The dead of night finds me back at the forge.

  It’s well past three in the morning, and even Doran is nowhere to be seen. Perfect. As much as I appreciate some company, there are some things I’m not ready for anyone else to witness, and Mana Infusing is at the top of that list.

  Grabbing a fragment of Beacon’s impossibly light steel, I start experimenting, trying to channel my energy into the material. For what feels like an eternity, I just stare at the piece of metal, willing something—anything—to happen.

  [Mana Infusing] Lvl 1 (80%)

  Yeah, no.

  Frustrated, I fall back on my own tried-and-true method. Drawing the steel’s edge across my palm, I watch as a few drops of blood seep into the material.

  Enhancement Successful!

  The quality of the material has been improved slightly.

  Dustborn Steel:

  Resistance 12 > 14

  Malleability 9 > 10

  [Mana Infusing] Lvl 2 (30%)

  The rush of satisfaction is immediate, but bleeding myself dry to level up a skill isn’t exactly sustainable. Still, it’s progress. I file the method away for ter experimentation and turn my focus back to the forge.

  The piece of steel I’ve enhanced becomes the foundation of the barrel, the most critical part of the weapon. It needs to be precise—capable of directing the bullet’s path while withstanding the raw force of every explosion. Heating it to a glowing red, I carefully shape it around a rod, watching the metal bend and flow under my hammer like molten cy.

  With the barrel complete, I turn to the frame—a bit of a challenge.

  Fortunately, the forge is littered with discarded examples. I study them for a while, committing their structure to memory. But even with the blueprint in my head, the work is painstaking. Hours blur together as I heat, hammer, and shape, my focus narrowing to the glowing steel in front of me. My first few attempts are awkward, the metal refusing to yield the way I need it to.

  By the end, I’ve crafted a frame that feels solid yet banced—powerful without being too rough.

  The slide is the final component I dare to forge myself.

  My hands, slick with sweat, are starting to tremble a bit, the delicate work becoming harder to manage. A misstep with the power hammer nearly shatters the entire piece, forcing me to step back. I reach for one of my no-sleep pills. The bitter tang of it dissolving on my tongue makes me grunt, but the rush of crity it brings is worth it.

  Once the slide is complete, I gather some solid internal components. Piece by piece, the weapon comes together in my hands. When the st screw is tightened, I hold it up to the light, examining the product of my sleepless night.

  It’s not perfect—far from it. The weapon is a simple handgun, elongated for precision and range. Compared to [The Contender], it’s almost ughable in its limitations, but that’s the point. This isn’t a weapon to kill, it’s a tool to test my skill and take advantage of my Sembnce. I need to learn.

  For the final test, I load a few magazines and set up a sandbag as my target. The first shot cracks through the air, followed by a second, then a third. The impacts fall tighter with each adjustment I make. By the end of the session, the weapon is zeroed in and functioning exactly as intended.

  As I set it down on the workbench, I allow myself a moment of satisfaction. It’s certainly not pretty, but it’s mine—crafted with my own hands.

  [Weapon Crafting] Lvl 16 (2%)

  Crafting Successful!

  Simple Handgun (Common) Lvl 5.

  With the weapon complete and a few hours to spare before sunrise, I figure it’s time to make good on something I’ve been putting off. I dig through my own pile of books and crack one open. If I’m stuck in this world, I might as well learn something about it.

  The more I read, the more pieces start falling into pce.

  [World Knowledge] Lvl 8 (32%)

  ?

  Getting Maroon out of bed is an exercise in patience—and strength, even when she isn’t half-dead from the toll of her Sembnce. After much groaning, mumbling, and one unsuccessful pillow-to-the-face strategy, she finally moves. Her disheveled curls and half-lidded gre make her look more like a ghost than a teammate, but it’s progress.

  Once we’re all upright and semi-functional, we almost look like a half-competent team.

  The auditorium vibrates as we march in. This is it—the culmination of everything.

  When Glynda steps onto the stage, the murmur of conversation flickers out. It’s surprising, given that Ozpin usually steals these moments.

  Her eyes sweep across the gathered students, cold and calcuting, as though weighing each of us against some unspoken standard. With a sharp flick of her riding crop, she steps toward the mic.

  “Good morning,” she begins. “As you are aware, we’ll be concluding this probationary week with a true test of your abilities—on the field.”

  “Each team, regardless of their current standing, will be facing a formidable challenge at a random location. Your actions, strategies, and decisions will be reviewed and graded individually. Let me be absolutely clear—your continued presence here will depend entirely on your performance.”

  There’s a small pause, which is immediately filled by whispers.

  “This is your chance,” she continues. “Your opportunity to prove that you belong here, at Beacon academy. Do not disappoint us.”

  ?

  I half-expect some grand reveal—a holographic dispy unveiling our opponents or a dramatic expnation of the mission ahead. But Beacon doesn’t seem to care for theatrics today. Instead, we’re handed simple sheets of paper bearing numbers and hurriedly directed to our airship.

  Five minutes after Glynda’s announcement, we’re the first team to soaring through the air.

  The atmosphere in the cramped cargo space is heavy, tension thick enough to choke on. A bit worried, I decide to make the rounds and check on everyone else. Anything to keep myself occupied.

  “Hey, Rain. What do you have there?” I ask, spotting her at the far end of the compartment.

  She turns around, her movements slow as she adjusts thick straps around her hands. Twin weapons glint in the low light—daggers that extend from her knuckles, sharp and dangerous. Each bde is outfitted with two small cannons, one at each side of the edge.

  Punching daggers, with a bit of extra firepower. Of course.

  “Armed and ready,” she says confidently.

  I nod, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen those before. On your bed, mostly. Why haven’t you been using them?”

  She shrugs, finishing the adjustments. “Didn’t think we shoot or stab at school. Good to know.”

  I blink, exhaling slowly. “I mean… you can, as long as there’s no, you know, permanent damage.”

  She fixes me with a ft stare, unreadable as always. “Good to know,” she repeats, her tone as neutral as her expression.

  Rain’s fine—clearly ready to tear a hole through anything that moves toward us. No need to worry about her.

  Next up: Maroon.

  She’s slumped in a corner, the neck of a massive vodka bottle tipped back as she gulps it down like water. Tears pool in her eyes, her face a mix of concentration and misery as she powers through. The faint sound of liquid sloshing echoes in the small space.

  This girl… has absolutely annihited her gag reflex. I don’t even know what to say to that.

  Good to know.

  I plop down beside her, trying not to ugh. “Feeling ready?”

  She lowers the bottle, her small frame dwarfed by its sheer size. Her eyes are gssy, but there’s a spark of determination—or maybe desperation—behind them. “Ah… Edo… Vesped…”

  She looking rough. Looking closely, I can see faint traces of purple mist starting to emanate from her pores, curling zily in the air around her. It’s… weird, but at this point I don’t even think about it.

  “Is this normal for you?” I ask, trying to mask my concern.

  Maroon nods weakly, forcing down another swig. “I jus’ wish we had a bi’ more time. But… long as things don’t get shaky, I-I should be fine.”

  “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay? We’ve got this.”

  She nods again, her grip tightening on the bottle. I’m not sure if I believe her, but at this point? All we can do is pray and hope. Besides, this is just another test. We’ll be fine.

  I take a deep breath and move on. Time to check on the st member of the team.

  “So… how’s my favorite girl?” I ask, approaching Pyrrha with a pyful grin.

  She looks up, giving me a long gnce, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Took you long enough to get to her.”

  “What can I say?” I shrug, letting the grin widen. “I like saving the best for st.”

  “Is that so?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s a spark of genuine amusement in her eyes. “Then if I’m your favorite girl, what’s Rain supposed to be?”

  “A divine punishment upon my mortal soul.”

  For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pyrrha bursts out ughing, the sound bright. She leans back in her seat, wiping at her eyes as her ughter trails into a breathy chuckle.

  “Oh, god… I needed that,” she says, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’m feeling a little…” She trails off.

  “Tense?” I offer.

  “Something like that,” she admits.

  “I do give some mean shoulder-rubs.”

  She arcs an eyebrow. “I’m… Not sure out teammates would appreciate us getting overly physical right before the test.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, we can do it right after.”

  A moment ter, before anyone can say anything, a screen mounted on one of the dull, grey walls hums to life. Glynda’s unfriendly, no-nonsense face appears, and we all get up and step closer. At least it’s better than sitting here in silence.

  “Team One, can you hear me?” Her clipped tone carries easily, even over the hum of the airship.

  “Loud and clear,” I reply.

  “Good,” she says. “Your assignment is to infiltrate an abandoned site at the heart of the Emerald Forest.”

  The screen shifts, dispying an aerial view of a crumbling castle. Its jagged towers seem to defy gravity, barely holding together by some miracle of engineering—or stubborn stonework. Narrow bridges crisscross the structure, connecting precarious ptforms that look like they’d colpse if you so much as breathed on them.

  “At the temple’s highest floor, you will find a captured Huntsman,” Glynda continues. “Your mission is to retrieve him and return him to the airship. Alive and unharmed. Naturally, the ruins will be heavily patrolled by hostile forces. And…” She takes a breath, her tone weighty with warning. “Be advised: a dangerous foe has been sighted within the perimeter. Exercise extreme caution. Your test begins—”

  Her final words are cut off as the airship shakes violently, nearly throwing me to the ground. The screen crashes down, Glynda’s face vanishing into static. Another jolt follows, harder this time, shaking the walls and sending tools tumbling.

  And then comes the sound—a piercing, primal screech that rips through the cabin. It’s raw, metallic, like cws on steel, mixed with the shrill cry of something avian and monstrous. The arms fre in unison, adding to the chaos, doing nothing to drown out the unearthly roar outside.

  We’re so deep in shit I can almost taste it.

  “Pyrrha!” I shout over the cacophony.

  “On it!” she snaps, already moving.

  In one motion, she braces against the nearest wall, unches herself toward the ramp, and sms her palms into it. The metal groans as her magnetic Sembnce takes hold, sending the ramp flying open with a screech. The wind rushes in, cold and biting.

  There’s no time to think. I grab hold of something—fragile, probably important—and leap into the void.

  ?

  Maroon’s scream cuts through the howling wind as she clings to me with the strength of sheer terror. “No! No! No! Please, please, please!”

  My eyes just track the bottle spinning away into the void. It’s almost enough to make me ugh.

  I, of course, simply pretend to be a trained professional that has done this before.

  Gripping my tomahawks tightly, I throw the first one downward, aiming for a clear patch of ground below. The second stays firmly in my hand, tethering me to the throw.

  But it isn’t that easy.

  The wind is relentless, hammering into me from every direction, a force of nature with no mercy. It tears at my focus, pulling me off course as my body fights to stay upright. Every muscle strains against the chaos, but even keeping my eyes open is a struggle. Each blink brings the ground closer, an unforgiving wall rushing up to meet us.

  I grit my teeth and hold steady, tracking the first tomahawk’s descent. When it’s close enough to nd, I curve the throw, activating the swap.

  The world flips.

  In an instant, the wild rush of air vanishes, repced by the impact of earth beneath me. We hit the ground hard, skidding across the dry, cracked terrain with enough force to burn skin away if it weren’t for our aura’s protection.

  Maroon groans beside me, her death grip finally sckening as she colpses, then immediately starts emptying her stomach just as Pyrrha and Rain arrive beside us.

  Looking up, I can see the shadow in the sky, the silhouette of the Nevermore starting to circle around. The only good news is that the ship doesn’t seem to have crashed too far away.

  [New Mission] Lead Your Team To Victory.

  “Let’s move.”