RWBY: A Lord's Tale

Chapter Four: The Beginning After The End

Quin stood in a field that didn't quite exist… soft grass under his feet, sky too blue to be real, clouds drifting like brushstrokes above. The wind was warm, gentle, and somewhere nearby, birds chirped in a loop too perfect to be natural.

He was small again. Seven? Maybe eight. His shoes didn't fit right and his knees were scabbed over. There was a picnic blanket nearby with juice boxes and plastic-wrapped cookies, and a teacher… or what he could only describe as a teacher, they looked a tad weird …knelt in front of him with a kind smile.

"So, Quin," they asked, voice bright and echoing just slightly wrong, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

He grinned, the way only a kid could. "World domination," he said immediately, puffing out his chest in mock seriousness.

The figure laughed- at least, it sounded like a laugh. A little too hollow, like it was trying to remember how.

"And if that doesn't work out?"

Quin's smile faded just a bit. He looked down at the grass, shifting his weight. "I dunno," he said, kicking at the ground. "I guess… I just wanna be okay."

The wind quieted.

And then there was nothing but light- blinding, rising, erasing the field, the voice, even the sound of the birds.

…then, he woke up.

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Skip to the next section if you aren't good with death !

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His head hurt.

Not the kind of dull ache from staring at a screen too long or skipping sleep, but a sharp, blooming pain that throbbed just behind his eyes and crawled down the back of his skull. Like something had cracked open and was still echoing inside.

Quin groaned softly.

The world around him was wrong- too quiet, too dim. The air smelled like burnt rubber and dust and something else- something metallic and sour that made his stomach twist.

He shifted, or tried to. Every movement was like dragging himself through mud. His body felt too heavy, like gravity had grown selfish in the aftermath. Seatbelt. Still strapped across his chest. His fingers, numb and trembling, fumbled with the buckle.

His eyes fluttered open.

At first, there was only blur and light and shadow. Then slowly, painfully, the world began to refocus- shattered glass glittered on the dashboard, a spiderweb of cracks laced across the windshield. The radio was silent, its screen flickering like it had given up halfway through a song. The airbag hung limp, deflated, like a balloon long past its party.

"M… Mom?" His voice barely escaped- dry, hoarse, not really his own.

He turned.

The passenger side was caved in, a sickening fold of metal and upholstery. His breath caught. The seat next to him was empty- no, not empty. There was movement. A shape. Slumped.

"Mom?"

The panic hit all at once.

They hadn't always gotten along. She worried too much. Pushed too hard. Always nagged him about grades, about his room, about his 'potential.' She didn't get it. Didn't get him. But that didn't matter now. That didn't matter at all.

Because she was his mom.

She was still his mom.

He stared at the shape slumped over the wheel.

There was no movement. No breath fogging up the cracked glass. Her hands, the ones that used to fuss with his hoodie strings or gesture wildly when she got worked up, hung limp at her sides. Her face was turned away, pressed against the broken window, streaked with blood.

She wasn't breathing.

He knew it the second he looked.

She was dead.

There wasn't any drama to it, no scream or denial or desperate reaching. Just a cold fact settling into the space behind his ribs like a stone dropped into water. Heavy. Final.

She was dead.

And as if the universe hadn't quite finished twisting the knife, something else caught his eye- perched mockingly on the dashboard, as pristine and upright as ever, was Mordred.

The plushie had landed facing him, that stitched smile stretched wide, its crooked head tilted as if watching. Waiting.

Like it had planned this. Like it was amused.

Quin didn't look away.

He couldn't.

"I'm sorry… I should've… there's so much I could've done…"

It didn't take long.

The pain was distant now- blunted, like it belonged to someone else. His head throbbed with a steady, wet pulse, but it didn't feel urgent anymore. Everything was soft. Hazy. Quiet.

The warmth was draining from his fingertips, like a tide pulling back.

And then... he was gone.

Or at least, his body was.

He blinked- and found himself standing.

Not rising, not floating, just… there. Upright. Breathing, even. But when he looked down, he saw it- him -still slumped against the passenger seat, pale and broken. A smear of blood trailed from his temple. One shoe had come halfway off. His fingers, slack and loose, still clutched the strap of his bag like it mattered.

He didn't feel anything. No shock. No fear.

Just that strange, weightless observation.

It was weird, watching yourself like that. Like he'd stepped out of a movie and into the screen next to it.

That's me, huh?

He thought the thought without really thinking it- flat and numb and almost curious.

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And then

The world pulled.

Not like falling. Not like flying.

Like being taken.

Something unseen tugged at him- gently at first, then with the force of the ocean against the crags. The crash site, the twisted metal, the two lifeless bodies… they all slipped away like the end of a dream.

He didn't scream.

He couldn't have, even if he wanted to.

There was no air, no sound. Only the sensation of leaving.

Of fading.

He felt himself unravel, scatter, become less and less Quin- like his name had been written in chalk and the rain finally came.

Until, suddenly… he was there.

Standing.

Whole.

Again.

His breath caught in his throat, if breath even meant anything here. The world had returned, but not the one he knew. He stood in a room- if it could be called that. There were no walls, no ceiling, no floor he could see, but the place was real. It glowed from nowhere, a blinding white that didn't burn but instead felt… clean.

"Oh?"

A voice echoed like wind through a cavern, but softer… amused, almost lazy.

"Is it finally time for another one to appear? How lucky."

Quin turned instinctively, his shoes- if he still had shoes -making no sound on the invisible floor.

There, sat someone on an old leather recliner.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

"...Baymax?" Quin said, voice small, confused, as if saying the name might make this all make more sense.

The white figure tilted its head again, the static from the TV casting weird shadows across its plushy form. It looked exactly like Baymax- rounded belly, soft pillowy limbs, expressionless face made from two dots and a line. The reclining chair creaked slightly as the figure shifted its weight.

"I am not Baymax," it replied calmly, voice still floating without origin. "But I've been called worse."

"But you look like Baymax," Quin muttered, glancing behind him for a door that didn't exist. "Are- are you like, some weird afterlife hallucination or… I dunno, a crossover event?"

The thing sighed. "You people and your cultural projections. Honestly." It flicked the dial on the box TV without touching it, the screen now showing a brief flash of Quin's final moments from a camera angle that couldn't have existed.

Quin flinched.

"Too soon?" the figure asked, mildly.

Quin turned back to it, brows knitted, and took a step forward. "Okay. No offense, whatever you are, but where am I? What is this? And why are you shaped like a medical robot from a movie?"

Baymax leaned back with a hum, stubby hands folding over its soft belly. "Because it's comforting. And you just died. Comfort matters."

Quin opened his mouth again, then closed it.

"...Okay, sure. Fine. This is fine."

He ran both hands through his hair, only to feel nothing… old habits die hard I guess.

"Dead. Ghost. Weird fake Baymax. Definitely losing my mind."

"No," the figure said. "You already lost that long before you arrived at my doorstep."

"...Your what now?" Quin tilted his head.

The soft, plushy thing made a vague gesture with one flipper-like hand to the blinding white room, which had all the ambiance of a sterile waiting room that forgot to include the chairs. "Metaphorical doorstep. Don't be literal. It's boring."

He leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, the reclining chair creaking beneath him. "Name's Vélet. Cosmic god of chance. Patron of the improbable. The chaotic neutral on-call scheduler of cosmic anomalies."

"...You're Baymax."

Vélet didn't even look offended. "Visually? Yes. Spiritually? No. Bureaucratically? That's a very long conversation, and I'd prefer not to fill out the paperwork."

Quin just stared, eyebrows gradually climbing into his spiritual hairline.

The god waved a stubby hand. "Look, the short version is this: I snuck a 1 in 10 billion chance into the system. Normally, when humans die, they go where they're supposed to go. Afterlife A, B, maybe a little purgatory buffet in between if their paperwork's messy. But every once in a while, someone- purely by luck -ends up here."

He tapped his rounded chest with pride. "You. Are. That. One."

Quin squinted. "And the last one?"

"Oh, little French guy. 1800s. Loud. Smelled like wine and gunpowder. Shouted a lot about how he made an empire… he ended up being reincarnated as a goose." Vélet chuckled. "Caused quite the stir in Paris, last I remember."

Quin just blinked slowly.

"...I'm sorry. What."

"Oh, don't worry," Vélet said cheerily, "you won't be a goose. Probably. The system's slightly more refined now."

Quin's soul might have been weightless, immaterial, and technically unbound by mortal stress- but it still managed to sigh like a tired seventeen-year-old.

"Okay. Fine. Sure. Why not. Dead, ghost, statistically impossible visit to not-Baymax's existential lobby."

"Vélet, please," the god said, offended. "Respect the branding."

Quin sat down. Or tried to. There was no floor. He hovered anyway.

"…So what happens now?"

"Well, first—" Vélet spread his plush arms wide, as if presenting an invisible stage, "—I welcome you to the club of the lucky few who've managed to gain my favor! Rejoice! Throw a party! Sacrifice a goat!"

"Do I get a jacket or something?"

"No, but you do get reincarnated," Vélet replied, grinning like a lottery host about to announce the winning number. "In one of the many universes. Could be Sword Art Online, could be Fate, could be the one where everyone's a talking crab- don't dismiss that one, very competitive economy."

Quin blinked. "Okay. So, what? You're just giving me a second life? No catch?"

"Catch? Me? Please, I'm offended." Vélet placed a stubby hand to his chest as if wounded. "There's no catch. No price, no cursed ring, no deal with a devil hidden in the footnotes. You just won the unlikeliest lottery of all time. I even rolled the dice myself. Landed on dual sevens."

"You used dice?"

"I'm the god of chance, not the god of paperwork," Vélet sniffed. "Dice are sacred. Anyway, it's a free restart- with a system included. Custom-tailored to you. Think of it like a video game, but you can't rage quit. And the tutorial? That's on you."

He stared into the glowing white around them.

"So I just… go?"

"Eventually," Vélet said, picking up a remote and clicking something on the old CRT TV, static hissing to life. "But first, we have to configure a few settings. You know- difficulty, skills, whether or not you want anime hair."

Quin sighed. "This is so stupid."

"Welcome to the multiverse, kid," Vélet beamed. "Now, let's roll."

The television flickered to life with a soft bzzt, humming warmly as light bled across the blinding white room. Vélet leaned back in his chair, jabbing at the buttons on a battered remote that looked like it hadn't changed since the '80s. The screen flashed once, then steadied into a dull blue glow.

A simple message blinked onto the screen:

[ Welcome User3928275956179440]

Quin tilted his head at it. "Huh. Didn't expect that."

No dramatic fanfare. No name. Just one of many.

Vélet hummed, pleased. "It's always funny to see what it picks. Usually doesn't even bother with a name unless it's someone really important. You're just… well, let's say 'potential' has a very broad definition."

Before Quin could ask what that meant, Vélet reached into a bowl beside his chair and pulled out a cluster of dice- big ones, with strange, glimmering symbols instead of numbers. Some sparkled. Others looked like they were carved out of bone or starlight. One briefly screamed before Vélet flicked it with a chubby finger.

"Time to roll for your system!" Vélet announced, rattling the dice in both hands like an overexcited casino dealer. "Let's see what the universe has in store for you."

He tossed them onto a silver tray, where they bounced and clattered with eerie musical tones, settling into a neat circle that pulsed faintly.

Vélet peered at the results and gasped in delight. "Oho! Delicious. You're getting the Lordship System!"

He turned to Quin with arms wide open, as though waiting for applause. "Rejoice! You are to be granted dominion! Land! Power! Peasants! Taxes! Possibly a horse!"

Quin blinked slowly. "That sounds like the worst time imaginable."

"Incorrect!" Vélet chirped. "It's a fascinating time! You'll start small- some mud, some trees, maybe a little invasion or two -and rise to glorious power through strategy, alliances, and the occasional morally questionable decision!"

"I don't even pay my library fines on time," Quin muttered. "How the hell am I supposed to run a kingdom?"

"By sheer dumb luck!" Vélet said proudly, gesturing grandly to himself. "This is a luck-based system after all. Perfectly suited to you, world-domination-boy."

Quin slumped. "This is because of the dream, isn't it?"

"Yup," Vélet said with a sly smile "You were asked what you'd do when you grew up. You said world domination."

"…I was five."

Vélet shrugged. "The dice don't care. Now! Let's prepare for your transfer! You've got taxes to collect and bandits to disappoint."

Quin dropped his face into both hands. "I want a refund…"

Vélet was already halfway through a celebratory donut, powdered sugar dusting his plush white belly like divine snowfall. "We have a return policy of..." He paused for a couple seconds. "...ten seconds."

Quin mumbled a few choice curses into his palms, too tired to even lift his head. "Figures," he sighed. "I die and end up being adopted by a knockoff marketable plushie."

"I heard that," Vélet muttered, licking frosting from his fingers. "I am beloved by at least three cults, and one accidental bakery."

Quin let out a groan and finally raised his head. "Where am I even going, anyway?"

"Ah, now that- that's the fun part!" Vélet spun in his chair and flicked through TV channels like they were streaming services. "Normally, the god of stories would handle this… but she's been in a bit of a mood lately. Something about 'mortals not respecting narrative integrity.' So, your destination's up to you!"

The screen flickered through recognizable scenes.

A dragon screaming over a collapsing keep: nope, that was Skyrim.

A grim-faced king losing his head on a block: hard pass, that was definitely Game of Thrones.

A prehistoric world filled to the teeth with dinosaurs and crystal shards: huh, terrifying.... Ark?

"Most of those are cool," Quin admitted, "but they all suck to live in. No electricity, no medicine, no indoor plumbing-"

"Some have chamber pots," Vélet offered cheerfully.

"I had a phone, man," Quin said. "I'm not going back to wiping with leaves."

He squinted at the next image. People with animal features. Transforming weapons. Some poor guy getting launched through a window by a girl with a scythe...

"…Wait. Is that RWBY?"

Vélet grinned. "Bingo."

Quin crossed his arms. "So, anime Hogwarts, monster-filled forests, gods who went to get milk, and emotionally stunted teens with gunblades?"

"You forgot the deadly politics and moral disillusionment."

"…Could be worse," Quin muttered. "At least they have flying ships."

Vélet clapped. "RWBY it is! Oh, I do love a good Remnant run. Such chaos. Such unreasonable character arcs. You'll do beautifully."

"Please tell me I don't have to wear the school uniform."

"Oh no, no. You'll start small. Dirt village, zero recognition, and lots of room to ruin things. The Lordship System starts near the bottom, remember?"

Quin blinked. "Oh. Great. Dirt."

"Dirt!" Vélet beamed. "The building block of life, mind you."

Quin leaned back against the void and stared at the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm doing this. RWBY. God help me."

"No," Vélet said smugly, "I help you. And I'm way more fun."

Vélet stood up, stretching his plush arms like he'd just woken from a long nap. "Now, off you go- I've got a delivery coming, and I'd rather not have you spasm at their appearance."

He raised an eyebrow. "Delivery?"

"Yeah, and not many up here take a form suitable for mortal eyes," Vélet said, already shuffling toward a heavy, ornately carved door that hadn't been there a moment before.

Quin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Figures. This whole thing's a circus."

"Welcome to the show," Vélet grinned, swinging the door open to a swirling vortex of colors. "Break a leg, Lord of Luck."

With that, Quin felt himself being pulled forward, the world bending and twisting until everything faded to white again.

...

"Wait, I was supposed to let him choose his appearance..."

Ding Dong!

"...Oh, nevermind."

3022 Words

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That's chapter Four! I'll be giving y'all a view of the system and its capabilities when he looks at it in the next chapter!

Also, don't forget to suggest any fiction I should add to the system

I will be using dice to decide what he gets, though I'll be keeping it reasonable as to not break every power scale.

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