CDXS: Unchosen (RWBY fanfic)

By the time the last of the students emerged from the Emerald Forest, the sun had begun its descent behind Vale's distant hills, casting long amber shadows across the stone courtyard of Beacon Academy. The air hung thick with fatigue and the lingering scents of churned earth, blood, and ozone—echoes of fierce clashes and survival. Birds cautiously returned to their perches as the forest fell back into uneasy calm, its role as proving ground complete for another year.

The launch platforms, once gateways to uncertainty, now served as portals back to reality. The returning students—bloodied, bruised, and forever altered—limped in clusters. Some leaned on teammates, others dragged splintered weapons behind them, a few trailed smoke from scorched uniforms. Yet all bore something more than wounds: small relics of carved wood or stone—symbols of their victory.

Team RWBY and Jaune's group arrived last, clearly battered. Ruby's crimson cloak was ragged, and Crescent Rose rested heavily on her shoulder, dulled with use. Weiss had a streak of dirt across her cheek, her braid unraveling, though her stride remained poised. Blake, eyes forward, masked her injuries with stoic calm, while Yang flashed a thumbs-up despite the bruises darkening her knuckles and a pronounced limp.

Jaune shuffled in behind them, awkward but upright, flanked by Pyrrha, who maintained grace despite fresh claw marks across her armor. Nora beamed with pride, holding a Grimm fang like a trophy, and Ren walked silently beside her, wearing the weary expression of someone who had carried more than his share—literally and figuratively.

Above them, on the clean tile of the upper platform, Professor Glynda Goodwitch stood with her ever-present tablet, posture as rigid as ever. Her eyes swept across the returning students—cataloging injuries, counting relics, assessing outcomes with clinical precision. Her expression remained unreadable, though one brow rose faintly at the sight of so many scorched, but standing, young hunters.

Beside her, Headmaster Ozpin took a contemplative sip from his mug, letting the quiet moment settle like the final chord of a long song. His sharp green gaze lingered on the students now gathering in small groups, some collapsing with relief against pillars, others laughing with the wild exhaustion of those who had stared down death and lived to speak of it.

"Well," Glynda said, eyes still on her tablet, voice low but clearly meant for him, "no fatalities. Again."

Ozpin's lips curled into the faintest smile. "A comforting tradition."

A heavy thud echoed nearby as someone dropped their gear to the tile. Around the courtyard, pained groans mixed with relieved laughter. Shouts rang out as friends reunited, some embracing, others joking with the reckless joy of survivors.

Glynda scrolled through her report. "Most relics accounted for. And in good time, too."

Ozpin took another sip, eyes fixed on the sun as it bathed Beacon's grounds in gold. "And some unexpected partnerships forged."

Glynda allowed herself a rare, brief smile. "Like a cat faunus crash-landing on a living fortress."

"Or a noblewoman teaming with a girl who says 'welp' before committing to anything," Ozpin replied, a chuckle behind the words.

Down below, the distant voices of Kumiko and Sese drifted up on the breeze—still mid-debate, still mismatched, yet strangely in sync.

All across the courtyard, teams were forming. Not with ceremony—those formalities would come later—but in the quiet ways that meant more. A steady nod between new partners. A chuckle between survivors. The silent relief of having someone at your back. The forest had tested them. Some cracked. Some rose. All were changed.

Ozpin's gaze lingered on the last of the stragglers now slumping onto benches, backs pressed to pillars, their exhaustion etched deep into every movement. He turned to Glynda with a thoughtful calm.

"Sometimes," he said, voice low but clear, "chaos makes the most honest teams."

Glynda exhaled quietly as she powered down her scroll. "Let's hope honesty is enough to survive what's coming next."

A gentle breeze brushed across the courtyard, carrying with it the muted chorus of groans, laughter, and clinking weapons. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, and Beacon's warm interior lights beckoned the students inward—toward comfort, rest... and revelations.

Inside the student lounge, the mood was unlike any normal evening. It buzzed with an odd mix of triumph and fatigue, like a feast thrown after a battle. Plush chairs and couches were claimed by the nearest body, some students icing fresh bruises, others animatedly reenacting their most harrowing encounters with Grimm—each story a little louder, a little grander than the last. Scrolls beeped with blurry photos snapped mid-air, mid-panic, mid-glory. Laughter erupted in waves. And yet, amid the swirling chaos of chatter and minor injuries, one group sat with an almost surreal stillness.

They didn't just stand out—they looked like they belonged in another scene entirely.

Cala Ad Lance sat upright on one end of a couch, immaculately clean in her burnished armor, posture still battle-ready despite the casual setting. Her orange eyes flicked to the room once, then returned to nothing in particular—stoic, composed, immovable.

Doppel was draped over the armrest beside her like an overfed housecat, tail flicking lazily as she spun a dagger between her fingers with casual expertise. The other nineteen daggers were strapped along her hips, untouched. She looked bored.

Kumiko Xen lounged with her feet kicked up on the low table, arms behind her head, her qipao only slightly scuffed at the hem. She wore a smirk like it was second nature, ponytail dangling lazily off the side of the cushion.

And Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X sat elegantly beside them, legs crossed, sipping delicately from a porcelain teacup. Someone had, against all odds, brewed jasmine tea just for her. It even steamed gently.

Together, they looked less like survivors of a deadly initiation trial and more like the poster for a high-society action drama: poised, perfect, untouched.

The lounge door swung open with a soft hiss, and in came Team RWBY and the newly-formed Team JNPR, dirty, disheveled, and walking like they'd just escaped a warzone. Ruby paused first, blinking hard, her eyes landing on the composed quartet.

"...Wait," she said, voice thin with disbelief, "how are you all clean?"

Yang limped in behind her, a bruise blooming across her cheek and soot streaking one sleeve. "Yeah! We fought a flying death-chicken and a scorpion the size of a bullhead!"

Weiss followed, brushing leaves out of her tangled hair. Her eye twitched. "You all look like you've just stepped out of a luxury airship."

Kumiko's smirk grew slightly as she tilted her head lazily in their direction. "We came in from a different angle."

"Real smooth path," Doppel added from her perch, tail flicking as she stretched out like she'd just woken from a nap. "Hardly any Grimm. Just a few scouts and ankle-biters. Honestly? Bit dull."

"It was no problem," Cala echoed, tone devoid of flourish—just cold, matter-of-fact certainty, like she was stating the temperature.

Sese, ever graceful, lifted her teacup in a genteel half-toast. "We identified a high-efficiency vector through the terrain—denser cover, lower Grimm concentration, and optimal elevation advantage. The encounter ratio was reduced to a statistical minimum. In summary..." She gave a gentle smile. "It was, as they say, 'a walk in the garden.'"

Jaune, dragging himself toward a nearby bench, flopped onto it with a long, defeated groan. "Why didn't we get the garden stroll?"

Nora collapsed across Ren's shoulders like a weighted blanket. "Because we took the cursed jungle murder maze of eternal doom," she mumbled into his collar.

Ren gave a tired blink. "You chose that direction."

"Semantics," Nora said.

Yang scowled playfully at the other team, hands on her hips. "So what—you four just... walked in, waved hello, and picked up your relics?"

"Roughly," Kumiko said with a shrug. "Though Cala punched a beowolf in half."

Cala didn't respond. She just blinked slowly, as if the moment hadn't warranted a reaction.

Ruby slumped into a chair beside Jaune, dropping Crescent Rose beside her with a clatter. "I call rematch. I want the scenic route next time."

Doppel chuckled softly, tossing a dagger into the air and catching it behind her back. "Better be quicker off the launchpad, Red."

Doppel rolled lazily onto her stomach, chin resting on folded arms, tail swishing idly behind her like a metronome set to "mocking." Her golden eyes gleamed with mischief.

"Y'all went loud, huh?"

Ruby opened her mouth—indignant, ready to defend her team's performance—but paused. The images flashed behind her eyes like a movie trailer: the crumbling cliffs, the deafening screech of the Nevermore, Weiss's glyph lighting up beneath her boots as she was launched into the air like a missile, the whirlwind of feathers, the Grimm, the screaming. She let out a sigh, slumping into the cushioned chair beside Kumiko like a deflating balloon.

"Yeah..." Ruby admitted, dragging her hood off her head with a groan. "We went loud."

Kumiko chuckled, lifting her arm to drape it over the back of Ruby's chair. With a friendly grin, she gave her a casual clap on the shoulder, the kind that said "you survived, so now it's funny."

"Fun, though, right?"

Ruby paused again, cheeks puffing slightly. She tried to suppress the upward twitch at the corner of her mouth, but failed.

"...Maybe a little," she muttered.

Across from them, Cala remained as unmoving as a statue. She sat with arms crossed, back straight, eyes locked on something far beyond the lounge window—past the courtyard, past the cliffs. Watching the horizon like it might blink first. But at the sound of Doppel's soft snore—curled now like a housecat in a sunbeam that had crept across the lounge floor—Cala's gaze flicked sideways, just for a moment. Brief. Private. Then back forward again.

They had arrived first. Efficient. Clean. Unshaken. They had done what was asked of them, then stepped aside, watching quietly as others caught up, as the academy itself seemed to breathe in and out—preparing for what came next.

But the calm wasn't built to last.

Ruby squinted, brows furrowing, eyes drifting back toward Cala. There was something familiar about her—more than just the armor or the presence. Her eyes narrowed.

"Wait a minute..."

She pointed, slowly, cautiously, like she was identifying an exhibit at a museum.

"You..." Ruby said, glancing sideways at Yang. "You were the one in the locker room before the initiation, right? Big armor, kind of hard to miss?"

Yang's grin ignited instantly. "Oh, yeah. I remember thinking she looked like she could body slam a Goliath."

"And that weapon," Ruby added, leaning forward now, eyes sparkling. "That giant lance-cannon-thing! What's it called?"

Cala shifted, finally moving. Her motions were smooth, deliberate, like machinery designed for precision. She sat up straighter, posture so rigid it practically hummed with discipline. With one hand, she reached for the weapon resting against the nearby arm of the couch and pressed a recessed button near the hilt. With a soft metallic click, the long, heavy form of the lance contracted inward, its mechanisms folding into a more compact, travel-ready form. She held it across her lap with both hands like a ceremonial blade.

"Relict Heirpiercer," she said, voice deep, steady. The kind of voice that filled a room even when spoken softly. Her tone didn't boast. It didn't need to.

Ruby mouthed the name silently, eyes wide. Then Cala reached behind her, gripping the massive shield propped neatly against the wall. With no strain at all, she lifted it into the light. It gleamed with etched patterns—old ones, curling and angular, like something carved into ancient stone.

"And this," Cala continued, "is Bastion of Dawn."

Ruby gasped.

"Relict Heirpiercer? Bastion of Dawn?" she echoed, reverently. "Those are amazing names! They sound like... relics from a lost era! Like something you'd find in an old vault sealed with runes or—" she caught herself, hands hovering near the weapons like she was afraid touching them would trigger an ancient curse. "—oh, wow, I'm not gonna touch them. But I really want to."

"I crafted them myself," Cala continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "It was a long process, but they're my own designs."

Yang crossed her arms and leaned back, her grin widening. "Even your weapons are stoic. I bet you could defeat an army with just those."

Ruby let out a little squeal, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. "I bet she could! You're, like, the real deal!"

Before Cala could respond, Blake's ears twitched faintly beneath her bow as she studied Doppel with feline intensity.

"Wait..." Her voice cut through the lounge's chatter like a knife. "Aren't you the one who—" Amber eyes narrowed in recognition. "—stole three smoked salmon from the cafeteria kitchen at 6:47 AM? And somehow made it through initiation without a scratch?"

Doppel's tail twitched in amusement as she peeled open one golden eye. "Four salmon," she corrected around a yawn, flexing clawed fingers. "And it was 6:46. Your observational skills need work."

Weiss's heel clicked sharply against the tile as she stepped forward, pointer finger already raised in lecture position. "That was you? I had to reschedule my entire morning because of that kitchen chaos!" Her braid quivered with indignation. "They were checking everyone's bags for contraband sardines!"

"Guilty~" Doppel purred, rolling onto her back like a sunbathing housecat. Her tail flicked a dagger into the air where it spun dangerously close to Weiss's left pigtail. "Consider it my community service. You Atlesians need more excitement in your meal plans."

Jaune blinked owlishly between them, syrup-stained armor creaking as he turned to Pyrrha. "Is she... always like this?"

The red-haired champion sighed through a patient smile. "From what I've gathered, she's been expelled from three combat schools for 'creative reinterpretations of school property.'" Her emerald eyes tracked the still-spinning dagger. "Though never for lack of skill."

Doppel's grin turned feral as she caught the falling blade between her teeth with a metallic clink. "Rules are suggestions written by boring people," she mumbled around steel before spitting it back into her palm. "Besides..." Her golden eyes locked on Blake's concealed ears. "...some of us prefer keeping things interesting."

The air thickened for half a heartbeat before Yang's booming laugh shattered the tension. "Okay, fish bandit, you're officially my favorite kind of troublemaker!" She flopped onto the couch armrest, making Doppel's pile of daggers clatter. "So what's your deal with naps? Saw you conked out in a supply closet yesterday."

Before Doppel could retort, Kumiko shifted with the quiet precision of a sheathed blade. Her spear hóngsè leaned against the couch like a loyal hound as she inclined her head. "Kumiko Xen, of the Xen Clan." The introduction carried the weight of ancient dojo walls and a thousand drilled forms. Her calloused fingers absently traced the spear's wrappings - red silk worn smooth by generations of warriors.

Ren's posture straightened in recognition, his own Mistrali heritage surfacing in the respectful tilt of his chin. "The Xen Clan? Guardians of the Eightfold Path?" His gaze drifted to her weapon's intricate carvings. "Your family's scrolls on tactical retreats are still required reading in most villages in mistral."

A rare flicker of pride warmed Kumiko's stoic expression. "Great-great-uncle's work. Shame they never included the footnotes about kicking Grimm in the—"

Yang's grin turned wolfish. "So you're telling me there's a secret martial arts manual full of ancient ass-kicking techniques?"

"Modernized." Kumiko's boot tapped the spear's bladed end. "Great-great-aunt added the chain-sickle modification after the Mantle Wars."

Ruby practically vibrated off her seat. "That's so cool! It's like your weapon's a family tree with stabby parts!"

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose. "Must you reduce everything to—"

"Adapt or die, Schnee." Kumiko's sudden intensity silenced the room. Her hands moved in a blur, disassembling and reassembling her spear's mechanisms mid-sentence. "My ancestors survived the Great War by reforging ceremonial blades into trench-clearing scythes." The weapon clicked into its compact form with finality. "Tradition's just surviving long enough to become history."

Jaune's forehead met his palms with a dull thud. "Okay, that's beyond unfair. Some of us are still learning which end of the sword to hold."

Doppel flicked a dagger into the air lazily. "Nah, just skill issues nya." The metallic clink as she caught it emphasized the teasing lilt in her voice.

Sese sipped her tea with glacial poise. "And proper management of one's resources." Her sapphire eyes glinted over the porcelain rim. "A warrior's first duty is to avoid needing bandages."

Yang snorted, poking Jaune's dented breastplate. "Look on the bright side! At least your sword doesn't have a 'safety' button. Yet."

Ruby piped up, her enthusiasm undimmed by fatigue: "Don't worry, Jaune! I'll draw you a diagram! With arrows! And glitter!"

Nora's cackle echoed off the vaulted ceilings as she draped herself over Ren's shoulders. "Don't worry, Blonde boy! We'll put 'THIS SIDE TOWARDS ENEMY' stickers on your shield!"

Pyrrha hid a smile behind her hand while Ren deadpanned: "Perhaps starting with basic Grimm anatomy diagrams."

The conversation dissolved into laughter and overlapping retorts, the last of the day's tension evaporating like morning mist. Unnoticed by all, Cala's armored fingers twitched slightly - the barest hint of a smile hidden behind Bastion of Dawn's gleaming surface.

Finally, after all the introductions, the silence hung in the air for a moment, like the final pause in a symphony waiting for its last note to land. It was broken not by a joke, not by a cough, but by a voice as smooth and regal as silk-wrapped steel.

Sese stepped forward with the poise of someone born on polished marble floors. The soft click of her heels on the tile seemed measured, deliberate, like punctuation in a speech not yet spoken. She stood tall—every inch the picture of aristocratic grace—her long blonde hair cascading in controlled, immaculate waves down her back. Her cape fluttered faintly as she turned her head, chin lifted with the confidence of legacy.

All eyes turned to her, the room falling into reverent stillness.

Jaune straightened almost instinctively, Pyrrha subtly mirrored the motion, and even Ruby—mid-fidget—froze. They had all been somewhat prepared, of course. Weiss had mentioned her in the locker room earlier, her name leaving such an impression that it lingered like the aftertaste of an expensive wine none of them could afford. But hearing it from Weiss was one thing.

Hearing it from Sese herself? That was something else entirely.

"My name is Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X."

She said it with such elegance, with a clarity and rhythm that gave the sprawling name a strange kind of music. The syllables marched forth like a noble procession, each one neatly enunciated, none rushed.

The room held its breath.

Then—stunned silence.

Jaune's jaw unhinged like a drawbridge left unlocked. His eyes bulged in disbelief, and for a moment, it looked like he was trying to count the syllables in his head but got lost somewhere around "Cunningham."

"I... I still can't believe that's an actual name..." he muttered to Pyrrha, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might summon a second one.

Pyrrha glanced at him, lips parted as though to reply, but instead she simply gave the faintest nod, her brow knit in thought. "I mean... we did hear it in the locker room..." she murmured, brows still slightly raised. "But hearing it again..." Her words trailed off as her eyes returned to Sese—still standing serenely at the front like she hadn't just challenged reality to a duel and won.

Across the room, Weiss let out a light sigh and crossed her arms with the sort of long-suffering poise only another noble could manage. Her voice was flat, unimpressed, as though this moment had played out too many times already.

"She's... my friend."

The simplicity of the statement made it land harder than any flourish.

The others looked to her, blinking, as though someone had just told them gravity was optional.

"What?!" Yang and Nora burst out at the same time, their voices overlapping in perfect shocked harmony.

Yang's eyebrows were halfway up her forehead, and Nora had physically recoiled like she'd just witnessed someone eating a pancake with mustard. The idea of Weiss having a childhood friend was shocking enough—let alone one who walked around like a living portrait of aristocratic perfection.

Sese didn't even flinch. She merely turned her head, offering Weiss a quiet nod. A gesture that, while tiny, carried a dignified warmth. Her sapphire eyes held a rare softness as they settled briefly on the heiress.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Weiss said, her voice suddenly gentler as she looked around at her bewildered teammates. "But... well, Sese is fine. I've known her since childhood."

Yang blinked, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. "You could've mentioned that before, you know. This whole time we've been processing the name like it's some kind of tongue-twister." She let out a laugh, elbowing Ruby, who was still trying to silently mouth out "Belsonavenolairequintaple" without spraining her jaw.

Nora practically bounced where she stood, eyes glittering with chaotic curiosity. "Yeah, come on, Weiss! Why didn't you say anything? That name alone deserves a warning label!"

Weiss stiffened slightly, arms still crossed, but a flicker of defensiveness crossed her face. "Because I didn't think it was relevant!" she snapped, then added a beat later, "And I didn't think you'd make a circus out of it."

"Too late," Yang grinned, gesturing broadly to the room of dumbfounded faces. "The circus is in town, and Sese's the ringleader."

Ren, uncharacteristically expressive, blinked once. "Is that... really one name? Or twelve?"

"Technically," Sese said with a serene smile, "it is one name. Though I've considered breaking it into chapters for easier digestion."

Jaune leaned forward slightly, squinting like he was reading off a scroll. "Do you have to, like... sign that whole thing on paperwork? Do you have a special stamp? A scroll with extended memory?"

Sese let out a soft, elegant laugh. "All of the above. I once had to initial an exam booklet with just my third middle name. The professor passed out."

Even Blake raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed loosely. "You carry that name like it's made of silk and granite. Ever get tired of repeating it?"

"Every day." Sese adjusted a curl behind her ear, her smile unbothered. "But I've had years of practice. It's like breathing—just... incredibly enunciated breathing."

Ruby, still starstruck, gasped. "Do you think I could learn it? Like, say it all in one breath?" She inhaled deeply in preparation.

"No," Weiss said immediately.

"Probably not," Sese added with a nod, though her tone remained polite.

Pyrrha gave a small, amused shake of her head. "You must have had an interesting childhood."

Weiss hesitated for a moment. Then, quieter than before, she said, "It wasn't all cold halls and tutors, you know." Her voice lost some of its usual stiffness. "Sese was... always there."

The group collectively glanced at Weiss—mildly stunned to hear anything resembling sentimentality from the Schnee heiress.

Sese, her expression unreadable for a second, gave Weiss a glance of genuine fondness, softened by nostalgia. "I suspect I was assigned to her for political optics, but I found the company surprisingly tolerable."

"You say that like it's the nicest thing you've ever said to someone," Yang chuckled.

"It might be," Weiss deadpanned.

The room broke into scattered laughter again, but this time, with a layer of warmth beneath it. Even Sese, ever the poised noble, allowed herself a small, unguarded smile—one that felt just slightly less practiced than usual.

Pyrrha gave a thoughtful expression, considering the history behind the name and its impact on the group. "I mean... I guess I understand. They're both from Atlas... which, I mean..." She hesitated, unsure how to put it delicately. "They're both kind of... well, nobles?"

Everyone seemed to pause at her words, the realization slowly creeping into their minds. The pieces fell into place. Sese, with her refined demeanor, her air of untouchable grace, and of course, the name—now it made sense. She and Weiss, growing up in Atlas, both came from noble families. It wasn't about old money in the traditional sense, but a level of aristocracy that came with their position, their legacy, and their future.

They could feel the wealth on them—like it clung to their posture, their diction, their silence.

"Well, that explains a lot." Yang laughed again, crossing her arms over her chest. "You didn't think that little factoid would have been useful information?"

Weiss, who had been completely unphased by the reaction, sighed deeply and threw her hands up in exasperation. "I didn't think it would matter that much. You guys just... seem to get so worked up over it."

Nora leaned forward dramatically. "Weiss, you would be someone that wears tiaras to breakfast. Of course we'd get worked up!"

"Hey," Weiss snapped back.

"Yeah, you did kinda drop the whole noble part," Ruby added, tilting her head in the most adorably confused way. "But now it makes sense. I mean, look at you two. The whole 'sophisticated and poised' vibe is practically radiating off of you. It's like you're the royalty of this place."

"Royalty might be overstating it," Blake said dryly, arms still crossed. "But they definitely don't come from the average dormitory experience."

Sese tilted her head just slightly, her lips curling up in the faintest of smiles. "Perhaps," she said with a quiet chuckle. "But it's not as glamorous as it might seem."

Yang was still grinning, clearly having a blast with all the information being thrown their way. "So... does that mean you guys are, like, super rich?"

"I don't know if I'd call it 'super rich,'" Weiss replied with a smirk, but she glanced at Sese, as if sharing a silent understanding. "But we aren't exactly lacking, either."

Ren, from his place in the background, muttered just loud enough to be heard, "That might be the understatement of the year."

Kumiko Xen, who had been lounging silently with a lazy smirk on her face, suddenly chimed in with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Sounds like a fun life."

Sese gave her a nod, the same calm composure still radiating from her. "It's... fine. But I've always preferred more practical endeavors. Such as this." She gestured to their weapons, the recent events, and their shared goal of becoming Huntsmen.

"I agree," Kumiko said, her tone nonchalant as always. "The wealth of knowledge and experience is far more valuable than any riches."

Pyrrha, still mulling over the idea of their connections and backgrounds, smiled gently. "It's not the wealth that matters here—it's what you do with it that counts. I think that's what all of us have in common."

There was a moment of silence as everyone reflected on Pyrrha's words. The background noise of chatter and laughter faded as they all processed the weight of their shared goals. Despite the differences in their upbringings, they were all here for one purpose: to fight together, to grow together, and to become the heroes they all dreamed of.

"I suppose we're all here for a reason," Jaune mused, his eyes softening as he looked around at the group. "No matter where we came from."

A few minutes later...

The great hall of Beacon Academy was awash in golden light, its polished floors reflecting the towering images flickering to life on the massive screen above the stage. Students filled the auditorium, still buzzing from the exhaustion and triumph of the Emerald Forest trials. Despite bruises and aching muscles, excitement hung thick in the air—eager curiosity mingled with the nerves of what came next. Professors, instructors, and the occasional parent dotted the upper balconies, bearing witness to the forging of the next generation of Huntsmen and Huntresses.

Ozpin stood at the podium, calm and composed as ever, his hands resting lightly on its edge as his voice echoed with unmistakable authority.

"Russel Thrush. Cardin Winchester. Dove Bronzewing. Sky Lark."

As each name rang out, the boys stepped forward, the spotlight catching their varying expressions—some proud, others cocky, a few clearly struggling not to show their nerves. Behind them, their student profiles appeared on the massive screen, accompanied by soft clapping that rose from the audience like the low rumble of distant thunder.

"The four of you retrieved the black bishop pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team CRDL, led by... Cardin Winchester."

The screen panned to Cardin's smug, satisfied grin as he stepped forward, clenching a fist in victory. The others followed with differing levels of enthusiasm. The applause grew a touch louder—polite and restrained—though not without a few groans from students who had already witnessed the brute's aggressive behavior during the preliminary exams. Regardless, they had completed the trial. They had earned their place.

Ozpin paused only briefly before continuing, his tone steady and unchanging.

"Jaune Arc. Lie Ren. Pyrrha Nikos. Nora Valkyrie."

A ripple of gasps and hushed chatter swept through the room. Jaune, who'd barely stumbled through the forest in one piece, looked completely stunned just to hear his name called first. As he and his teammates stepped into the light, the screen displayed their profiles, highlighting the stark contrast between wide-eyed, scrappy Jaune and the poised, commanding figure of Pyrrha Nikos beside him—already a known name to many in the audience.

"The four of you retrieved the white rook pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team JNPR."

Nora clapped before the audience even had a chance to react, bouncing in place with boundless energy. She immediately spun around and tackled Ren in a bone-crushing hug, lifting the quiet boy off the floor before dropping him back down, still beaming.

Then came the surprise.

"Led by... Jaune Arc."

Jaune's head whipped around. "Huh? L-Led by...?"

He barely had time to process the announcement before Pyrrha stepped up beside him, offering a warm smile filled with quiet confidence. "Congratulations," she said gently, nudging his shoulder in support. Her friendly bump, however, proved just a bit too strong—sending Jaune tumbling backward to land squarely on his butt with a muffled thud.

The auditorium erupted with laughter—not cruel, but collective and amused.

Ozpin, as unshaken as ever, offered a small but sincere nod.

"Congratulations, young man."

The camera pulled back slightly as the four assembled students took their positions—Jaune scrambling to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster, his cheeks flushed red while the laughter faded into warm applause.

Then came the final call.

"Blake Belladonna. Ruby Rose. Weiss Schnee. Yang Xiao Long."

As their names echoed through the hall, the four girls stepped forward toward the podium. Their silhouettes cut sharp, distinct shapes against the light. Ruby walked with a blend of nervousness and purpose, her fingers brushing absently against the grip of her folded scythe. Blake was composed as ever, amber eyes unreadable beneath her calm exterior. Weiss moved with precise elegance, her posture rigid, her chin held with aristocratic tilt. And Yang strode forward with the swagger of someone who knew exactly who she was—and made no apologies for it.

Behind them, the massive screen flickered to life, displaying their profiles side by side. Four very different girls who had, through chaos, conflict, and sheer willpower, managed to survive and succeed together.

"The four of you retrieved the white knight pieces," Ozpin announced. "From this day forward, you will work together as Team RWBY."

A beat. Then:

"Led by... Ruby Rose."

Weiss's head turned so fast it was nearly audible, her icy blue eyes snapping toward Ruby in pure disbelief. The word "What?" might as well have been written across her face—no voice needed.

Ruby, by contrast, stood frozen in place, lips parted as though unsure she'd heard correctly. "Me?" she whispered, so softly that even Yang had to lean in to catch it.

Yang didn't hesitate. She stepped forward with a bright, beaming grin and threw an arm around Ruby's shoulders, pulling her into a tight, proud hug. "I'm so proud of you!"

Applause rose again—stronger this time, rolling over the crowd like a cresting wave. The newest teams stood bathed in the spotlight, their futures quietly unfolding before the eyes of Beacon and beyond.

And above it all, watching with unreadable calm, Professor Ozpin took a quiet sip from his ever-present mug.

The echo of applause from Team RWBY's reveal still lingered in the high arches of Beacon Academy's grand hall, like the fading shimmer of fireworks after the finale. The last few metaphorical rose petals from Ruby's unexpected rise to leadership still seemed to drift in the air, caught between awe and disbelief. Professor Ozpin stood motionless at the podium, a faint but knowing glint in his eyes as the murmurs softened and the atmosphere settled once again.

The ceremony had reached its final act.

Only one team remained.

A new name was about to be etched into the annals of Beacon's storied legacy.

The massive screen above the stage flickered to life one last time, and Ozpin's voice carried out, crisp and composed.

"And finally... Cala Ad Lance."

The crowd shifted slightly as a towering figure strode forward, each step punctuated by the heavy clank of reinforced steel. Cala moved like a walking fortress, her presence cutting a path through the air with the same precision she'd shown in the forest. Some students straightened in their seats, recalling her stoic efficiency during the trials, her imposing silhouette seared into memory. Applause followed—polite, cautious, a touch reverent.

"Doppel."

This time, the stir was immediate.

Whispers crackled like kindling through the crowd. Her name alone sent ripples of recognition among the student body—especially those already acquainted with cafeteria chaos, missing lunches, and unsettling golden eyes peering from air vents at 2 a.m. And then she emerged, practically skipping to center stage. With a dagger at each hip, her cat tail flicking behind her, and a self-satisfied smirk plastered on her face, she gave the audience a jaunty peace sign like it was a red carpet event.

"Oh no..." Cardin groaned under his breath, nudging Dove beside him.

"Isn't that the gremlin who got yeeted off the launch pad this morning?" Dove muttered, eyes wide.

"And stole my sandwich," he added bitterly.

Ozpin's clearing throat gently pulled the focus back to center.

"Kumiko Xen."

The atmosphere shifted again as Kumiko approached, her stride languid, almost disinterested, like a predator indulging in a leisurely stroll. Her qipao caught the light as she moved, elegant yet battle-worn. Sharp whispers followed—especially from students who knew of the Xen family name. Yet Kumiko carried herself with none of the stiffness expected from such nobility; instead, she exuded the graceful lethality of someone who danced between tradition and rebellion with practiced ease.

And then Ozpin paused.

The final name. Everyone in the room knew who it was.

Still, the moment hung suspended in time.

Ozpin took in a quiet, practiced breath—the kind of inhale that said: I've done this before, and yet...

He glanced briefly at his scroll. Perhaps for confirmation. Perhaps for courage.

And then he spoke, every syllable a deliberate stone laid in a grand, ridiculous staircase:

"Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X."

The hall fell into absolute silence.

You could hear a pin drop.

Or a scroll being fumbled by a stunned first-year.

Ozpin blinked once.

Flawless delivery.

Sese, who had been patiently waiting for her cue, stepped forward with her hands folded behind her back, posture flawless, platinum-blonde hair shining under the soft auditorium lights like threads of woven moonlight. Her bright blue eyes didn't even blink at the wave of reactions from the crowd. She simply exhaled through her nose — not annoyed, not tired, just... aware. This always happened.

Ruby, Yang, Blake, and Weiss remained composed. Ruby twirled the end of her cloak idly, mouthing along with the last three surnames. Blake raised a single brow in dry amusement. Weiss stood with perfect grace, watching her old friend approach with a barely-there smile, utterly unbothered. Yang leaned sideways toward Nora.

"Ten lien says someone faints next time they hear it."

Nora whispered back, "I thought it ended at Belsona-whatsit last time?"

"Nope," Ren replied evenly. "She added the 'quintaple the X' right after Frostbloom. Always does."

Meanwhile, Team CRDL... did not handle it well.

Cardin's jaw dropped. "That's not a name, that's a whole damn paragraph!"

Russel blinked slowly. "Wait, was that... one person?"

Sky let out a short, confused "Huh?" while Dove shook his head as if trying to reboot his brain.

Somewhere in the back, a first-year with a sketchbook paused mid-doodle.

"...I ran out of room on the nameplate."

Near the front row, a tall student muttered, "I think my scroll just crashed trying to auto-caption that."

"Did He say 'Belsonaveno-what?'" another whispered, halfway between admiration and distress.

"Bro, that wasn't a name, that was a whole bloodline," came a stunned voice from the middle rows.

A girl with an undercut and three piercings leaned toward her friend. "That name unlocked a hidden memory from when I was five."

One faunus with big ears blinked rapidly, whispering, "I heard every single syllable perfectly and now I think I speak ancient Atlesian."

Another student slumped in their seat. "I blacked out somewhere around 'Livingstone' and came back at 'Duskhollow.'"

"Do you think she has to sign her name like that every time?" asked one boy, quietly horrified.

"Oh God, imagine the passport forms," groaned a Mistrali student, hands in her hair.

A techy student beside her whispered, "...That name would break most databases."

Someone else was frantically typing into their scroll. "Okay, I'm live-tweeting this. 'BREAKING: Final Beacon student is a single-person novella.'"

Behind them, a girl clutched her chest dramatically. "I aged five years during that announcement."

A junior student muttered under her breath, "I heard fewer words in my entire combat exam."

In the far right corner, a drama club student turned to their companion and whispered reverently, "That's not a name. That's an entrance."

"And she walked like she didn't even blink?" another said, impressed. "Queen behavior."

Somewhere in the upper rafters, a voice called out: "Sese, if you're listening — drop the mixtape, I know it's fire with a name like that!"

A hush fell briefly as Sese finally joined her teammates. Then came a lone, whispered declaration from someone no one could identify:

"...I think I'm in love."

There was a beat of silence.

Then another voice whispered back: "Get in line."

Ozpin, ever patient, waited for the murmurs to die down before continuing, a small, dry curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"The four of you retrieved the black Queen pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team CDXS (Codex)... led by Cala Ad Lance."

There was a brief, weighty silence — not because of the team name, which rolled out with an odd sort of grace, but because Cala herself had not moved. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, as if the sound hadn't quite reached her beneath the heavy steel of her helm. She blinked once. Leader?

Her gauntleted hand curled ever so slightly at her side.

She had expected to pass the trial. She had prepared to fight, to endure, to accomplish the task laid before her with the cold precision she'd always relied on. That was what she did — what she was good at. Objectives were clear. Targets, direct. Danger, expected. But this?

Leadership was not something she had anticipated, nor something she believed herself suited for.

Cala had always trained harder, pushed herself further, not to outshine others, but to avoid relying on them. Teamwork had always been an abstract concept, something for others — more sociable, more adaptable, more fluid. She was built like a fortress, in body and in mind. Solitary. Controlled. Designed for the frontline, not the spotlight.

Her mind drifted to the faces behind her — Doppel, unpredictable and feral in her humor; Kumiko, reckless and sharp-edged, more fire than form; and Sese, poised and unknowable, her quiet smile like a mirror one could never see behind.

How was she supposed to lead them?

Her breath caught against the cool steel inside her helmet. She didn't feel ready. She didn't feel... enough.

But retreat was not in her nature.

Cala took a slow step forward, each footfall echoing louder than the last in her ears. The applause was a distant thing. She raised her head slightly and spoke.

"I... understood."

Her voice was even, disciplined — the kind of tone forged from years of giving herself orders in silence. Yet beneath it, a trace of hesitation lingered. Not fear. Not doubt of others. Just... unfamiliarity.

As she moved into place, Doppel gave her a light slap on the arm, beaming up at her with the casual confidence of someone who'd already accepted the absurdity of life. "Boss lady! That makes you our stoic leader, nya~!"

Kumiko offered a cheeky salute, grin sharp. "Guess you're stuck with us. Try not to look too thrilled."

Cala gave no visible reaction, but her shoulders shifted minutely, as if still adjusting to the new weight on them — not physical, but felt all the same.

Sese, ever graceful, waited a beat before inclining her head. Her voice was soft, but carried clearly in the moment of quiet between claps. "A worthy choice."

Cala met her gaze briefly. There was no warmth in her face, but something unspoken passed between them — not approval, but perhaps... recognition.

And so, Team CDXS stood assembled beneath the lights.

The applause this time felt different — not just polite, but intrigued. Impressed. Curious.

They were strange, mismatched, and perhaps slightly dangerous. But they were real. And Beacon would remember them.

The name "Codex" echoed across the hall, a name that promised complexity, mystery, and pages yet to be written.

Cala stood at the front of them all. She didn't smile. She didn't need to.

But beneath the armor, beneath the quiet discipline and polished steel, she felt a knot she couldn't name tightening in her chest — not fear, not rejection. Just the question:

How do you guide others... when you've never learned how to walk beside them?

Time passed.

Night had fallen over Vale like a velvet curtain, the city hushed beneath a canopy of deep blue shadows. The moon, high and full, cast its pale glow through a grime-streaked window, filtering down into a forgotten room swallowed by dark. Dust and cobwebs blurred the glass, letting only a thin shaft of light reach the floor, where it shimmered faintly against cold concrete.

The space was quiet — but not peaceful. Metal shelves loomed along the walls, lined with crates and cases, each heavy with the weight of illicit purpose. Equipment and weapon parts were stacked like relics of a growing war machine. The shelves stood still, but the room breathed with tension, with the scent of old rust and something newer... sharper.

At the far end, a battered desk bore the clutter of obsession — maps, tools, dossiers, tech components all scattered with methodical chaos. Above it, a wall-mounted map hung like a war banner, its edges curled with wear. And before it, a figure stood.

Roman Torchwick.

He lowered his scroll with a hard snap, the screen's faint glow fading as he slammed the device onto the desk. The impact rattled a tin cup and sent loose papers fluttering like startled birds. Red eyes narrowed under the tilt of his hat, shadow slicing across his pale face. He exhaled, slow and tight — the breath of a man forced to adapt, again, to someone else's curveball.

From his coat, he drew a cigar with a flick of muscle memory. A lighter followed, polished and etched with a familiar symbol. Flame burst to life with a metallic snap. He lit the cigar with steady hands, let it smolder, and clicked the flame closed. A moment's silence followed — heavy, hot, and growing heavier.

Then: the squeak of wheels.

From the darkened edge of the room emerged another figure, pushing a low metal trolley. The wheels squealed with every turn, making the shadows feel colder. The man was faceless beneath a smooth gray mask, his black hood drawn low. His gait was steady, his grip firm, mechanical. The cart rattled beneath the weight of a large crate covered in heavy black cloth.

He stopped just short of the desk. The tension in the room didn't change — but it deepened.

Roman didn't look up at first. Only reached back into his coat and retrieved a bundled stack of Lien. It gleamed under the dim light — crisp, orderly, undeniable. He slapped it onto the desk with finality.

The masked man gave no reaction. He simply gathered the Lien, slow and silent, tucked it into a pouch and secured it inside his coat. No words exchanged. None needed.

Roman gestured lazily with two fingers, cigar clamped between his teeth.

"Open it."

The man obliged. From beneath the trolley, he drew a crowbar. With a few practiced motions, he wedged it under the crate's edge and pried. The lid cracked open with a wooden groan, then slid off and hit the floor with a hollow thud.

Underneath the cloth, light bloomed.

Dust crystals — raw and radiant — shimmered in colors that danced across the room. Oranges and reds pulsed beside icy blues and blinding white. Greens, golds, violets, yellows — each encased in foam, protected but barely dimmed. The hoard glowed like a treasury from some ancient myth.

Roman leaned in, plucked a sky-blue shard between his fingers. Turned it once. Twice. Watched the light play along the facets like fire in water.

Then came the words — soft, but laced with certainty:

"We're gonna need more men."

It hung in the air like smoke. Not a threat. A plan.

The camera drifted upward, rising above the desk, past the drifting haze of cigar smoke, until it reached the wall map. Its surface was crowded with red Xs, sharp arrows, and cryptic notations. Routes. Raids. Suppressed events. All paths converging toward a central point — one circle drawn again and again, darker each time.

BEACON.

More than a school. A fortress. A symbol.

And the final move on a board already in play.