends—a pincer attack."

"Do you have your volunteers?" I asked.

"They're not as good as me," Malik replied with a smirk, "but they're good enough."

"Then let's make it happen," I nodded. "We need to get the ball rolling sooner rather than later. My aunt's getting antsy about the number of people camped on her land."

"Right," Malik said. Then, after a pause, he added, "When will she be joining us, by the way?"

"When my family arrives," I replied. "She'll feel better leaving her home once there's blood running it."

"Fair enough," Malik said with a shrug. "I'll go make my preparations."

"Take care," I nodded. With that, he left, leaving Sienna and me alone.

She turned away, her gaze lingering on the map.

"Sienna," I called after a moment.

She turned back. "Yes?"

I tilted my head. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied quickly. "Why?"

Right.

"I got some reading material for you," I said, turning to the table and depositing a couple of books onto it.

She stared down at them, then back at me. "What are these?"

"Ideas for this movement's ideology—and plans for after we gain control of a town," I replied. Over the last week, I'd made sure to jot down my thoughts and compile samples of ideology. For what purpose? To give this movement a coherent foundation that would keep it alive long after the initial battles were won.

"I don't want this to be a quick wrap-up," I continued. "We need a coherent ideology to carry us into the future."

Sienna rolled her eyes. "You've said that far too many times now," she muttered, reaching for the nearest book. She read the title aloud: "Three Principles of the People."

"I need you to critique these," I said. "Find something that would suit us best."

"You want me to read all these books of ideology, critique them, and tell you which one fits?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

She stared at me like I'd grown a second head.

"How exactly did you come up with this?" she asked.

"It came to me in a dream," I said, dead serious.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she said flatly.

"No," I replied without hesitation.

Sienna sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Give me a few days."

"Take your time," I shrugged. "While having a coherent ideology will work for us, our focus first remains in freeing this peninsula."

"Naturally," Sienna muttered. She leaned forward, planting a piece of paper on the table. "I did a little inventory on what we have."

I stepped closer, taking the paper from her and scanning it.

"Where's the rest of the weapons?" I asked, keeping my tone level.

"The militia got first pick," Sienna replied, matter-of-factly. "We're left with whatever they didn't want—some ammo, a handful of rifles, a bit of dust."

Of course.

"It's not all bad," she added with a shrug. "The recruits are eager. They'll fight like hell if it comes to it, and most brought their own weapons. But for those who didn't... well, we'll run into supply issues fast."

"Which is why we have to be self-sufficient until we establish a proper base," I replied, turning my attention back to the map spread across the table. "Scavenging is our best bet. There are plenty of abandoned places scattered across the peninsula—outposts, villages, you name it. Most of them have probably been picked clean, but there's always a chance something got overlooked."

"Or," Sienna said, stroking her chin thoughtfully, "something got taken over by some particularly colorful characters."

"Always a possibility," I murmured. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Sienna tapped her finger on the table. "There's another option: trade."

"Trade?" I raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. "Merchants still pass through the peninsula. If we play our cards right, some of them might be willing to part with weapons or ammunition—for the right price."

I frowned. "And what exactly are we going to trade? We don't have much in the way of valuables. We're broke, running on IOUs and goodwill, and that's going to run out sooner rather than later."

Sienna's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Labour. Protection. Information. Whatever it takes to get what we need."

I leaned back, considering her suggestion. It wasn't the most conventional route, but it had potential. And in our position, potential was better than nothing. "Labour and protection are feasible. Information, though... that's a tricky one. If we trade the wrong intel, we could make some very dangerous enemies."

Sienna leaned back, arms crossed. "True, but we don't have the luxury of being picky. If we wait too long, the bandits will entrench themselves further, and we'll lose whatever edge we have now. We need to act, even if it means taking risks."

"Risks are fine," I said, tracing my finger along the map, "as long as they're calculated. We can't afford to stumble this early. If we trade labour and protection, we have to make sure the merchants don't try to exploit us—or worse, turn on us. We'll need to vet anyone we deal with."

Sienna smirked faintly. "You really think these merchants are going to trust us? A ragtag militia with no formal backing? We're going to look like desperate beggars."

"Not if we sell it right," I countered. "We position ourselves as a stabilizing force, one that's going to clean up the peninsula and make it safer for trade. If they see us as an investment, they'll be more willing to work with us."

Sienna tilted her head, considering this. "You think they'll buy that?"

"They will," I said, confidence hardening my tone, "Especially once we rack up even more victories. Cius here is a good start. Once we get Catania free, we will be taken seriously."

"To victory, then."

"To the liberation of the working class," I smiled.

She groaned.

+++

Quan Long Lac collapsed onto his rear, his legs trembling beneath him.

They had been running for what felt like ages until, mercifully, their trainers decided they'd had enough. Quan's calves twitched, and his breath heaved out of him like steam from a train engine. Around him, others sprawled in the grass or staggered toward the river's edge, gulping water with abandon or kneeling in the dust, clutching their sides like their ribs might fall out.

"We'll rest briefly," declared the bear Faunus leading them. "Then, we march again."

Groans erupted like cicadas from every dry throat. The Faunus—Onikuma—scanned the group, his broad face set in a grimace that made him look carved from stone.

"Don't start complaining now. You all knew what you signed up for," he said, his voice sharp. "Some of you have clearly seen far too many summers. This will take care of that."

"But all this running and walking?" someone whined, lying flat on their back, their soaked shirt clinging to them.

"We're building up your stamina to survive the wilds," Onikuma shot back, folding his massive arms across his chest. "You'll spend more time traveling than fighting. The less you sweat, the more you can fight."

"He's not wrong," someone muttered nearby.

Quan turned his head, spotting a human woman hunched over, hands on her knees.

"How can you say that?" Quan asked, still catching his breath.

"I'm ex-military," she replied, her tone clipped. "Discharged."

"Atlas?" Quan guessed. She nodded.

He snickered. "What the hell are you doing here in South Mistral, of all places?"

"Atlas doesn't treat Mantlese well," she said simply.

Ah.

"But you're human," Quan said, blinking.

"It's complicated." Her voice lowered, the words heavy. "But I couldn't keep serving Atlas, not when Mantle gets treated like an unwanted child."

"So, you decided to come to Mistral?"

"At least people here are honest when they don't like you. Back home, it's all double meanings and hidden knives," the woman replied. She extended a hand. "Nerissa Selkie, by the way."

"You're a sea nymph?" Quan asked, raising a brow.

She laughed, the sound sharp and unguarded. "My parents wanted a fairy, mostly. A sea nymph was the compromise."

She didn't look like a delicate nymph, though. For a supposed fairy, she was all muscle—her frame built like a soldier's, her pale skin marking her as a native Solitan. Her hair was a striking sea blue, matching her bright, expressive eyes.

"And you?" she asked.

"Quan Long Lac," he introduced himself.

"That's a mouthful," she noted.

"It is for most people," he said with a grin.

She stared for a moment, then laughed.

"Are all Mistralis this funny?"

"Sometimes. I thought Atlesians were dour."

"I'm the exception," she said with mock pride. "The only Atlesian with a sense of humor. Makes me special."

"Confident," Quan teased.

"Of course," she replied with a smirk before glancing at the group around them. "This is going to be fun."

"A grueling march around the peninsula is your idea of fun?"

"I'm Mantlese," she said with a snort. "Hardship and I are best friends. Besides, I've got practical reasons for joining this."

"Oh?" Quan asked, curious.

"I've got a workshop here. Safer roads mean my goods travel farther without harassment. And this? Marching and training with you lot? It's a chance to spread the Selkie name."

"Any other reasons?"

A small smile played on her lips.

"It's family tradition. My father stormed the Winter Palace. Might as well rack up my own tally of nobility."

"And serving under Faunus doesn't bother you?" Quan asked.

Nerissa tilted her head, looking at him like he was slow. "If it did, would I be here?"

"Fair," Quan said with a shrug.

"And you?" Nerissa asked. "This isn't exactly a walk in the park."

"I was at the fort battle," Quan admitted.

"So was I."

"Then you saw how Taurus charged?"

"Oh, I saw."

"After that, you don't think I'd want to see more?" Quan grinned.

"You an idealist, Quan?"

"It's not just that," he said with a quiet laugh. "My father and baby sister are here. If I want them to be safe, I've got to push danger far away from them."

"Admirable," Nerissa said, nodding. "But this won't be easy. I can handle the wilds. Can you?"

"For those we cherish," Quan replied simply, "we die in glory."

Nerissa paused, her gaze sharp. "Sounds like a battle cry." Her voice wasn't mocking.

"I thought it just sounded neat," Quan said, laughing. He glanced at Onikuma. "Looks like break time's over."

"Alright!" Onikuma's voice boomed. "Time to march again!"

Groans rippled through the group.

Nerissa smirked. "I can carry your things if you get tired."

"Same offer to you, fairy."

She snorted. "What Faunus are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"You'll see," he replied.

"But what if I want to see now?"

Quan rolled his eyes and raised an arm. His muscles tensed, and his nails elongated into claws.

Nerissa whistled softly.

​+++

I sat across from my aunt, my attention fixed solely on her. When I wasn't scheming with Sienna, my aunt dedicated her time to honing my abilities. Her understanding of aura was deeply academic, far surpassing even Sienna's. Over the past week, she had been assigning me books to read—"Not exactly a proper huntsman's education," as she called it, but it would suffice.

"What is aura?" she asked, her tone sharp and expectant.

"Aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on Remnant," I replied automatically, reciting the textbook definition.

"Basic, but correct," Medea nodded, though her tone carried a hint of disapproval. She turned to the chalkboard behind her, where a simple drawing of a man stood in the center.

"Aura is not just something you control, Adam," she said, tapping the figure with the chalk. "It is something you become. It is an extension of yourself, not a mere tool to be wielded. The stronger your connection to yourself, the more seamless your connection to your aura."

"An extension of myself?" I repeated, frowning. "Isn't it already a part of me?"

"Yes," she said, setting the chalk down with a deliberate motion. "But in my observation of you, you've been treating it as a side-piece. Bear with the philosophy for a moment—it implies that you aren't entirely honest with yourself."

Her words struck a nerve, but I held my tongue.

She turned back to the board, her hand tracing the lines of the drawing. "Aura flows through your entire being, Adam—your body, your mind, your emotions. It's not just a pool of energy waiting for you to dip into. It's a current—constantly moving, constantly adapting. Let it become a part of you. If you don't, that's why your techniques will always remain... crude."

"I haven't exactly had the luxury of time to refine it, Auntie," I said, my voice tinged with frustration.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Good thing we can change that, then," she said, her tone calm but firm. She stepped away from the board and gestured for me to stand. "Let's test something. Close your eyes."

I stood reluctantly, shutting my eyes as instructed. The room around me faded, leaving only the sound of my breathing and the faint hum of my own heartbeat.

"Now," she said, her voice calm but commanding, "focus on your aura. Don't try to control it. Just feel it. Where is it strongest? Where is it weakest? Let it guide you."

I inhaled deeply, searching for the energy within me. At first, it was chaotic, like a storm raging just beneath the surface. But as I concentrated, the chaos began to take shape. I could feel the warmth of my aura radiating from my chest, spreading out through my limbs like tendrils of fire. Some areas felt dense and vibrant, while others were faint, barely a flicker.

"Good," Medea said softly. "Now, guide it. Don't force it. Just... nudge it. Like coaxing a flame to grow."

I furrowed my brow, trying to follow her instructions. Slowly, I focused on the warmth in my chest, willing it to flow toward my hands. The energy responded, sluggish at first, but then it began to move, pooling in my palms. It felt strange, unnatural, like trying to flex a muscle I hadn't used in years.

"Better," she said. "But you're still holding back."

Where was this coming from? "No, I am not," I insisted.

Her gaze was piercing, unyielding. "Yes, you are. I can feel it. Your aura is strong, Adam. Stronger than most. But you are holding yourself back. Why are you so restrained? This restriction is affecting your aura too, Adam."

"What's wrong?" she asked softly.

​I sighed.

I sat back down.

"I...restrain myself, auntie," I murmured. "Because I feel being restrained keeps me from just losing it."

I glanced up. "You need to understand that every single day, I dream of what had happened to me. I dream of Nicolasburg. I dream of Pasiphae. And it just pisses me the fuck off. I force myself to bury that feeling, to keep it all contained, because I feel this keeps me grounded."

Medea watched me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Her sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through me, as if dissecting every word I had just spoken. She didn't interrupt, didn't scold me for my outburst. Instead, she sat down across from me, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"You think restraint keeps you grounded," she said, her voice calm but deliberate. "And perhaps it does, to a point. But what you're describing isn't restraint, Adam. It's suppression."

I frowned, my hands curling into fists. "What's the difference? Isn't it the same thing?"

"No," she replied, her tone firm but not unkind. "Restraint is control. It's understanding your power, your emotions, and choosing when and how to wield them. Suppression, on the other hand, is denial. You're not controlling your emotions, Adam—you're bottling them up, locking them away and hoping the lid doesn't break. And when it does—when all that anger, all that pain finally escapes—it will destroy you. And everyone around you."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat.

Medea leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening. "You're not wrong to feel angry, Adam. You've been through things no one should have to endure. But burying that anger doesn't make it go away. It festers. It poisons you. If you want to truly master your aura, you need to confront it. Face it head-on and learn to live with it, not run from it."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I looked away, my jaw tightening. "And how am I supposed to do that?" I muttered. "How do you just... live with it?"

"You start by acknowledging it," she said. "Stop pretending it isn't there. Stop being ashamed of it. Your anger, your pain—they are a part of you, Adam. Just like your aura. But they don't define you. You define them."

She stood, walking to the board again and tapping the drawing of the man. "Aura is an extension of the soul, yes. But the soul is not static. It grows, it changes. Yours has been shaped by your experiences, by your choices, by your emotions. If you want to refine your aura, you have to refine yourself. And that starts with acceptance."

I sat in silence, her words sinking in. Acceptance. It sounded simple, but it felt impossible. How could I accept something that had caused me so much pain? Something that I had spent years trying to bury?

Medea seemed to sense my hesitation. She turned back to me, her expression softening further. "It won't happen overnight," she said gently. "This is not a battle you can win through brute strength or sheer willpower. It's a process. A journey. As I said to you, many nights ago, you are not alone. You have me."

I looked up at her, and saw in her eyes nothing but honest affection.

I glanced away.

I nodded.

"Let's try again," she said, motioning for me to stand. "Close your eyes. This time, don't fight it. Don't try to force your aura into submission. Just let it flow. Let it show you who you are."

Reluctantly, I stood and closed my eyes again. I took a deep breath, focusing on the warmth in my chest. This time, I didn't try to guide it. I didn't try to control it. I just let it flow, let it move freely through me.

At first, it was overwhelming. The energy surged through me like a tidal wave, chaotic and unrelenting. My instincts screamed at me to clamp down, to take control. But I resisted. I let it wash over me, let it show me the depths of my own soul.

And in that chaos, I found something unexpected. A calm, steady rhythm beneath the storm. A balance. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't complete. But it was there.

When I opened my eyes, Medea was watching me intently, her gaze sharp but laced with a rare hint of approval. Her lips curved into a faint smile.

"Better," she said softly. "Still rough, but better. You're starting to understand."

I nodded, my chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. For the first time in what felt like forever, the storm inside me had calmed. I didn't feel like I was fighting against myself. I didn't feel like I was drowning.

And despite myself, I smiled.

Medea's smile deepened, just slightly. "Good," she said. "But don't get too comfortable. This is only the beginning."

Before I could respond, the door burst open with a startling crash. Sienna stormed in, her expression as grim as I'd ever seen it.

"Adam! Medea!" she barked, her voice sharp with urgency.

We turned to her in unison, alarmed by her tone.

"We're needed in town. Immediately," she warned, her golden eyes flashing.

Medea blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What's going on?"

Sienna's gaze flickered between us before settling on me. "Remember the Crown Princess?" she asked, her voice low but loaded with meaning.

Oh.

+++

We marched into town, weapons in hand, the tension thick in the air. Pelias's sword gleamed in mine, Thyrsus rested in Medea's steady grip, and Sienna's Cerberus Whip coiled menacingly at her side. Despite our small party, we weren't alone. Townsfolk had gathered, armed with whatever they could find—pitchforks, old rifles, even kitchen knives—and were clustered nervously around the town square, murmuring amongst themselves.

"She broke free from her restraints and escaped," the mousy-looking official explained as he tried to keep pace with us. "She tried to make a run for it, but we cornered her in the Town Hall. She's holding people hostage now."

"Why didn't you handle this yourselves?" Medea asked sharply, her tone betraying her irritation.

The official grimaced. "She's tall. Built like a fortress. Her abs are made of steel."

I blinked, caught off guard. "That's... oddly specific."

"You'll see," he muttered, clearly exasperated.

As we approached, the crowd parted to reveal the Town Hall under siege. The townsfolk stood at a distance, their eyes fixed on the closed doors.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Inside," the official replied, gesturing toward the building. "She has a few people hostage. We tried negotiating, but she's... stubborn. And loud."

I exchanged a glance with Sienna and Medea. Neither of them looked particularly impressed.

"Let's get this over with," I muttered, gripping Pelias's sword tighter.

"Good luck!" the official called after us, though his tone made it clear he didn't think luck would be enough.

The Town Hall was eerily quiet as we stepped inside. The heavy doors creaked shut behind us, muffling the noise from the crowd outside. The air was tense, thick with the kind of silence that made your skin crawl.

At the end of the hallway, in a grand chair that clearly didn't belong to her, sat the Crown Princess. She lounged as if she owned the place, her legs spread lazily and her back reclined. Her sharp eyes tracked our movements, while two trembling officials stood stiffly on either side of her—hostages, clearly terrified.

We marched closer, the echo of our boots filling the hall. She didn't move at first, only watching us with a faint smirk. But as we stopped a few paces away, she finally lifted her head, her voice carrying through the space with confidence.

"I think that's far enough," she called out, her tone light but laced with authority.

"This isn't your chair," Medea replied, her voice cold and cutting.

The Crown Princess raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing. "Isn't it? My family ruled this continent for generations. I'd say it's very much my chair. My birth right, in fact."

She stood slowly, the wood groaning beneath her as her full height was revealed. Her muscles stretched as she rose, her imposing frame making it clear why the townsfolk had been so hesitant. "I am Chen Song, daughter of the First Wind Prince, and therefore, the Crown Princess of Mistral. I think this is the time you bow."

I turned to Medea, frowning. "Who the hell is the First Wind Prince?"

Medea's eyes narrowed as she replied, her voice low but steady. "The Emperor's brother. The one who tried to depose him at the end of the Great War. It was thought the entire Song line had been wiped out."

"Our deaths," Song interjected with a hearty laugh, "have been greatly exaggerated." She spread her arms wide, as if inviting applause. "I am here now, and it is time to restore the Song Dynasty! Isn't that right, gentlemen?"

She glanced at the hostages, who nodded fervently, their fear palpable.

"Well, you aren't needed!" Medea yelled. "The Song Dynasty started the Great War when Mistral invaded Vale! And who the hell wants you back anyway? When Mantle started restricting the emotions of its citizens, you all copied them!"

Chen's smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but she recovered quickly, her sharp gaze locking onto Medea. "Ah, the victors always write the history books, don't they? You think you know the truth of the Song Dynasty? Of my family? We did what was necessary to preserve Mistral's strength while others grew complacent. Vale was weak, ripe for the taking, and Mantle? Their methods may have been cold, but they knew how to maintain order."

"Order?" Medea scoffed, taking a step forward, her grip on Thyrsus tightening. "I seem to recall the lower classes getting the emotion ban but the nobility were allowed to do what they pleased."

Chen bit her lip again. "Again, mistakes were made. But those were mistakes of my uncle, the Emperor! Not me! Not my father!"

"You're delusional," Sienna muttered. "Why are we even talking with her? Let's just get this over with already."

"I concur," I muttered.

​Chen's eyes faltered. "Wai-"

Before Chen could finish, Medea lunged forward, Thyrsus blazing with light. The strike came fast and hard, forcing Chen to sidestep, her feet skidding slightly on the polished floor. She raised her arms defensively, blocking the follow-up swing with a gauntleted forearm. Sparks flew as the staff collided with her defenses.

"Wait!" Chen shouted, her voice cutting through the clash of weapons. "I don't want to fight you—"

But Sienna was already in motion, her Cerberus Whip snapping through the air with a deafening crack. The three-headed tip lashed out, aiming to ensnare Chen's legs, but the Crown Princess leapt back with surprising agility, narrowly avoiding the attack. Her frustration was evident, her brows furrowing as she tried to regain her footing.

"I'm trying to talk!" Chen bellowed, her voice echoing in the hall. "You're not listening!"

I charged next, Pelias's sword glowing faintly as I swung it in a wide arc. Chen parried with one of her gauntlets, the force of the blow reverberating through the room. Her jaw clenched as she gritted out, "Will you just stop for a second?!"

But we didn't. Medea pressed the attack, her strikes relentless and precise, while Sienna flanked from the side, her whip a constant threat. I circled around, looking for an opening, and together we drove Chen back toward the center of the hall.

Chen moved defensively, her strikes calculated and controlled, her movements precise. It was clear she wasn't trying to hurt us—she was holding back, her focus entirely on deflecting our attacks.

"Listen to me!" she shouted again, her voice tinged with desperation. "I don't want to hurt you, but you're giving me no choice!"

Medea scoffed, her eyes blazing with fury. "You don't get to play the victim here, Song. You and your family have caused enough damage. This ends now!"

Chen's expression hardened at that, her patience clearly wearing thin. "You think you know everything, don't you?" she shot back, her voice sharp and cutting. "You think you're the heroes in this story? That I'm just some villain to be defeated? You don't even know why I'm here!"

"You literally signed up with a bandit queen! You tried to take over this town illegally with Pelias!" Medea cried.

"I had no choice! I needed support!" Chen's face was pink with frustration. "I'm trying to fix what my family broke!" she yelled, her voice raw with emotion. "Why can't you see that?"

For a moment, her words hung in the air, the raw desperation in her tone cutting through the chaos. But the tension remained, thick and unyielding. None of us moved, the room suddenly still except for the sound of our heavy breathing.

"Allying yourself with Raven Branwen? You do understand whatever justifications you have to be moot?" I pointed out.

"I didn't partner with her because I wanted to!" she snapped, her voice breaking slightly. "Do you think I had options? The moment I revealed who I was, every noble, every official, every so-called 'protector of the people' either tried to kill me or use me. She was the only one who didn't care about my name—she cared about my strength!"

"I didn't want it to come to this," she breathed. "But I had no choice! If I had it, I would have!"

She glanced up at us. "Mistral is in chaos. Mistral is dying. Mistral is bleeding. I...I had to do something! All I want is to make something better out of the ashes my family left behind! But you—" She pointed at us, her hand trembling. "You won't even give me the chance!"

"You think a sob story and a pretty speech will erase the damage your family caused? The lives they destroyed? The war they started?" Medea pointed out.

Chen flinched at that, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, she looked truly defeated, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her past had finally caught up with her. Then, she straightened, her gaze hardening into steel.

"What can I do to prove to you I am sincere?" she asked.

Before Medea could say anything, I butted in. "Let the hostages go. You yourself surrender. Then maybe we can get somewhere."

"Fine," she said quietly, almost to herself.

Before any of us could respond, Chen raised her hands slowly, palms open, and stepped back toward the trembling hostages. The officials flinched, their eyes wide with fear, but Chen didn't touch them. Instead, she knelt, placing her gauntlets on the floor in a deliberate gesture of surrender.

"I release them," she said firmly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that seemed to fill the room.

The room fell deathly silent. Even Medea seemed taken aback, her eyes narrowing as if searching for any hint of deceit. Sienna shifted uneasily beside me, her whip slack in her hand.

"Is this some kind of ploy?" Medea demanded, her voice brittle.

Chen shook her head, her expression calm but resolute. "No ploy. No games. You've made it clear you don't trust me, so I'm giving you what you want: the hostages are free. I won't fight."

Sienna moved quickly, ushering the terrified officials toward the door. I stepped forward, sword still in hand, Medea close behind me. The air felt heavy, the tension lingering even as the hostages disappeared into the safety of the outside world.

Chen sat slumped against the grand chair, her chest heaving from exertion. Her sharp, commanding presence was dimmed now, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. She met my gaze, her eyes shadowed with fatigue and resignation.

"What the hell was your plan, breaking out and taking hostages?" I demanded, my voice hard but not unkind.

Chen let out a small, bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "I thought I could convince the mayor to let me and my men go," she said, her lips twisting into a wry smile. "Maybe even convince him to hear me out. But it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"You're desperate," I said simply, lowering my sword slightly but keeping it within reach.

Her smile faded, replaced by a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her jaw. "You think I don't know that?" she muttered, her voice thick with frustration. "Do you know what it's like to walk into every room and have everyone hate you on sight? To have doors slammed in your face because of your name? I didn't know how else to get people to listen to me." Her voice cracked, and she quickly shook her head, as if trying to push the emotion away. "It doesn't matter. It's over now."

Medea stepped up beside me, her staff glowing faintly. "You're right about one thing," she said coldly. "It is over."

Chen flinched, her shoulders stiffening, but she didn't argue. Instead, she let out a shaky exhale and raised her hands in surrender. "Fine," she said quietly. "Take me. Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

​+++

We watched as the Town Guard led her away, slumped and defeated.

I sat quietly on a bench, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Behind me, Medea paced, her footsteps sharp and deliberate, while Sienna stood nearby, her whip coiled neatly at her side.

"Delusional fool," Medea muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

"And so are we," I said simply, my gaze fixed on the cobblestones beneath my feet.

"You aren't equating us to her, are you?" Sienna asked, her tone calm, but the question carried a faint edge of curiosity.

"Are we not marching forward with dreams in hand?" I repeated softly, my voice quieter this time, almost as if I were asking myself.

Medea scoffed, her tone cutting through the stillness like the edge of a blade. "She's clinging to a world that's gone, a dynasty that deserved to die."

I turned to face her, gripping Pelias's sword tightly, the weight of its history grounding me. "And what makes us so different, Auntie? She's desperate to fix what she believes is broken. She's trying to carve out a future in the ashes of her past. How is that any different than what we're doing?"

Medea stopped pacing, her expression hardening as she turned her gaze on me. "Adam, do you even have any idea of what the world was like before all this? Your grandparents were murdered by nobles. The nobility, the old world, the systems that let people like her family rule while the rest of us starved and suffered—they do not deserve to live."

"She's not her family," I said quietly, the weight of my words heavier than I'd intended.

Medea's jaw tightened, her grip on Thyrsus so firm her knuckles turned white. "She's exactly her family. You heard her in there, trying to justify their crimes, pretending like she's different. She's not. She's just another delusional noble who thinks the world owes her something because of her bloodline."

Sienna, who had been silent until now, let out a quiet sigh and crossed her arms. "Does it even matter? She surrendered. She's not our problem anymore."

"It matters," I said, my voice steady but firm. "It matters because if we can't see the humanity in people like her, then what are we even fighting for?"

Medea's eyes narrowed, her posture rigid and unyielding. "Don't start pitying her, Adam. That's exactly what she wants. She's manipulating you—playing the victim to get you to feel sorry for her. Don't fall for it."

I shook my head, exhaling slowly as I tried to find the right words. "I don't pity her because of her name or her title. I pity her because she's a person who's lost everything. I lost everything too."

Medea's lips twitched, but she said nothing, the tension between us thick and unspoken.

Sienna shrugged, breaking the silence. "You're both overthinking this. We've got bigger things to worry about than whether or not Chen Song deserves a second chance. Let the town deal with her. We've got our own fights to focus on."

Medea glared at her but didn't argue. Instead, she turned her attention back to me, her expression as hard as steel. "If you want to waste your time feeling sorry for her, fine. But don't let it distract you from the truth: the Old World has sins aplenty. It deserves to stay dead. And people like her? They're nothing but ghosts, clinging to a past that should've stayed buried."

With that, she strode off, her steps sharp and purposeful.

Sienna lingered for a moment, her gaze flicking between me and Medea's retreating figure. Finally, she sighed and sat down beside me, her presence quieter than usual.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.

I glanced at her, then back at the cobblestones. "I think my aunt is right to feel angry," I said after a moment. "Her anger—it's justified. I'm quite sure her current personality is because of the world she had to endure."

"Is she unreasonable to think otherwise?" Sienna asked, her tone light but genuinely curious.

I considered her question, letting the silence stretch between us before speaking. "No," I said finally, my voice quiet. "She's not unreasonable. She's been through hell. Her anger... it's justified."

Sienna tilted her head, studying me with those sharp, amber eyes of hers. "But?"

I let out a soft sigh, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. "But anger doesn't build anything. It burns. It destroys. And I get it—I really do. Sometimes you need to tear things down to make room for something better. But if you let that anger consume you, if it's the only thing driving you..."

I trailed off.

"That why you've been holding back?" Sienna noted, her voice calm but curious.

"Perhaps," I admitted, clicking my tongue as I thought. "Though my aunt did have a point that I've been bottling things instead of actually restraining myself."

"Oh?" Sienna blinked, intrigued.

"Yes, she gave me a lesson about my restraint holding me back. But here she is, all angry."

"Hypocritical, is it?" Sienna asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Just complicated," I replied. "People aren't quantified to singular personalities. We're... messy."

Sienna let out a low hum of understanding, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You're too soft, you know that?"

"Shut up," I shot back, but there was no heat in my words.

She laughed, a light sound that somehow made the weight on my chest feel a little less crushing.

For a moment, we sat there in silence, the world moving around us, but neither of us in any rush to rejoin it. And for just that moment, everything felt a little less heavy.

"Now what?" She asked, tilting back.

​I stood up. "We go back to work, I guess."

"Then back to work we go."

Despite that, I could not help but feel pity for the woman.

+++

A/N: Updoot.