Archive of Our Own

Yang’s first memory was her mom’s voice.

Not what she was saying—much too early for that to matter—rather the warmth bleeding from her tone like a wool blanket in winter, secure and comforting. Each gentle noise crafted a foundation of reassurance so sturdy that even when Yang couldn’t feel her, couldn’t see her, she knew her mom was there; that worries had no place when her mom was there. This sense of safety was a language disregarding age, armour immune to rust, coating Yang like a second skin until enough seasons passed for Mom’s voice to become intelligible.

From then onwards, Yang’s favourite memories were an amalgamation of the nights Mom recited her favourite fairytale.

That book, battered over generations, was Yang’s prized possession, each colourful page harbouring big words she didn’t need to understand when Mom’s voice was so soothing and engaging, her passion for the tale rivalling Yang’s curiosity. These perpetual moments with her mom were like bubbles of protection and wonder floating away on the breeze, transporting her away from this small room she shared with her baby sister, away from their stagnant cabin beyond the outskirts of Patch, only popping once surrounded by the lush landscapes of these pictures. She knew her mom was talented with magic, better than all the other moms, but she must be super talented if she could make Yang feel warm sand between her toes, sweeten her tongue with nonexistent fruits, add new spectrums of green and blue to Yang’s eyes with nothing more than her voice.

Each page offered fresh marvels, calm beaches and star storms and ancient temples, but the consistency was the depiction of a giant, mystical tree. It hung high above any others, spearing into the skies, strength in every branch and enchantment in every leaf. By now Yang had memorized where it was on every page, but in the first few readings she’d made a game of finding it no matter its distance. Even still, her fascination of the tree never diminished. She wanted to pull it closer, see it for herself, dig in her nails and climb to the very top to enjoy a view no one else had before.

Maybe it would be like when she stood on the table instead of the floor—or the roof whenever she could get away with it. How nothing changed, not really, but the higher angle made everything feel different. Made her feel different. Lighter. Better. And if such a small distance changed her perspective that much, she could only imagine what discoveries awaited at the top of that tree.

Maybe she’d see what was above the clouds. Maybe the edges of the world. Maybe an answer to a question she’d yet to even think.

There was no way to know, even Mom’s magic could only do so much, but one day she’d make the climb and tell her mom everything she saw.

For now, sharing this story together was more than enough.

And despite hearing it dozens of times, one part always made Yang as excited as the first.

As soon as Mom turned the page Yang gasped with joy, pointing at the silhouette of the protagonist. “She has kitty ears!”

Mom’s smile banished all cold in the air better than flames ever could. “That’s right, sweetheart. That’s because she’s a faunus. Do you remember what that means?”

She was a little embarrassed to admit that she didn’t. It was a word she’d never heard anyone else say, and even though Mom must have said it many times during these readings, Yang was always more focused on the sound of her voice rather than what she was saying. That, and the pretty pictures were distracting, enticing her to draft her own journeys rather than listen to one predetermined.

But if her mom spoke so fondly of them then faunus had to be incredible, so Yang would pay attention this time!

“What’s a faw... a fawn...” Yang paused, struggling with the strange word. “A faunus?” she eventually managed, grinning at her success.

Mom didn’t look upset over having to repeat herself—almost glad to do so. “They’re just like us,” she said, stroking Yang’s hair. “They have families and stories and dreams. The only difference is that they have some animal features,” her nail tapped on the protagonist, “like kitty ears.”

“That’s so cool!” Yang nearly shouted until remembering Ruby was sleeping across the room. She was too young to stay awake for story time, but Yang couldn’t wait to share this fairytale with her in the future. If Mom read it, Yang knew she’d love it just as much. “I want kitty ears!” she declared more quietly. “Can I have kitty ears, too?”

And her mom, ever the protector of childhood dreams, “Someone will love your ears no matter how they look.”

“Kitty ears are cooler,” Yang muttered with a pout, poking her boring human ears. They were fine, full of dips and flaps, but nothing loveable. Not to mention they’d always be covered by her hair. How could they ever compare to ears that were so big and soft and fluffy? She would’ve argued further—because obviously she was right—but a different thought outweighed her disappointment. “Are the kitty ear people only in books?”

A look crossed Mom’s face just then, a look Yang had never seen, brow twisting and lips tightening for reasons Yang wouldn’t understand for several years, but the one thing she did understand was she never wanted to see her mom look like that again.

“That’s what most people believe,” Mom murmured, but it didn’t seem like she was speaking to Yang, as if the special transportation magic in her voice also worked on herself. Mom shook her head, her familiar nurturing smile returning like it never left; the instant cure to Yang’s frothing unease. “But I believe anything can be found if you look hard enough.”

Hide and seek was fun enough normally, so something of this scale, a version no one had ever played, tugged Yang’s mouth into a huge grin. “So, so, so—” Yang scrambled to her feet, bouncing on the bed. “If we go on an adventure we can find the kitties?”

Mom swooped her up, their combined giggles a blissful harmony as she sat her on her lap, Yang’s tiny arms instinctively wrapping around her neck. “That’s right,” Mom said, fixing Yang’s unruly strands with caring grace. Behind her smile was the seriousness she always donned when warning Yang of the dangers beyond their home—though, it was hard considering anything dangerous when Yang knew she’d grow up to be just as strong as her mom. “But this wouldn’t be like the adventures I go on to get treats and toys. This would be a special adventure with special rules.”

“Special rules?” Yang echoed nervously, reminded of every rule she’d ever broken. Which was a lot. And there was bound to be more. It was the natural process of having fun. But she’d do anything for her mom, so she’d make sure she never broke these ones.

“I’ll tell you more of them later, but the most important rule of all is that this is a secret adventure. We have to be very careful who we tell about the faunus. So for now, we don’t tell anyone.” Mom held out her pinky and winked. “Can you keep this secret with me, sweetheart?”

Yang didn’t understand why they had to keep it a secret—wouldn’t it be easier to find the kitty ear people if everyone was looking for them?—but liked the thought of sharing a secret with her favourite person in the world. “Yes, Mom!” she whispered loudly, linking their pinkies together.

“Then when you’re older—only when you’re older,” Mom emphasized firmly, “we’ll find the faunus together.”

She’d heard good things were worth the wait, but that was so long, and her patience wasn’t exactly masterful. But if waiting was her only choice, she would wait—or distract herself long enough to become an adult. Whichever was faster.

“We’ll find the girl with kitty ears?” Yang asked, hopeful.

“We will,” Mom assured with a smile. “If we’re lucky, we might even find more than one.”

Having never found any, Yang couldn’t imagine finding more than one. All she could imagine was the girl in the pictures. Yang looked down to her, tracing her outline, the fluff of her ears and the curl of her tail. Yang really wanted to meet her. She always missed her after the story was over. Yang wanted to ask what happened to her, where she went, what she did. Wanted to ask about her favourite game, favourite food, favourite colour, if she could touch her kitty ears, if her parents had kitty ears too. Wanted to ask if she’d ever met a human before. Wanted to ask if they could be friends.

Wanted to ask if she climbed to the top of that tree.

Yang had to know, was desperate to know, desperate to encounter the cause of so many emotions in her mom, desperate to see how silver eyes would illuminate meeting the drawings in her passed down fairytale.

Seeking reassurance Yang glanced up at her mom, nibbling her lip. “You promise?”

Mom held her tightly and Yang melted in her arms. “I promise.”

At the time, Yang really believed her.

How could she not? She hadn’t broken a promise yet, even the silly ones that didn’t matter but apparently mattered to her. She always came home with stories and laughter equal in weight to her bags of mora. She was played with her and Ruby, helped Dad around the house, ensured everyone had a reason to smile every day, and Yang cherished every moment—even doing chores, so long as they spent time together. Her strength reduced the Grimm threat to that of bugs, ensuring even a small village like Patch, lacking the defences of fortified cities, had the chance to grow and prosper. Her kindness was so infectious that none of the other kids teased Yang anymore for looking nothing like her mom. Her very existence made everyone’s lives better. She made Yang’s life better.

She was Yang’s hero. Yang always believed in her. So if Mom promised they’d find the faunus together, then they’d find the faunus together.

But promises proved fickle, and Yang’s worst memory was silence.

Dad wasn’t around much after Mom left, even when he was, and Ruby was too young to remember Mom soothing her to sleep so Yang was the perfect replacement.

The only replacement.

Not that Mom could ever be replaced, but Yang handled her absence opposite of Dad and Ruby; in the only way she could.

She clung to Mom’s memory. The sound of her voice, her lessons, her ethics, her kindness, her strength. Whenever Yang cooked she remembered to serve others first. Whenever someone was being bullied she stood up for them. Whenever she suffered a nightmare she recalled Mom’s warmth, hugging herself and pretending. Whenever Ruby cried she held her the way she longed to be held, and once Ruby calmed Yang would turn the corner and quietly cry until her tears dried with renewed confidence and determination.

She missed her mom terribly, more than she thought it was possible to miss someone, like there was a gaping hole in her chest that couldn’t be filled and even then she tried for Dad and Ruby, refusing to accept it as pointless. Mom wouldn’t just leave. Not without a reason. A reason so important she left without a word—but something so important surely left clues, even if they were hard to spot. There had to be something. Something not even Dad knew about.

And Dad didn’t know about their secret.

As soon as Yang remembered that everything started clicking into place. Mom believed in the faunus, just as much as Yang believed in her. If she didn’t tell anyone where she was going and no one knew where she went, then the faunus—unknown to everyone but them—had to be the clue.

Not that Yang knew where the faunus were either, but thanks to Mom she had an idea.

The giant tree was symbolic in the fairytale, never acknowledged or explained but its omnipresence across the pages said everything. Like the brightest star in the sky it could be found no matter where you were, a beacon of hope and a friend to the lost, so Mom must’ve used it as a guide. If the reason for Mom’s disappearance was to find the faunus, and if this tree was truly so relevant in revealing their location, that must be where she went.

Finding one would find the other, and Yang wouldn’t stop until she found both.

The moon was full when Yang’s story with her mom ended, so during the next Yang snuck out in search of a sequel. She’d double checked Ruby was asleep and timed her footsteps with Dad’s snores, venturing out into the wilderness with nothing but a sack strapped to her back containing her fairytale like it was her personal treasure map. She knew this was dangerous, knew she’d be in big trouble if she got caught, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when it came to something this important. Not when it could restore her family again. Restore the pit in Yang’s chest Mom took with her.

Being so small it was hard to identify the tallest tree in this colossal forest, especially in the pitch black of night. Everything looked the same, an obstacle course of camouflaged pillars thrusting thin swords embellished with inky bristles, so she had to move carefully as to not trip and mess up her hair. She did consider setting it on fire to aid her vision, though Mom’s gentle warnings of forest fires rung through her mind and snuffed it out. Yang’s mana supply was low, her ignited locks her only form of magic, and maybe this would’ve made her feel insecure compared to the other fireball throwing kids if not for the massive strength boost that came with it. But she didn’t need to attack anything right now, and she had no desire to cause the ruination of something sacred.

Eventually she emerged at a clearing teemed with moonlight, a breathless laugh spilling free at the thick trunk in the centre shooting to the heavens. She dashed forward, caution abandoned, grass and twigs crunching under forceful steps until rough palms met rougher bark, organic browns blanched in a bath of luminescence.

She wanted to climb it. Needed to. Needed to see the view from the top.

Maybe Mom was up there.

It was much too massive to wrap her body around so she looked for dips to shove her feet, anything to assist her assent, but the tree offered no such assistance. If she couldn’t even manage one step, how could she ever manage the whole climb?

No, she couldn’t think like that. Not before even trying.

She could punch it. Maybe. That had solved her problems before so why not now? She’d create her own footholds.

Or destroy the tree.

And she’d never forgive herself if she destroyed the tree.

Unable to see higher she looked lower, the tree’s gnarly roots blanketed with thatches of purple flowers and little black berries. The flowers were pretty but she never loved them like other girls in the village, quickly bored by purposeless things. Food, on the other hand, she adored, eagerly awaiting dinner every day and swiping any extras she could, and she suddenly regretted not stuffing her bag full of snacks.

So, with no other thoughts beyond the grumbling in her belly, she reached for a berry.

“Don’t touch those!”

Yang jumped at the high-pitched shout, fists up like she’d been taught, swivelling towards yellow specs glowing from the shadows. Too stationary to be Grimm, not to mention she’d never heard of a Grimm mimicking a child, and the alarm straightening her spine and tightening her hands loosened upon the recognition of a person’s eyes at similar height.

“Why not?” Yang asked, genuinely curious about both the berries and the girl. She’d hoped to find her mom here, still gripped that hope, but there must be a reason she found this girl instead. All the village kids were too cowardly to copy Yang’s daredevil tendencies—let alone venture into the forest at night—so she must be visiting from afar, and the thought of someone keeping up with her for once was too enticing to ignore.

“It’s poisonous,” was the dry reply, like the reasoning was obvious.

Not to Yang, though. “Poisonous?”

A slow blink, gold swallowed by the insatiable darkness and reappearing like fireflies. “You’ll get really sick if you eat them.”

“Oh.” Yang frowned, looking back to the tempting berries. What a waste of food. “But I’m hungry.”

“Of course you’re hungry.” Shadow Girl—yeah, that was a cool nickname—gave a quiet snort that would’ve been unrecognizable to those who weren’t listening as intently as Yang. “Lion faunus are always hungry.”

Huh?

“That’s what my mom says,” Shadow Girl added, as if that clarified the random fact she plucked from the abyss. “She says that’s why she makes so much extra food.”

Yang had no idea what she was talking about. Yang was always hungry, this was true. But why did that make this girl think she was a lion faunus? Despite her puzzlement, and even though the comment came off a little mean, Yang was still flattered. Lions were strong and majestic and prideful, cared deeply for family—just like her! They could run super fast and had big paws and fangs and the males had super fluffy manes. Would a lion faunus have a mane like that? Or just the ears and tail like the faunus in the fairytale?

Well, Yang supposed she could just ask. If Shadow Girl was comparing her to a lion faunus she must know what they look like, because she... knows about...

Why did she know about the faunus?

And in the midst of her stupor, as the wind shifted the branches just enough for the moonlight to generously engulf her companion, Yang saw them. Saw the cute features seemingly limited to fairytales. Saw what she’d been prepared to wait a lifetime for. Saw what Mom promised.

“You have kitty ears!”

Said appendages twitched at her shout, animated and real and so much more than just a drawing. “Of course I do. Where are yours?”

“I don’t have any!” Yang declared, enthusiasm as unaffected.

Shadow Girl frowned. “A tail?”

“Nope!”

“But you’re... aren’t you a lion?” Each word warped with palpable confusion. “Your hair looks like...”

Yang grinned. “I do have the prettiest hair in Patch. But look!” She brushed aside her thick mane to give a clear view of her face and pointed to her—unfortunately—not furry ears. “Human, see? Pretty lame compared to yours.” She sighed, pouting. “I still wish I had kitty ears. Now that you mention it, lion ears would be super cool.”

For a moment her new friend looked terrified, cute kitty ears flattening at her head and tail ramrod straight like she’d been zapped by lightning magic, and Yang wasn’t sure she enjoyed being looked at that way when it wasn’t her goal; the weird looks she received after Mom left, by kids and adults alike, were bad enough.

But then Shadow Girl relaxed slightly, looking more unsure than anything, tail twitching inwards to curl around her own leg. “You aren’t... afraid of me?”

Yang tilted her head, definitely not expecting that reversal. She wasn’t afraid of anything, but something in how it was asked made her swallow that gut response in favour of another. Reflection, her mom had called it. “Should I be?”

Shadow Girl opened and closed her mouth a few times, not making a peep. Ruby did that a lot too whenever someone other than her or Dad tried talking to her, so maybe she was just shy.

“You’re really a human?” Shadow Girl asked a moment later.

“Yep!”

Ears flattened again, just as adorable as it was sad. “You don’t wanna hurt me?”

“What?” Yang couldn’t fathom the idea even crossing her mind. She’d never hurt the people she cared about, not ever. “No! I only punch bad people! You don’t look like a bad person.”

“How does a bad person look?”

“They... hmmm.” Yang tapped her chin, thinking of all the bad people she’d met in her life and realizing none of them looked the same. “Mom told me it’s what people do that make them good or bad, not how they look. You stopped me from eating the bad berries, so you must be good!”

Yang thought what she just said was really smart, would’ve earned praise from Mom, and she listened to the memory of her voice in her head while Shadow Girl struggled to say anything at all, eventually managing a quiet, “I... don’t understand.”

“That’s okay! There’s lots of stuff I don’t understand either.” Yang threw her arms high in the air. “We can not understand together!”

“Is that... like a game?”

“It can be! But it would be hard to play anything when you’re all the way over there.”

Yang didn’t push further, hoping the suggestion would be enough, unsurprised by Shadow Girl’s continued hesitance. She wanted to rush over there so badly, see her kitty features up close, but had a feeling if she did the girl would run off and never be seen again. So she waited, despite her impatience. The past month offered plenty of experience.

After some time, to Yang’s bubbling delight, the mysterious young girl came closer. Not too close, but enough for Yang to see her easier; the black hair bouncing at her shoulders, equally black fur puffing from her ears, the nervous swishes of her tail, flickering eyes shiny like melted mora. She stared for a long time, maybe too long, but she wanted to devote every inch of her to memory. Wanted to remember this moment, remember this girl, for the rest of her life.

Just in case no one else did.

“I can’t believe it,” Yang said suddenly, the girl’s kitty ears shooting up. “You really exist.” Her lips tugged into a wide grin. “My mom said I’d find you one day.”

“Your mom?” Shadow Girl seemed guarded again. “Someone else knows about us?”

“So you haven’t met her?” That kindling of hope extinguished with her sigh, but she grasped what remained and refused to let go. “She left one day and never came back. She loved the faunus, even though she’s never met one. I was hoping if I found you I’d be able to find her, too.”

“Well... I guess I can look around for her. But I can’t tell my parents, so don’t get your hopes up too high.” Yang perked up anyway, the most hopeful she’d been in weeks. How could she not be after getting a lead? After meeting someone she’d always dreamed of?

Golden eyes scanned her up and down before adding, “Does she look like you?”

“Not at all,” Yang said brightly, those comments having long lost their sting. “She has—”

“YANG!”

She was startled for a second, turning towards the yell with her fists up before recognizing her dad’s voice, but when she turned back around to tell her new friend not to worry she was already gone, whisked away just like that, blurry afterimage nestling along the edges of the permanent hole in Yang’s chest and threatening to dip inside. With all her joyful energy sucked away she had no choice but to watch her dad burst through the foliage, sandy hair unkempt and his shirt on wrong and the mixture of relief and dread twisting his expression into something unrecognizable as he charged her way.

“What are you doing out here, Yang?” His voice tinged with the same panicked fury that tainted his tone after Mom disappeared. He dropped to his knees to meet her at eye-level, checking for injuries and shaking her shoulders. “You could’ve been hurt!”

She winced, shrinking back. She never felt unsafe around him, just small, like she could never be who he wanted to see. “I was just looking for someone,” she muttered. She knew better than to talk about Mom in front of him, and he wouldn’t get her to break the promise she and Mom shared.

Dad half-heartedly looked around, a bone deep tiredness sagging his features. Yang clung to hope after Mom left, but all of his left with her. “No one’s here, sweetheart.”

Yeah, she thought as he carried her home. No one’s here.

Yang didn’t like being alone, didn’t like feeling invisible in her own home, so despite Dad’s warnings she returned to the tree every night that week yearning to see her new friend.

And every morning she returned disappointed.

At first she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole interaction. Too many nights were plagued by vivid nightmares disguised as blessings, allowing her to briefly enjoy her mom’s warmth only to wake up cold and alone every time, her blanket nothing but a mockery in comparison to what she’d taken for granted. Even then, even with these harsh, lonely reminders, she’d squeeze her eyes shut and try her hardest to re-enter those illusions, because until she found her mom this was all she had.

Other than Shadow Girl.

And Mom was connected to Shadow Girl, she just knew it. Even if they hadn’t met, it had to mean something that Yang found one when searching for the other. And besides the tree, the only thing she could go on was the full moon. That was when Mom left, when Yang saw her first faunus, and it was her best bet of seeing her again.

Learning patience these past two months hadn’t been easy, a blur of pretending anything in Patch was remotely as interesting, remotely distracting enough from her loneliness, from how she didn’t feel like a big sister or a daughter anymore—but her patience paid off when finally, finally, the afterimage seared into her eyes fleshed out once again.

“You came back!” Yang cheered as glowing eyes materialized in the darkness, waving her friend over.

“So did you,” said Shadow Girl, stepping as close as last month before Dad interrupted them. Her kitty ears, just as adorable as Yang remembered, were perked up, listening intently. “Did that man follow you again?”

Yang blinked. Shadow Girl disappeared before Dad came into view, didn’t she? “Did you spy on us?”

Kitty ears flattened to her head and she sheepishly rubbed her arm. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be! I’m not mad or anything. And don’t worry, no one will spook us this time. I was extra careful!” Shadow Girl didn’t seem fully convinced, sharp eyes peering over Yang’s shoulder, but Yang could deal with that bit of paranoia if it meant she got to talk with her. “I came here a few times but you were never here,” Yang added, catching Shadow Girl’s attention. “Why’d you only come back today?”

A sharp claw pointed to the sky. “If the moon isn’t full humans can’t see.”

That... what?

Like... couldn’t see at all? Did she really believe that?

The idea was so silly it should’ve been simple to argue, but it was stated so resolutely all of Yang’s counterpoints crumbled down her throat besides a dumbfounded, “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is! I read about it.”

“You... read about it?” That meant wherever she was from had books written by humans—or about them, at least. So faunus knew about humans, but humans—most humans—didn’t know about faunus. Even if this tidbit made her brain hurt, she’d devote everything this girl told her to memory.

She couldn’t wait to tell Mom.

“Yeah,” Shadow Girl continued, tail swishing back and forth. “My book has tons of stuff about humans. It says they can’t see in the dark without fire or the full moon.”

Yang knew an opportunity to show off when she saw one. She also knew wasn’t supposed to do this, especially when surrounded by greenery. It’s the whole reason she didn’t use it to guide herself last time. That, and Dad said she was too young to fully control it.

Dad wasn’t here.

She stepped far away from the tree, took a deep breath, slammed her fists together and savoured the warmth that pulsed through her body, sizzling along her roots and snaking down every strand until her hair mimicked the sway of flames. Like always she felt stronger, invincible, yearned for more and more and more, wanted to fight, but the golden eyes widening at her display convinced her to simmer until she was doused, nose twitching at the faint smell of smoke.

If she stayed in that state for too long she probably would lose control, yeah. But she couldn’t learn to control it if she didn’t practice, and what better way than with experimental bursts to impress her new friend? As long as she didn’t hurt her, or the tree, then everything was fine.

 “You were on fire!” Shadow Girl said, jaw hung so wide her little fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Yang grinned, swiping at her nose with her thumb. “Or should I say, pretty hot?”

She thought she was getting better with her jokes, even if people usually groaned instead of laughed, but this time around it was completely lost on her audience. “Doesn’t it burn?” she fretted, face scrunched in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really! It doesn’t burn me. It just gives me a power boost. Cool, right?” she egged. It was cool, wasn’t it? It was something only she could do, and it was way cooler than any lame magic the other village kids did. C’mon, this kitty girl was so cool and she had to prove she was cool, too!

“... Yeah,” Shadow Girl eventually said, calming a little. “How did you do that?”

Great question. “I dunno. I kinda just... feel it?” Yang shrugged, deciding to turn this around by pointing to Shadow Girl’s glowing eyes. “How do you see in the dark?”

She blinked, clearly stunned by the reversal. She looked around, as if testing the abilities she’d always had but never thought twice about—a very useful ability that Yang would love to have, especially if sneaking out at night was going to become a habit.

“I...” Her friend eventually gave up, matching her gaze with one of confusion. “I don’t know.”

“I think it’s awesome! I wish I could do that. I bet you never bump into anything when you get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I do that a lot.”

“Go to the bathroom?”

“No, bump into stuff—in the dark. My legs are covered in bruises.”

“Oh.” Once again the chuckles Yang aimed for missed by a mile, the beat of silence stretching too long. “Um,” oh good she kept talking, “well, I think it’s ‘awesome’ that your eyes change colour. I thought that only—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Yang raised her hands in interruption. “What do you mean my eyes changed colour? My eyes are purple.”

“Yeah, but when you set your hair on fire they turned red.”

Yang blinked. “Really?”

Shadow Girl tilted her head. “You didn’t know?”

Nope, no she did not. Why did no one ever tell her? Did they just think she wouldn’t want to know that she looked even cooler during that power up than she initially thought?

“Well,” Yang shrugged, “I do now. Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome, I guess. Can all humans do that?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe with magic?” There were so many different types, even around Patch, that it was hard to imagine all of Remnant not having magic as simple as changing one’s appearance. She hoped she’d meet someone one day who could. “What about faunus? Can you change your eye colour?”

“Not me.” Inky strands flowed like water as she shook her head. “My friend can ‘cause she’s a chameleon. She can change her scales and hair colour, too.”

“A chameleon?” Yang echoed excitedly. She was so caught up on cat faunus that she genuinely forgot other types could exist as well, probably for every animal in existence, and if that was true she had to meet all of them! “How many faunus are in your village? Is it full of kitties and chameleons or is there lots of different ones? Like dogs and birds and mice and bunnies and cows and—”

“S-slow down, there’s...” She paused, folding in on herself in a way she only did last visit. “Sorry, nevermind. I...” She took a step back. “I actually should be heading home now.”

“No, wait! Don’t go!” Yang pleaded, panic surging her forward until she was almost in the girl’s personal space. Her ears and tail shot up but to Yang’s relief she didn’t jump away, merely watching with some muted sense of fear, but unlike last time it didn’t seem like this fear was necessarily because of her. “You can’t leave yet,” Yang insisted, breathless, needing any reason to convince this girl not to abandon her. She found one quickly, one she felt silly for not bringing up earlier. “I don’t even know your name yet. Please, if you can’t tell me anything else, at least tell me that.”

She didn’t want to keep calling her Shadow Girl, even if it was an awesome nickname. Yang wanted to know her truth, not just rely on herself to stitch together some fabrication. She wanted to befriend the real her, not some shadow. “I won’t tell anyone about you, I swear,” Yang added. “I made that promise with my Mom, too. I’d never break it.”

That must’ve been the right thing to say as the girl’s posture relaxed. Other than her hilarious jokes Yang wasn’t confident in her skill with words, but she was aware of her emotions constantly bubbling beneath the surface. She held back when she felt she needed to, like with Ruby and Dad, but in something like this where emotion was the key element, nothing could withhold her passion.

And right now, nothing ignited her passion more than this girl.

“Blake,” she murmured, almost lost to the breeze, and as if worried it was she repeated louder, “My name is Blake.”

The breeze could’ve swept Yang away too because she felt lighter than air. “Hi, Blake,” she said with a big smile. It felt right finally knowing her name, getting to say it, getting the confirmation that all of this wasn’t a dream and she was talking to a real person, a real faunus, and soon to be a real friend.

“Hi,” Blake parroted. “Yours is Yang, right?”

Her smile fell only out of surprise. “How’d you know that?”

“That man called it out, remember?”

It took a minute, focusing on Dad’s voice rather than how he’d looked at her, but shouting her name was how he got her attention, yeah. And what made Blake flee. She restrained a pout; it didn’t feel fair Blake knew her name this whole time and she only learned hers now. She wasn’t even allowed to try and be mysterious!

Not that she could pull it off as well as Blake. That desire to unravel her mystery only added to her charm. Learning her name untied the first knot, but the rest would remain an impenetrable mess of locks and chains if they never saw each other again.

Yang wanted to see her again.

“Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“I can’t. I want to!” Blake added swiftly, and Yang wondered if that pinprick of dejection stabbing her chest bled into her face for Blake to react that way. “It’s just... my parents don’t know I’m here. I had to sneak out.”

Yang chuckled. “We have that in common.”

“I don’t think we do.” Blake wrapped her arms around herself, nails sinking into her flesh. “I was told to never leave home alone. Someone could get hurt.”

“I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Not just me,” Blake stressed, that cryptic fear from earlier quivering her speech. “Everyone.”

Yang didn’t really understand, just like when Mom tried explaining it to her. Why would people hurt each other just for looking different? She recalled one day in the streets of Patch seeing a drunken man kick a cat, disturbed that anyone could purposely hurt an animal like that, but everyone in the area had united on how that man was a bad person and he soon got what he deserved. How could those same people who wordlessly worked together to help that cat turn against someone just for having cat ears? She just couldn’t believe it was possible.

But Blake certainly believed it, and her parents must too if she was warned never to leave home.

And yet, here she was.

“Why did you come here in the first place then?” Yang asked.

“Because...” Blake steadied herself with a deep breath, appearing much more resolute, a courageous warrior bearing less than seven winters prepared to fight for her beliefs. “I don’t think humans are bad. Not all of them. I needed to see for myself.” Blake met her eyes again. “And I saw you.”

Yang grinned, gladly accepting more fuel for her sense of pride. “Did I leave a good impression?”

Blake released a harsh breath through her nose, the closest she’d come to laughing so far. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“I’m happy you did.” Yang frowned. “If we can get along, why can’t everyone else?”

“I don’t know, but that’s why we have to be careful. It’s too risky for me to come here every night.”

“Yeah, my dad might catch on, too.” Not that she’d let him stop her, but it would still be a hassle to deal with. With how much work he did in town they barely spent any time together anyway outside of him lecturing her about her safety, and he would never understand that not only could she take care of herself but how much risking her safety was worth if it meant learning about the faunus—and sequentially, finding her mom.

An idea hit her, then. It was because of the clues Mom left behind she met Blake in the first place, so it only made sense for that to ensure their convergence.

“How about every full moon?” Yang offered, and her heart leapt at how Blake already looked intrigued. “With so much time in-between there’s no way our families will get suspicious. It also lets us know the day is coming up without having to send letters or anything. Plus,” Yang grinned, “that way I’ll be able to see.”

Blake’s cheeks coloured with embarrassment, made her look so much more her age, and it was nice seeing emotions on her face unrelated to caution. She’d prove that Blake never had to be cautious around her. She’d prove her caution had no place to begin with.

“Okay,” Blake agreed. “Every full moon.”

“You promise?” Yang raised her right pinky. “Promise you’ll always come find me?”

She was asking something potentially difficult, she realized, something that maybe wasn’t as easy for someone else to promise, and with how skittish Blake was for both their encounters she expected her to hesitate.

But in a flash Blake’s finger linked around hers, small and warm, and for a split second Yang warped back to her room all those months ago when swearing secrecy with her mom. This felt equally as powerful if not more, able to withstand distance and time, taut and durable against any force that might try and tear them apart. And if that force happened to be themselves, reassurance came in how one could always tug back the other; remind them that this is something they chose to do together. That, no matter what, they’d always meet again.

Yang would never forget the first smile Blake gave her, nor the sound of her voice.

“I promise.”

Time proved the ultimate test, and Yang was furious how swiftly she failed.

She was strong the first few days, still giddy and astounded by their budding friendship across separated species, but soon enough all she was doing after each sunset was staring at the moon like she could magically make it full. She hated feeling this way, tried not dwelling on it, but after her favourite person broke her promise she couldn’t help but expect her new favourite person to break her promise, too.

Who knew a set of kitty ears could provide such tangible relief.

Blake was sitting with her back against the tree, some sort of book in her lap commanding her attention. Yang prepared to call out to her but didn’t need to, a kitty ear flicking in her direction before golden eyes followed suit. Blake looked alarmed only for a moment, slamming her book closed, then her raised shoulders relaxed in recognition.

“Yang,” she greeted softly, and never had her name sounded so wonderful.

“Blake!” Yang cheered, rushing over and giggling despite Blake’s wince at her volume, plopping gracelessly beside her. “You came back!”

“Of course.” Blake gave a small smile. “I promised.”

Yes she did, and Yang couldn’t believe how simple she made it sound, like no other outcome could’ve existed. Despite how risky Blake said it was for her to come here, here she was. She took their promise just as seriously. She wanted to see Yang just as much as Yang wanted to see her.

Yang was always warm—fire flowed in her veins, Mom told her—but this pleasant warmth in her chest was unlike any feeling of warmth before. She didn’t really understand it, but she liked it, and it was another reason tacked onto the endless list of unravelling Blake’s mystery. There was so much to know and a lifetime to learn, but Yang had never been patient, especially if her exposure was limited to one day a month.

“Whatcha got there?” Yang asked, pointing at the book in her lap.

Blake’s ears dipped slightly, hugging the book to her chest. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You brought it all the way out here. That means it’s important to you, right?”

Blake huddled further in on herself, looking adorably shy. “I guess,” she grumbled.

Yang grinned. “Doesn’t that also mean you wanted to share it with me?”

“No!” she spouted way too quickly and way too loudly, pink dusting her pale cheeks, so mortified Yang wouldn’t be shocked if she was debating throwing herself into the shadows. Thankfully Blake stayed exactly where Yang wanted her, and a moment later she quietly continued, “I was just drawing while I waited for you. I wasn’t gonna show you.”

The very beginning of the night and already Yang buzzed with acquiring sacred knowledge. “Well you can’t not show me after saying that.”

“No.”

“C’mon, please?”

“No, Yang.”

“Please, please, please, please?”

“Stop,” Blake groaned, lips curled in a specific brand of annoyance Yang already loved. “Why do you wanna see so bad?”

“Because it’s yours,” Yang said like it was obvious. Wasn’t it? “I like learning about you.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed with a similar caution to their first meeting. “You like learning about faunus.”

“Yeah, because of you! You’re so cool!”

“I’m... I’m not.”

“You are!”

Rather than continuing to contribute to this incessant loop Blake sat in silence, chewing her lip, locked in an internal debate so fierce it was like she questioned every choice that led her to this moment.

“Please?” Yang asked again, softer, getting right in her face. Her eyes were so sparkly up close. “Friends share stuff. I won’t laugh, I promise.”

“Fine,” Blake eventually caved, pushing Yang back. “Only if you share what’s in your bag.” She huffed, clearly still fighting off her embarrassment. “You brought it the other times, too.”

“No problem!” Yang unstrapped her bag and flipped it open, not hesitating to free her own book. With everything it meant to her and her mom, it only made sense to keep bringing it here. She wouldn’t show anyone else, but Blake wasn’t anyone else. “This is my favourite fairytale.”

She wasn’t sure how she expected Blake to react, but the immediate wide eyes made sense—only for reasons she didn’t yet know. “This is...” Blake reached over, claws gentle as she traced the silhouettes on the cover. “Those are faunus.”

“Yep!” Yang flipped through the pages, chest warm as Blake admired the gorgeous art on each one, wondering if this was how she looked when Mom read the story to her. It was nice getting to share something she loved with someone else. “This is how I learned about them. My mom showed me with this book.”

Only then did Blake manage to rip her stupefied gaze from the fairytale, but if anything she only grew more stupefied the longer she stared at Yang. “She... believed this? You believed her?”

Yang tilted her head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s just a story!”

“It never felt like just a story. Not when Mom read it.”

“Yang,” Blake began, rubbing her forehead. “I read all the time. I love stories. But that’s all they are. Most people would’ve left this book at that.”

“Mom isn’t like most people. She never just did what people told her to do. She did what she thought was right.”

She stopped herself there, not letting the brittle I miss her escape her throat. It scraped its way back down to her stomach like sharp chunks of food whenever she ate too fast, still uneasy enough to upchuck if she wasn’t careful. It wasn’t that she felt bad about missing her mom, she missed her more than anyone in the world, but she was so used to burying how much it killed her inside for Dad and Ruby’s sakes. They couldn’t find Mom, and crying wouldn’t either.

But she could.

“And she thought this book was right?” Blake asked.

Yang peeked at Blake’s kitty ears with a coy smile. “Isn’t it?”

Said ears drooped alongside Blake’s heavy sigh, whole body deflating as she leaned into the blanched bark supporting her weight. She didn’t look upset really, just defeated by Yang’s optimism, and until that optimism was shared Yang would do anything to prove it wasn’t blind.

“Can I look at it more?” Blake asked, and the poorly hidden curiosity in her tone was a good start.

“Sure!” Yang said, trusting the gentle grip of Blake’s claws on the aged paper, watching as Blake scrutinized every page as if searching for the last piece of a puzzle. Then a thought overcame her; if she, a human, had a copy of a faunus fairytale, it was possible a copy might exist where Blake was from, too. “Do you recognize it?”

“No,” Blake muttered distractedly. “Not the book. But... this tree...” She traced its magnificence on the page with one hand, swivelling just enough to rest the other on the one towering behind them. Golden eyes flicked between the two, brightening with realization before resting on Yang. “Is this why you came here?”

“It’s on every page. It has to be important. I don’t know where my mom went but I know she wants to find the faunus, so I thought if I found the biggest tree around I might find a clue to where she is.” Yang grinned. “And I found you! Lucky me, huh?”

Yang certainly felt lucky given the circumstances, really happy too, so she had no idea why Blake suddenly looked so sad. “You’re not...” Blake bit her lip, averting her eyes. “You’re not disappointed you found me instead?”

“What?” The thought was so appalling Yang’s hand shot to Blake’s shoulder on instinct, gripping through Blake’s jolt and only letting go once Blake looked up at her again. “Don’t be silly! Part of why I love this fairytale so much is because the main character has kitty ears like yours. Mom promised me I’d meet that girl one day, and—and here you are! So I’m glad I found you first, ‘cause now I can tell her that I did!”

Blake frowned slightly. “I’m not that girl, Yang.”

“Nah, you’re even cooler.”

“Please don’t start this again.”

“There’s a really easy way to shut me up, you know,” Yang suggested, gesturing to her mysterious book. She’d gotten sidetracked showing off her own treasure, but she never completely forgot why she was showing it off in the first place.

It looked like Blake had hoped that was the case, given her hesitation. Yang had no idea what she was so nervous about. Nothing inside could be that bad, could it? If there was, why would she bring it out here to begin with?

Still, Yang waited. Blake told her earlier she’d let her see, and if she kept her promise by returning then she’d keep this one, too.

It took a few minutes but eventually Blake did hand it over, and given permission Yang flipped open the cover revealing pages littered with sketches. Unfamiliar flowers and fruits and clothes, tall structures and tiny shacks, faunus of all shapes and sizes with a variety of animal features. Many pages included a gigantic man with fur lining his arms holding hands with a much smaller woman with big pierced kitty ears. Yang lingered on these drawings, their frequency hinting they were probably her parents, letting these drawings be enough until she hopefully met them for real.

“These are so good!” Yang said, catching Blake’s sheepish little smile as she looked away. It wasn’t an empty compliment; Yang had never liked those. These really were good. Yang tried drawing Mom once and it ended up looking more like a white blob wearing a bucket, but just because she wasn’t good at this didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize when someone else was. Blake just kept getting cooler! She was so talented! She could draw anything!

Other than herself, it seemed. Dozens and dozens of images and not one was of her. Only what she observed.

And on the next page, given the detail, was a subject she must’ve enjoyed observing the most.

There was a boy holding a rose, horns protruding from his spiky hair. Unlike the other drawings that were scattered and messy this was clean and careful, dark lines and shading, the entire page devoted to him. Like anything less would do his importance to her a disservice. Like he was the reason she started drawing in the first place.

People were joined by invisible threads, and sometimes one couldn’t be untangled without untangling the other. Yang didn’t yet know herself without her mom, and maybe Blake didn’t know herself without this boy, either. So if Yang wanted to learn about her—which she did, more than anything—she’d need to learn about him, too.

“Who’s this?”

It wasn’t a rude question. She didn’t think so, anyway. But Blake’s expression cracked like a mirror, and with the speed of a swinging sword she snatched back her sketchbook, hugging it tightly to her chest. “No one,” she said firmly, ears so flat they merged with her hair to almost look passably human.

Maybe one day Blake would be a good liar on both fronts, but not today—and concerning having to hide herself to look human, hopefully never. Yang didn’t push, just like she didn’t push Ruby when she was upset about something. Yang wanted so badly to know, could tell this boy was an integral part of Blake’s life, but if pressing for answers made Blake run away then what was the point?

She couldn’t give Blake a reason to break her promise. She had to convince her she was worth staying for.

“There’s still lots of empty pages,” Yang said instead; an olive branch. “What are you planning to draw?”

One ear curved in her direction, followed by eyes like burning embers peeking from under Blake’s bangs. “Anything,” Blake supplied with a shrug. “Just whatever I see.”

“Oh yeah? What you can see right now?”

“Uh. Trees.” Blake reluctantly glanced around the clearing. “And more trees.”

Yang used her hands to fluff out her thick blanket of hair, puffing out her chest to make herself look as noticeable as possible. “Anything other than trees?”

“... You?”

Yang grinned. “Exactly.”

That pinched a gentle laugh out of Blake, the first one she’d made, Yang’s greatest accomplishment so far, and just maybe she wanted to hear it a million more times. “You want me to draw you?”

“Yes, please!”

“I need to focus to draw. Won’t you be bored?”

“No way. I can tell you all about my family and my village while you’re drawing.”

“I can’t promise it will be any good,” she said, even while flipping to a fresh page.

“Maybe I would’ve believed that before you showed me your drawings.” Her grin softened to a smile. “Have confidence, Blake.”

“You seem to have plenty of that for me.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

And for an unknown amount of time Yang just talked, more than she ever had since her mom disappeared, just let herself speak knowing that someone was listening instead of judging. That she wasn’t just the girl with the missing mom and emotionally missing dad, she could talk about other things, could exist and live beyond their piteous gazes. She told Blake about Ruby and Dad, about all the mundane aspects of her tiny village that would bore anyone but her, Blake’s ears twitching with interest even when her eyes never strayed from her sketchbook.

Despite Yang’s occasional prodded Blake didn’t let her see the drawing until it was finished, but unlike earlier she wasn’t at all shy about showing this drawing off, like she was certain Yang would like it. Obviously she would, that was a given even before she started, but the surprising amount of pride made Yang all the more intrigued.

One glance transformed intrigue into awe.

It was a strange feeling, seeing herself from this perspective. Seeing how she looked to the world. Seeing how someone else saw her.

And Blake saw her as a lion.

Fluffy lion ears peeked out of her mane, a long tail winding across her legs with such ease like these features were made for her. Like she could blink and they’d magically appear. She even tried, of course to no success, instead staring at Blake for any explanation.

Blake just smiled. “I may have been wrong when I first saw you, but I still think it suits you.”

Yang cupped her human ears, still thinking they were lame in comparison. “I wish I looked like this.”

“Here.” Blake carefully tore the page from her sketchbook, offering it to Yang. “Keep it.”

“Really? You sure?”

“As long as you keep it secret.”

Such a simple drawing could reveal too much, could reveal that not only have faunus made a recent appearance in human society but that Yang was acquainted with one, and maybe it would be safest if Yang powered up and burned it to ashes—but Blake was trusting her with it, and no way could Yang ever destroy such a thoughtful gift.

“I’m a master at keeping secrets.” Yang slipped the drawing inside her fairytale, securing it closed.

“I hope one day we don’t have to anymore,” Blake said, a tiredness sagging her face that reminded Yang too much of Dad. “I don’t want to hide forever.”

“I don’t, either.” Yang scooted closer to Blake until their knees were touching. “Maybe we can’t do anything about it yet, but we can make another promise.”

“What kind of promise?”

“Sometime in the future, let’s meet back here. Right here at this tree. If we’re getting along then all the humans and faunus can too, I just know it! My fairytale gave me the chance to make it happen, and I wanna create this story for other kids to read so they can be inspired, too. I think that would make my mom really happy, and you’re the only one who can help me.”

Blake looked like she wanted to believe in Yang’s ambitions, but mere words couldn’t overcome what her people must’ve gone through to go into hiding. “That might not be for a long time, Yang.”

“I don’t care if I’m an old granny. I still wanna do it.” Yang knew this wasn’t something as easy as beating the village bully or convincing the guards it was someone else who stole an extra fruit for their sister. It was something even Mom hadn’t accomplished yet and she could do anything. All the more reason to help her out as much as possible so they could see the results of their progress together someday.

Yang smiled and held out her pinky. “So whenever you’re ready to write our story with me, let’s meet back here. Okay?”

Blake took a deep breath, staring at her proposition, and then their fingers linked strong a second time.

“Okay.”

Over the years their monthly meetings were bound by more than promise, the need for assurance dwindling into expectation. The full moon’s call was insatiable. Of course the other would show.

Yang didn’t necessarily keep track of how many times they met by now—not enough, could never be enough—but she did keep track of any differences. Whether it was the books Blake brought, her wariness, if she was earlier or later than usual; each added a tick to the checklist in her head.

Tonight’s difference manifested in the knee-length dark cloak sagging down Blake’s shoulders, thick hood removed at Yang’s approach to reveal those cute kitty ears Yang loved.

“That’s new,” Yang greeted casually with a wave, moonlight catching the gold of her gauntlets just as intensely as golden eyes. Blake wasn’t the only one sporting something new.

“I should’ve been wearing it all along,” Blake said.

“Would’ve been a bit big for you as an ankle-biter, dontcha think?”

An ear twitched with amusement. “A smaller one, obviously.”

“To hide your ears?”

“My tail, too.” Only then did Yang realize the furry appendage was wrapped securely around Blake’s waist, easily concealed by the length of the cloak.

“You don’t need to hide from me.”

“Never from you,” Blake affirmed, alleviating Yang’s gnawing worry. “But it’s necessary on stealth missions.”

“Stealth missions?” Yang parroted, lips tugged into a grin. “You can’t say something that cool and not give me the juicy details.”

“They’re not as cool as you think.” They probably were, but her smile and excitement simmered when she realized Blake wasn’t just being humble. “Our sanctuary is hidden from humans and self-sustaining, but our community is small and general knowledge of the outside world is limited. Every once in awhile faunus skilled at espionage are sent to gather information in human villages, rescue lost faunus and gather resources.” She looked away guiltily and added with a small voice, “Steal, sometimes.”

Yang had stolen enough sweets and toys in her childhood to be concerned over something so petty. No, this was potentially so much worse. “You’re not even a teenager, Blake. They send kids?”

“If they’re capable and trustworthy. I’ve proven myself.”

“Isn’t that... really dangerous?” Yang fought to keep her expression passive while anger brewed like a rumbling volcano in her chest. Blake could get hurt. Yang saw how kids caught pickpocketing were beaten, how they limped home with black eyes and bruised ribs—and they were human. What if the wrong person caught Blake and noticed she was a faunus? Yang still didn’t understand how anyone could be upset or afraid over a pair of cat ears—but Blake’s fear for her people was real, Mom’s caution was real, so Remnant must be rife with lunatics.

“I’m not being forced, Yang,” Blake ensured, stepping closer, like she knew her presence brought Yang comfort. “I volunteered. I’ve always wanted to see more humans without having to sneak away and this was the perfect chance. Besides, no one goes on these missions alone. Someone’s always with me.”

That made Yang feel better, at least. That’s how she told Ruby to explore the village, too—not that she always listened—but everyone knew who Ruby’s family was, knew her big sister would beat the shit out of anyone who even looked at her funny, so Ruby’s safety wasn’t a huge concern.

Blake’s was.

“Your parents?” Yang asked, more than a little surprised when Blake shook her head.

“My dad stands out too much, and if either of my parents were harmed the sanctuary would be thrown into chaos.” Blake hesitated for a long while, like she wasn’t sure if she should say what came next. She parted her lips once, twice, before finally managing, “Adam comes with me.”

“Adam?” Yang questioned, trying to place the name, but even after several winters Blake never mentioned anyone specifically. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?”

“No,” was the instant rebuttal, forceful enough to snap bones. “No,” Blake repeated, softer, like all her energy vanished with that word into the breeze.

And there was something in that response Yang couldn’t quite place. Something that felt sickeningly wrong, yet also familiar. An echo of how Blake once spoke to her before. Something Yang shook off at the time but never forgot, a seed planted in the depths of her memory—one that only needed a droplet to blossom a blood red rose.

“He’s the boy in your sketchbook.”

Blake flinched like she’d been struck, ears flattening against her head. “You remember,” she murmured.

Yang frowned at the insinuation that she’d forget any of the moments she shared with Blake. “Of course I do. He was important to you.” She gestured at Blake’s tense posture. “Still is.”

Why he was important alluded her, though. And if he was so important, why did Blake seem so anxious to talk about him? She must care about him if she drew him in her sketchbook all those years ago—but even then something seemed off in how she hid him. An estranged brother? No, if Blake had any siblings she probably would’ve mentioned them alongside her parents. Maybe she actually hated this guy? Nah, that didn’t make sense either. If Blake hated him there was no way she’d draw him in the same book as things she loved, and Yang couldn’t imagine embarking on such important missions with someone she hated, either.

So if he wasn’t a relative, wasn’t a boyfriend, who was he?

Yang was desperate to know but had a feeling Blake wouldn’t tell her yet. Not in this state. Blake already shared so much today, more than she apparently planned on, and if that’s all she wanted to talk about that was fine. There was always next month.

But... was there? When Blake was going on dangerous missions now? She didn’t doubt Blake’s abilities—she knew from watching her swing between branches and weave about shadows that she was incredibly agile and stealthy—but the confirmation Blake worked alongside someone she wholeheartedly trusted would ease the worst of Yang’s anxiety.

“Does he keep you safe?” Yang asked. If he didn’t, she would.

Blake took a breath, eyes hard. “He won’t let any humans near me.”

That didn’t necessarily answer the question, instead inviting another. “Does he know about me?”

“No,” Blake said quickly, stepping close enough for Yang to smell the residue of herbal tea clinging to her breath. “He never will.”

Yang knew that much of Blake’s fear for her people’s security was secondhand, passed along through warnings and stories alike to what Yang grew up hearing about Grimm, but the way fear solidified Blake’s voice like stone just then was viscerally personal. Something she had to pass along, felt she finally had to after years of secrecy, like Yang’s safety hadn’t been a cause for concern until now. That Adam, whoever or whatever he was, posed some sort of threat to what they’ve built together.

But it wasn’t just what he could do, was it?

“You’re afraid of him.”

Blake winced, grasping her arm. “You should be, too.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“This isn’t about bravery, Yang. I know how brave you are, it just—it doesn’t matter here. The safety of my people matters. Your safety matters.”

“Blake, you know that I—”

“Yang, please, just listen.” And she did, jaw wired shut even though her tongue wished to encroach the gates. “Humanity’s knowledge of faunus died off centuries ago. Most believe we never existed at all. Many who do believe are afraid of us, and people do unimaginable things when they’re afraid. They become violent, go back on their word, lose themselves to paranoia. I don’t think all humans are like that—you’ve proven that to me.” The hand white-knuckling her arm reached for Yang’s hand instead, squeezing tight. “But Adam does. I’m trying to change his mind, but...” Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion; with how often she must have tried just to wonder why she bothered. “Not all faunus trust humans, Yang. Most of us are afraid, too.”

She still couldn’t pretend she understood why, and maybe that came attached to being part of the group that dominated the majority of Remnant. Or maybe it came from growing up on the outskirts of a small village, where the most violent thing to ever happen was some fool thinking he could best Mom in a duel. Maybe she’d never fully understand until she was able to journey on her own and meet new people with viewpoints one could never form in Patch. Thinking back, maybe that’s why Mom said they couldn’t go on their adventure together until she was older—cause if she still didn’t understand now, it would’ve been disastrous back then.

But that didn’t mean she was giving up. She had her entire life to unearth these roots of fear and sow the seeds of change for both humans and faunus, and with Blake by her side they’d bloom the most beautiful garden.

“One day they won’t have to be,” Yang promised, laying her free hand on top of Blake’s. “We’re proof that everything will work out. We’ll make Remnant better for both humans and faunus.”

“I hope so,” Blake sighed.

“We will.” Yang smiled. “Trust me.”

“I do, Yang. More than anyone. So you have to trust me about all this, okay? We can’t take chances with Adam. We have to be even more careful than before.” Blake’s gaze burned into hers, serious and unwavering. “We have to stay a secret.”

“We’ve kept it this long,” Yang said with a reassuring wink, relieved as a fraction of tension melted off Blake’s form. “As long as I can keep seeing you, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

It was exciting at first, having Blake all to herself.

After all, it wasn’t easy keeping secrets in a puny, peaceful settlement like Patch where everyone made everything their business. Anything new was the talk of the town, like when Penny and her dad set up shop last year. Even now that buzz rang louder than a stampede of Goliaths, letting names other than Summer Rose touch their tongues for once, biding time until the next sensation took over. When there wasn’t much to do, gossip became everyone’s pastime.

So Yang was as careful as she promised she’d be. She never told anyone about Blake. Not even Dad or Ruby. Neither were around often enough for her to tell anyway, but that didn’t matter. She kept the drawing, like Blake’s existence, hidden in Mom’s fairytale, only peeking at those lion features on the nights she missed her most. Which, at first, was only once a month. Then once a week.

Then every day.

And when she realized all they could be was a secret, excitement faded.

She wanted to gush to everyone about Blake, scream about how cool and talented and artistic she was from the rooftops, and the fact she couldn’t even whisper her name sucked. She’d never get to tell her sister about her best friend the way Ruby told her about hers. She’d never get to introduce Blake to the blacksmith who fashioned her gauntlets, to the kind baker who always gave her an extra piece of bread, to all the other kids who’d surely also think her cat ears were the cutest thing ever. She’d never get to show Blake her home, her room, her childhood, her life.

She hated it.

She hated that Blake was always looking over her shoulder, ears cocked for a third voice, always worried about the next moment instead of enjoying the present. She hated that she couldn’t soothe Blake’s anxieties. She hated how powerless she felt, that no matter how hard she punched or how hot she burned she wasn’t strong enough to make Blake feel safe.

Most of all, she hated that she couldn’t introduce Blake to her favourite person. No praise could do her mom justice, could meticulously express the kindness and warmth enriching her voice, and she was the one person Blake never would’ve had to hide from. Mom would’ve loved her. Would’ve protected her. Would’ve proved to her that not every human who still believed in faunus feared them. They were supposed to meet Blake together.

Now they did nothing together.

And after each full moon Yang had to pretend nothing was wrong. Had to pretend Blake hadn’t opened a second hole in her chest, constantly scared it would mirror the permanent emptiness her mom left behind. Had to pray for Blake’s safety, that she’d be there next time, that she still wanted to see her enough for there to be a next time.

That she’d be enough for someone to stay.

Maybe it was good that Dad and Ruby weren’t around much anymore. Ever since Mom left their lives were scarcely connected, like Yang lived in a completely different world than them. One where they could openly mourn, openly weep, openly forget, and she couldn’t. One where she had to grip the last shred of hope that existed but couldn’t tell them about it. Couldn’t tell them there was a chance Mom was alive, couldn’t tell them about the girl who changed her life, because her happiness always came second.

Yet still she held strong, she had no other choice, embracing the happiness she received once a month, the inevitable rush of excitement from seeing Blake. Her smile, her eyes, her cute ears, the touch of her hand, simply knowing she was okay; her presence made the pain worth it.

But each time she left, excitement followed.

That chase became Yang’s fuel.

Became the fire under her feet blazing with a need for adventure.

A need to find somewhere she and Blake didn’t have to hide. Where Blake didn’t need that cloak to hide her ears, didn’t need to wrap her tail around her waist.

If it existed, Yang would find it. If it didn’t, she’d create it. If that creation required her fists, that was fine by her. She didn’t put all this work into her training for nothing. She wouldn’t let herself be limited by people, places, rules, traditions. If she wanted something she’d get it, no matter how long it took.

She’d seen all of what Patch had to offer. One day, when the time was right, she’d leave and never look back. There was a whole world out there where Mom could be, traces of her existence, traces of the faunus, so many cities and temples and islands and anywhere but here where she could learn and grow and be happy again.

And she wanted Blake with her.

After all, there was so much for Blake to learn about humans, too. If she and the other faunus spent their entire lives forcibly restricted to their sanctuary then there were so many pleasures and freedoms they were missing and deserved to experience. Yang wanted to introduce Blake to all her favourite foods, favourite games, favourite training techniques. She wanted to show her what clothes were in style, what weapons people used, the different types of magic humans possessed—even if she had little beyond her power boost.

Yang wanted to learn all these things about faunus, too, things about their society and culture a mere fairytale could never convey. Things she could only learn if taught by someone who lived it, who had access to their histories, who felt safe sharing such exceptional knowledge, wanted it to become commonplace once again.

Could they teach each other what hadn’t been taught since beyond human comprehension?

Would Blake want that?

Would Blake want that life with her?

It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Practically, anyway. It would benefit their long-time goal of reuniting humans and faunus. That was what mattered most. And nothing else had to matter. But, hypothetically, if Yang did find somewhere they could stay without worry, would that mean they’d... live together? Instead of goodbyes they’d say goodnights? And instead of waking up alone she’d... she’d...

Wake up to Blake?

...

Maybe Yang would slow down on the fuel for now.

It probably wasn’t healthy for her heart to beat this fast.

Yang wasn’t sure when, but she’d gotten older.

She only realized when Blake got older, too.

The hair once resting at Blake’s shoulders now approached her waist, cascading in lustrous waves like an inky waterfall. She’d started wearing makeup; dark liner and violet shadow accentuating the sharp angle of her eyes, the glossy purple paint swathed across her lips coaxing Yang’s gaze for so long she swore she was under some form of hypnosis. Her old cloak was replaced with one of adult size, Blake no longer having to adjust the sleeves or fix the hood, easing into it like it was made just for her.

That cloak was often removed in Yang’s presence, however, and nowadays Yang struggled looking anywhere else.

Blake always wore black, always wore something light and form fitting to allow full flexibility, and for some reason always exposed her midriff. Yang didn’t know why. She didn’t ask. Why would she ask something like that? She’d sound like a creep. Blake would catch on to how much she’d been staring. She didn’t even know why she was staring. Not that there was much else to stare at other than the tree, which was majestic and beautiful in its own way—but not in a holy shit where did those curves come from kind of way.

Let it be known that she did try looking somewhere else.

For all the good that did her.

She wanted Blake close all the time. Not that that was a secret. She’d been open about enjoying Blake’s company, borderline craving it, since they were children. And if Blake didn’t feel the same she wouldn’t keep visiting her, right?

Not that Blake stayed. Not that she could. It wasn’t her fault, Yang knew that. And at least she kept coming back. It was the one thing Yang could count on, and she told herself it was enough.

But for how long?

Something was changing in her feelings for Blake in ways she couldn’t comprehend, escalating beyond her control like a spark in a dry field. It was a scary thing, a lonely thing, because how could she ever navigate the fog in her brain and the tightness in her chest when they only briefly converged once a month? How could she ever accept whatever these feelings were, act on them, have them mean something? How could she ever know if they’d mean something to Blake?

It was easier before—not that anything really was—but at the very least she trusted herself.

And if she couldn’t even trust herself anymore, then who?

“Penny’s leaving tomorrow.”

Ruby’s soft statement nearly drowned in the sea of bustling tavern goers, but between casual sips of ale Yang had been actively listening for any signs of communication in the past half hour of awkward silence. Ruby looked more conflicted about it than sad like Yang expected, forgoing the meal Yang got her to nervously tear the skin off her lips and bunch her skirts in her fists. Yang never really had a chance to get to know Penny, and ever since she and her dad arrived in town she barely saw much of Ruby, either.

“Why’s that?” Yang asked, taking a swig from her mug.

“Not enough profit,” Ruby said, fingers fidgeting. “She and her dad make incredible weapons but their materials and practices are too expensive for Patch. I think... I think they only stayed here this long because I’m the first friend Penny’s ever had. Pietro wants her to be happy and—and he’s sacrificed a lot for her, but this could cost him his business.” Ruby took a deep breath. “But—but if they can make it to Atlas—”

“The rich snobs will make them a fortune.” Yang relinquished her mug with a click of her tongue. “Got it.”

That’s how most things went. A small settlement like Patch could only hold people for so long. The only people who lived here were the generations buried too deep to leave. Patch should never be the end of someone’s story, merely a chapter—the shorter the better. Yang’s already felt too long, so she couldn’t help envying Penny for escaping so quickly.

Ruby shrugged, shrinking in on herself. “Something like that.”

Yang sighed, bumping shoulders with Ruby to try and relieve some of her obvious tension. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I know you two are,” she felt around for an appropriate term, “... close.”

Ruby’s cheeks reddened, an sheepish smile tugging her lips. “Y-yeah, we are.”

Ruby never explained how close, but Yang never explained how close she was to Blake, either.

“Then why are you hanging out with me instead of her?”

That smile plummeted like the sharp clang of a tray across the tavern, the clumsy serving girl hurrying to clean the mess while Ruby was left to rot in this churning cesspool. She bit her lip, wringing her fingers once again, always falling back on her nervous habits. That guilty expression was hard to watch, and Ruby had never been good at lying.

Yang sighed again. “If you have something to say, just say it.” Yang softened her tone, like she always did when she mourned how close she and Ruby could’ve been if circumstances were different, “You know you can tell me anything, Rubes.”

A nickname rarely used—and maybe the only reason Ruby told her the truth.

“I’m going with her.”

At the time, it amazed her how little the words hurt; pain dulled due to the sheer lack of surprise and detachment from everyone around her. How it didn’t even feel real. How easily someone chose to leave her again, even the sister she’d mothered. How, even after all this time, she was never someone’s destination.

Just a pit stop.

Yang turned away, staring at nothing. “Does Dad know?”

“No,” was the small reply. “I was gonna write him a letter tonight.”

“Good. Be sure you do.”

Dad wouldn’t survive the one person bearing Mom’s resemblance disappearing without a trace again. A letter would bring closure in loneliness, at least, even if it couldn’t be cured. Their family was picked apart one by one, tempted beyond what this place could ever be, and soon enough their home once occupied with love and laughter would occupy only ghosts.

What she wouldn’t give for one more day with her family.

“Yang?” Ruby’s tone was mousey in a way it never should be when talking with her. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Yang took another sip, savouring the brief excuse not to talk. “Not at you.”

It wouldn’t be fair if she was. How could she be at mad at Ruby for following her dreams? It’s what she wanted for her. It’s what Mom would’ve wanted for her.

But Yang was allowed to be mad that Ruby got to follow her favourite person, got to choose to spend her life with them openly, and she didn’t.

“I’ll miss you,” Ruby said, and maybe she even meant it. “If you’re ever in Atlas and you want a weapon—a free one! I’d never charge you. They’d never charge you either. Or—or just to visit, or, y’know, anything—”

Ruby’s babbling was silenced by Yang’s firm embrace. “As long as you make it.”

Both the weapon, and to Atlas.

“I’ll be a pro by then,” Ruby returned the hug, “I promise.”

Those two words cost Yang her appetite, instead spending these last few moments with Ruby watching her finally eat her meal and prepare to say goodbye—and every blink trying to hold back tears transformed Ruby into Mom, hair and face and eyes so similar Yang had to fight not to take her into her arms again and beg her not to leave.

But she didn’t. She just sat there and watched as another person she loved willingly walked out of her life.

And with Ruby gone, Yang had no reason to stay.

She was glad she left.

She would’ve been stagnant at Patch. No one was strong enough to give her a challenge and no one knew anything about her mom or the faunus, so all meaning to her life would’ve wasted away and been forgotten. Life on the road was so much more fulfilling, earning mora through bounties and fighting powerful foes and never falling asleep in the same place twice.

It was also fulfilling ‘cause Blake followed.

Turned out, as special as their meeting place was, it wasn’t necessary for Blake to find her. After spending so much time together, Blake knew her scent. Could detect her from miles away; weave through crowds of similar-smelling humans to her exact location without any trouble.

It was both thrilling and upsetting—knowing Blake could drop by at any moment but having no way to initiate contact herself. She was once again robbed of any choice, always at the whims of someone else’s mercy. Not that Blake meant to toy with her emotions, she knew she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but it hurt knowing that even when her heart ached to see Blake there was nothing she could do about it. She had to wait until Blake wanted to see her.

Which was never as often as Yang wished.

And now that Yang was travelling alone, free to wander wherever she pleased without having to sneak away from her family, their meetings were no longer limited by the full moon. It also meant Yang was never prepared, constantly hoping each night Blake would come, desperately searching for her face in a sea of strangers.

But Blake wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be found.

And so, like when Mom disappeared, all she could do was wait.

There were countless myths about the sun and moon, the magic they manipulated, what their presence enhanced and changed. Mostly rumours passed down through generations, shifting to whatever people wanted them to be. Some that monsters rose to night’s call but vanished at morning’s wave. Some that the moon opened chasms in the ocean only to be sealed by the sun. Silly speculations belonging in fairytales. No one but children and the gullible took them seriously.

Except for one.

A universal agreement beyond age and ability and intelligence was how certain things looked and felt completely different depending on the time of day. Locations, food, people. How floorboards always creaked louder at night. How the safest schoolhouse became a killer’s playground. How the liveliness of the market street became a ghost town. How ale tasted decent late at night but like piss any other time. How the guards you went to for protection became the most vital to avoid. How somewhere bland became somewhere magical thanks to fireflies and night bulbs.

When Yang first saw Blake under the sun, it changed her.

It wasn’t even something she’d considered in that way. Yes, all her meetings with Blake had been at night, but until now that didn’t correlate with how she’d never seen sunlight illuminate Blake’s form. The buttery beams transformed Blake’s lightning bright eyes into warm honey, drawing Yang in until she was stuck in their syrupy depths. Pale skin was revitalized, a vampire brought back to life, like blood flowed through her veins for the first time since birth. Her fur subtly glowed the deep brown of rich soil, and for an embarrassing moment Yang wondered how a flower would look tucked behind her ear.

When she met Blake as a child she was more caught up on her kitty ears than the realization that she was seeing something, someone, no human ever had before.

And now she was again.

“Yang?”

“Huh?” Yang gasped, snapping out of her stupor to Blake’s raised brow and concerned look.

“Are you okay?”

“Why?”

“You’ve been staring at me for awhile.”

And there were so many smooth things she could say to that. So many impeccable flirty comments that would make Blake weak in the knees, surely. Have her look at her closer, stay for a bit longer, maybe even flirt back! Wouldn’t that be something?

“You’re just so hot in the sun—wait, no, I mean—the sun is so hot today, isn’t it?” Yang laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of neck. “And you’re all in black so you must be boiling and all sweaty. Not—not that that’s bad! It’s totally normal. I’m sweating buckets, too! I just meant, like, you were hot, like sweaty hot, not like hot hot—not that you aren’t! You are! So are. It’s just... y’know... hot...”

And leave it to her to flub every single one. Each attempt to backtrack and save herself just kept getting worse until she may as well dig a ditch and throw herself in.

“Yang.” Blake walked forward and took her hands. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Exactly.

And she’s all Yang ever thought about.

“I just...” Yang shrugged, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I’m not used to seeing you during the day.”

“It’s riskier. But I figured if I was tasked with acquiring supplies in the village you were staying tonight anyway, it was too coincidental to not take advantage of.”

In this world that only seemed to like shitting on her, she’d take every advantage she could.

Yang squeezed her hands. “Can we do this more often?”

Blake’s ears drooped. “You know I wish we could, Yang. And you know it’s not that simple.”

The reminder was gentle but firm and hurt all the same. Because it should be that simple. It was for almost everyone else. Why didn’t they just get to exist? Why did every meet up need to be a stealth mission? She knew why, of course she knew why, but that didn’t stop the reasoning from being so fucking stupid she wanted to demolish a building with her bare fists.

But her raging spark snuffed out before it could become an inferno. She couldn’t change anything yet, and focusing all her energy on something pointless would spoil these rare moments that gave her life meaning.

Even in short bursts, she’d treasure every second with Blake, and seeing Blake like this for the first time was incredibly special.

And... and it wasn’t just her experiencing this for the first time, was it?

“Blake? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Blake smiled, lips like ripe blackberries in this light, as beautiful and unfairly tempting as those nightshade berries by their tree. “Anything.”

“Do I...” Yang wet her lips, trying again. “Do you think I’m...”

She bit the inside of her cheek, frustrated with herself. It was so easy to talk with Blake when they were kids. Why was it so hard now? Why did her mere presence send Yang’s heart into a frenzy?

“Do I look... different... to you? During the day?”

Blake’s eyes widened for a moment before her expression softened, squeezing Yang’s hands. “You look the same to me as you’ve always looked.”

That wasn’t really the response she was hoping for. What was she hoping for? That she impressed her by doing nothing at all? That their meet up today was as significant in Blake’s mind as it was in hers? That Blake valued their relationship the same way she did? That she could help her figure out what their relationship even was? Some sort of reassurance that she was strong enough, pretty enough, good enough for someone to stick around?

Yang’s eyes dropped, hoping she didn’t appear as disheartened as she felt. “How’s that?”

“Stunning.”

Yang’s heart skipped a beat, peeking up in surprise—to see Blake looking just as surprised by her confession. But unlike Yang she didn’t backtrack no matter how red her cheeks got, standing firm to what she believed.

Then Yang’s heart wouldn’t slow down, pattering at her ribs like the clogs of tap dancers, so thunderously loud she wondered, especially with the twitch of Blake’s ear, if she could hear it, and with each passing second the chance of calming down dwindled to zero. And it wasn’t that Yang didn’t have confidence in her looks or her strength, but often people weren’t forthcoming in their praise. She received it in lustful, sidelong glances and bulging coin purses and mugs filled to the brim. No one was so direct. No one was so honest.

No one was Blake.

“I have to say, though.” Blake looked her up and down, her smile morphing into a borderline smirk, though its softness betrayed any upcoming teasing. “Sunlight suits you.”

She knew it did, just like Blake suited the shadows of nightfall. But sunlight suited her, too, and one day Yang would prove it.

Something wonderful about travelling was learning the varied customs of each city.

Some focused more on farming, others on fishing, hunting, magic, anything and everything. Each had exclusive delicacies and clothing, architecture, native habitats, cordiality or hostility in the air. Travelling alone presented its fair share of challenges but Yang was strong enough to make those stupid enough to try anything regret being born, and with such colossal strength mora filled her pockets so thoroughly she was never denied a bed and a hot meal.

She learned so many things she never could back in Patch, one of her favourites being local festivals.

Patch had too limited resources to celebrate beyond Solstice, but the grander cities had festivals for even the most mundane sounding things. Celebrating heroes long past, when cities were founded, when certain monuments were built, when magical artifacts exponentially improved the quality of life; she could probably write a book on just the ones she’d witnessed so far.

Tonight was another such festival, streets lined with stalls and bards and multicoloured decorations, and although Yang didn’t care what was being celebrated she did care for the food, costumes, and enormous turnout—because such a dolled up crowd, friendly and drunk and fated to remember little, meant Blake could hide in plain sight.

The hood Blake always wore in public to hide her face was absent, and while still too cautious to release her ears she concealed them with a fashionable headpiece, a cute black bow that almost looked like cat ears anyway if Yang wasn’t paying attention. But since she was, she always was to Blake, she caught how the truth only she knew occasionally made the bow twitch to life.

Clearly Blake had noticed the throngs of people beginning to dance, the main appeal of this festival, and while Yang still had much to learn on her travels something she had already mastered was dancing.

She thought getting Blake to actually show to something so outgoing would take more convincing. She associated Blake so thoroughly with reading and drawing and obscurity and other general introvertedness that she didn’t anticipate how eagerly Blake wanted to experience traditional human dances.

Many such performances were group efforts, mimicking the movements of everyone else, multiple strangers becoming a single entity, the very concept of individualism only rediscovered the next morning. Others involved swift, snap movements, swinging back and forth to the upbeat tempo until everything was a blur of colours and bodies and only those with endurance were left standing.

But Yang wasn’t prepared when the music started to slow.

When only couples lingered.

“Do you know this dance, too?” Blake asked.

“I...” She knew of it, but had no intimate experience. But she was nothing if not confident, and faking it until she made it got her this far. “Sure I do, it’s easy. It just... requires a partner.” She gestured at the couples shuffling around them, speaking in hushed tones. “As you can see.”

“I can see.” Blake smiled, eyes crinkling with amusement and... intrigue? “Well, unless you’ve saved this dance for someone else—”

“No!” she said way too loudly, attracting some stares. “No, I mean, you’re the only one I’d... I mean, if you want...”

Blake stepped into her personal space, peering up at her through dark eyelashes. “We stand close together, yeah?”

Yang couldn’t breathe. “Y-yeah.”

She’d fought gangs armed to the teeth, punched Grimm across the jaw, gambled with knives pressed to her throat, but never had Yang’s hands trembled like this. Practiced footwork turned sloppy, everything unfocused and blurry and may as well be on another continent when Blake was breathing the same air. Sweaty palms slid along the curve of Blake’s hips, and Yang had a feeling blaming her nervousness on the previous dancing wouldn’t fool the only person that mattered. Even the simple, gentle swaying made Yang dizzy, like Blake’s arms circling her neck was the only thing keeping her stable—yet, conversely, the primary cause of her disorientation.

“Are we doing it right?” Blake asked suddenly, and despite her faint quiet tone Yang jolted.

“Huh?”

“The dancing,” she clarified, thumbs playing with the wisps at Yang’s nape.

“I... I forgot we even were,” Yang mumbled, lost in glimmering pools of gold. “All I can think about is...”

Her gaze dropped to Blake’s lips, to the sweet breath she could already taste. She’d never kissed anyone before, the thought of doing so with anyone other than Blake unfathomable. But she was scared. What if Blake didn’t want her? The dancing was one thing, but what if this scared Blake away? What if Blake didn’t want to see her anymore? Yang didn’t want to believe that, didn’t want to believe Blake was the kind of person to leave her after something like that, but every time she felt strongly for someone they left.

She... she couldn’t take it if Blake never came back. How could she ever be okay standing alone after holding her this close? But if... if Blake never left... if they could have that life together... if they could be more...

By the time Yang noticed she was already leaning down, slowly approaching amber eyes that widened for a fraction of a second before lids grew heavy, knowing, yearning, tilting her head in accommodation. She was so close to doing what she always wanted but refused to acknowledge, hiding these desires as deep down as that sketch in her fairytale. So close to changing everything between them. So close to proving that Blake had nothing to be afraid of.

But one inch away, on the fire of her breath, Blake found something.

And suddenly, like awakening from a spell, Blake pushed away, the few feet between them feeling like a mile. The fear Yang hoped had finally vanished for good returned home like it never left, infecting Blake’s tense form and darting gaze like a slithering parasite.

“I...” As if she’d just escaped a prolonged hunt, Blake gulped down shaky mouthfuls of oxygen. “I should go.”

“What?” Yang croaked, the words like a slap to the face. “No, wait, what hap—”

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Blake gritted her teeth, nails digging into her palms. “Stupid, I’m so stupid, how could I—”

“Blake, slow down.” She reached for Blake’s shoulders but flinched back when Blake did the same, like they hadn’t been dancing together for the past hour; like they were just two strangers only united for the festival. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s...” Blake sighed, guilt and exhaustion sagging her expression that was so alluring a minute ago. How would everything fracture so quickly? How did Yang break everything she touched? “Thank you for a wonderful night, Yang. Really. But let’s pretend it never happened, okay?”

“Wh—Blake, you can’t expect me to do that.”

“You have to, Yang.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Is it—is it something I did? Did you... did you not want...” Her stomach churned, panic and rejection and her own intimate relations with fear constricting her chest until a ruptured sob launched up her throat. “Blake, please!”

And it was almost enough. Letting herself be honest about her feelings, expressing her longing and her pain to the only person remaining who might give a damn, was almost enough.

She shouldn’t have been surprised.

She already knew almost didn’t cut it.

“You’ve never done anything wrong, Yang,” Blake whispered, eyes glossy as she stroked Yang’s human ear with a gentle claw. “It’s always been me.”

Yang tried to grab hold of her hand, determined to never let go, to prove they could fix this if Blake just stayed for once. But Blake never stayed, and she was too fast, too used to what Yang should feel thankful she’d never have to, but how could she be fucking thankful of anything while watching her most important person slip away into the crowd?

A crowd that carried on their festivities like nothing happened.

Amongst this crowd of joined hearts, Yang’s beat alone.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

The source of Yang’s nightmares echoed to life across the shoddy wooden walls of this tiny inn, and a moment later she warped back to her childhood bedroom, trying to understand those big words in Mom’s fairytale as a child. She couldn’t, of course she couldn’t, devising her own definitions since no one was around to teach her.

She was grown now, understanding each word with crystal clarity, but that didn’t mean they made sense.

Blake had been such a central part of her life for so long that Yang had no idea who she was without her. Hated the despaired husk she became whenever Blake dissipated like smoke, hated how each day felt like a waste if Blake wasn’t in it. Wished more than anything she could be in every one.

And as much as Yang tried to snuff it, as much as she clung to the fraying thread of their first promise, after each meeting a small part of her incessantly crowed that Blake wouldn’t come back. That she’d finally move on to things better than her. To the better things everyone always found.

But the only thing Yang ever found, the best thing she ever found, was Blake.

She couldn’t lose her.

“You don’t believe that,” Yang said, as controlled as she could.

“Yes, Yang, I do.” Emotion already thickened Blake’s tone, floorboards creaking under abnormally heavy steps. “We’ve gotten away with it so far, somehow, but all it takes is one mistake—”

“We know what we’re doing. We know how to keep each other safe. We’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that! It’s not that simple. It’s never been that simple. We’ve just been lucky.”

For a long time that’s what Yang thought, too. It’s what she thought when she found Blake instead of Mom. That she was lucky she didn’t turn out empty-handed. Lucky she found perhaps the first faunus humankind had seen in centuries. Lucky that it could’ve been any human and any faunus, but it wasn’t. It was her and Blake.

And that’s just it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t some other faunus she found. It was Blake. And Blake was why she kept going back. Blake who she was interested in. Blake who gave her hope again. Blake who she would fight for until the end of their days.

She refused to let what they were be whittled down to something so insignificant.

“This isn’t just luck,” Yang affirmed, fists clenched at her sides. “We aren’t just luck. It’s something we chose. Something I’ll always choose.”

Blake scowled, fangs bared—and it looked so, so amiss plastered on her face; a poorly constructed mask aimed at the wrong person. “By that logic, it’s also my choice to leave.”

“But it isn’t,” Yang insisted, seeing right through her mystery for once. “Not when I know you don’t want to do that. Why do you feel like you have to?”

“Because the world isn’t ready for this yet. For us.”

Fire shot through her veins. “I don’t give a fuck about the world—”

“But Adam does!”

The agonized shout stunned Yang silent, the sparks in her mane fizzling out like she’d plummeted into the freezing depths of Atlas’ waters.

So that’s what this was about. That’s why Blake always ran away. It always had to do with him.

How could one person inspire so much terror?

Blake inhaled shakily, ears flat to her head, bunching her cloak in her claws. “You don’t know him, Yang. What he’s capable of. He blames humans for everything. He’d kill them if given the chance. I’m...” The words died in her throat, like speaking them could bring ruination. Quietly, anxiously, “I’m scared he’ll kill you.”

The only thing Yang was scared of was Blake abandoning her. She wouldn’t let some guy she didn’t even know manipulate Blake into doing that for him. And he’d have another thing coming if he tried messing with her. But she had a feeling saying that wouldn’t ease Blake’s nerves.

So, she chose another angle. One she’d been curious to explore for awhile but this was the first time, maybe the only time, the path was unlocked.

“Why would he do that?” Yang asked gingerly, approaching slowly.

The tears building in Blake’s eyes finally fell, trails glistening in the dim candlelight. “Because you make me happy.”

When her voice broke Yang harboured the serrated reverberations, frozen like her feet were nailed to the floor as she watched Blake openly weep for the first time. It wasn’t something she knew Blake was capable of, not with how composed she always was, the nonchalance framing her every expression, how she was always concerned for her people over herself.

But, for once, Blake didn’t use her people to hide. Didn’t use her cloak, her masks, anything that would prevent genuine vulnerability from shining through. She finally let Yang in on some of the chaos tormenting her mind, on her war between selfishness and selflessness, on returning the feelings Yang worried she never would... and Yang had no idea what to do. She didn’t know how to help.

She also knew she was the only one who could.

“Don’t go,” Yang whispered, thumbing away Blake’s tears. “Not yet.”

Blake struggled through her next breath, and the faint tug at her lips tugged at Yang’s heartstrings, too. “Okay.”

And Yang wasn’t sure who moved, but somewhere between yesterday and infinity Blake’s lips met hers. She didn’t realize how much she’d wanted to kiss her until she was, until nothing mattered but having Blake closer, closer, safe in her arms and warm under her fingertips. Each move was a desperate, pathetic thing, using actions to plead her not to leave.

Time became something irrelevant to them, armour and clothes meeting the floor and Blake’s back meeting the mattress and Yang’s heart meeting her throat. She’d never done this before, she had no idea what she was doing, and she was nervous and scared but cowardice had no place when Blake wanted her, too.

She memorized Blake’s every dip and curve, her moans and cries, her taste, her claws creating new scars on her shoulder blades, the sandpaper scrape of her tongue, how her eyes peered up at her like twin harvest moons. She wouldn’t forget a single moment, because she knew as soon as Blake left she’d crave her like drugs, and she never got to decide their meet-ups.

How, afterward, as they panted and curled into each other’s hold, so much of the tension often present in Blake’s muscles had evaporated.

Waking up in Blake’s arms was all she ever wanted.

Letting her go was more than just difficult. Each second of watching her toss of the blankets, redress, fix her hair and makeup felt like a mistake. This night changed something between them, but Yang believed it was for the better, just like if Blake walked out that door she believed a change would happen for the worse.

But Yang knew, even after such a night, that Blake wouldn’t stay.

With her right arm she reached out, like she held any influence at all. And Blake was too smart for her tactics, clearly aware of Yang’s unsubtle attempt to pull her back to bed, instead leaning just close enough to leave a purple stain on Yang’s fingertip.

“Come back soon,” Yang said.

Blake’s smile was warm, but her lack of reply was deafening, and after the click of the door Yang pretended her thundering heartbeat was due to anything but the truth.

Yang felt she had the right to be cocky. She’d earned her strength through training, missions, pushing her body to the limit, proving her resolve through a rippling physique and a spotless success to failure ratio. She’d never failed a bounty mission nor a one on one fight—not even when gangs thought they could take her. She had several tricks up her sleeve—literally with the fire dust crystals lingering in her arm cannons—but often her physical strength was all she needed. She’d never been afraid of a fight before. Why fear when she could never lose?

And maybe things would’ve gone differently if she feared more than just abandonment.

She should’ve followed Blake sooner, and maybe this anxiety fogging her brain was why the ambush caught her so off guard she was knocked off her horse, and while her body took no damage her pride took enough, especially when her precious steed whinnied and zoomed off into the trees, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Her attacker stood tall and menacing, a white bone mask shielding his eyes and horns protruding from his red hair. A sword stained with her steed’s blood stretched from his right hand, clearly eager to be stained further.

So this was Adam.

Anger blinded her. This guy is why Blake was always so scared. This guy tried to claim her as his prize. This guy was the biggest reason she and Blake couldn’t have more of a life together. People like him were why wars started, why families were torn apart, why humans and faunus would never meet eye to eye.

Yang recognized when she was offered opportunities.

She wouldn’t waste it.

And Adam quickly proved he had no intention of wasting his.

Each action wasn’t meant to hurt, but to kill, and with such a lengthy weapon he had the advantage of range. She was forced on the defense, sparks shooting off her gauntlets like falling stars, lunging at the first opening she had. But he was so fast, his sword an extension of himself, each clean slice through the air forming a wind current that threw off her balance.

Close quarters was her forte but against him she’d need to create a distraction, just long enough for her to get in one punch. If she powered up fully and swung at his face he’d go down, she knew it, everyone went down, and then he’d never scare Blake again.

With the fire dust in her arm cannons she propelled herself away, narrowly avoiding crimson death, weaving back through the trees and starting a fire. The flames expanded quickly, heat and smoke filling the air. Cause fires wasn’t her favourite tactic, she felt bad destroying nature the way so many other humans did so thoughtlessly, but if the smoke blinded Adam for long enough she’d have her chance.

The flames would be too hot for anyone but her, and by now they were concealing her location. He’d be scanning for her but a safe distance from the flames, in the middle of the clearing where the flames were least likely to spread. She readied her cannons. Just one punch. Everything would be over with one punch.

She shot out of the trees.

Pulled back her fist.

And went off balance.

That didn’t make sense. If she landed her punch she should still be following through with the momentum, but for some reason her body was swaying the other way.

Someone’s arm was on the ground.

Whose arm was that?

Why did it look like...

A roar came from the trees followed by a blur of black fur and suddenly Adam was pinned by someone, something, his blood-stained sword clattering next to what was just a part of her.

She was suddenly so dizzy, collapsing to the ground. Someone was kneeling beside her, sobbing, apologizing, crying her name in a voice that sounded like Blake’s but was too heartbroken for Yang to wish it was Blake’s.

Yang’s last memory before losing consciousness was Blake’s broken voice.

Upon awakening her first realization was weakness. A grogginess in her head and a soreness in her limbs from not being used. With no other choice she waited for the pain and discomfort to pass, and when it didn’t she took the other path of attempting to open her eyes.

Even just a crack was blinding, like a mole seeing the sun for the first time in months. It took a few moments but eventually she recognized she was in some sort of building, though an unfamiliar one. Either a bedroom or a sickbay, but evidence of this being the comfiest bed she’d had the pleasure of leaning towards the former.

The high walls and ceilings were painted of rich beiges and browns, shrubbery spiraling up the ceiling high pillars and expensive looking artwork and sculptures busied the walls.

Someone who looked eerily similar to Blake was reading in a chair nearby, throwing the book aside when she met her gaze. “Ghira, come quick!” she called out the open door, rushing to Yang’s side to pet her hair with the same soothing strokes Mom used to; an unmistakable mother’s touch. The first three she accepted without thought, to disoriented to question why she was being comforted this way, but the forth made her realize something.

Mom was right. She did meet another cat faunus.

A beast of a man entered the room—Ghira, she assumed—and despite his fearsome stature his expression was achingly soft as he approached.

“Where’s Blake?” she croaked, voice brittle like the final swings of a decrepit weapon.

The cat faunus’ ears flattened, jewelry glinting in the sunset spearing through the curtains. The man’s large hand covered her shoulder and she reached up to clasp his fingers. “Wherever she needs to be.”

But Yang needed her here.

Why wasn’t she here?

“You’re her parents?”

“I’m Ghira Belladonna,” he introduced with a nod, “Chieftain of this sanctuary.”

“I’m his wife, Kali.” Yang normally disliked people touching her hair, but this woman reminded her too much of Mom ask her to stop. “You’re Yang, aren’t you? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, dear.”

“You know about me?”

A smile only a parent was capable of. “Blake isn’t as secretive as she thinks she is.”

“What... what happened?”

Their expressions turned grim.

“Faunus have enhanced senses compared to humans. So when Blake came home the other night... everyone knew. But she was safe, like every time she’d gone to visit you, so no one took it as a problem. Except for Adam.”

She looked down and... a part of her was missing.

There was just...

Her arm was gone.

“Look at me, sweetie,” Kali said, gently tilting Yang’s head to meet her soft gaze. “You’re safe here, okay?”

Her arm.

Was gone.

“What?” Yang muttered, ashes on her tongue. Her shoulder was tingling, spreading down and down and not stopping even though nothing was there, a prickling pain of emptiness. Of feeling like she could still move fingers that didn’t exist. That if she just managed to make a fist one good punch would fix her vision and everything would be back to normal.

But nothing would be normal again.

“It’s my fault,” Ghira said. “I knew Adam’s anger couldn’t be left unchecked but I couldn’t bring myself to punish someone who had yet to commit a crime. He was Blake’s closest friend as children. They grew up together. I never thought he’d...” Ghira sighed, this grown man sinking so low. “Please forgive me, Yang.”

He was... asking for her forgiveness?

Yang didn’t understand. Why were they being so hospitable to her? She, a human, was invading their territory. One of the only places faunus could truly feel safe. Shouldn’t they hate her for endangering their daughter? Their entire people?

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart. We knew we’d meet you one day.”

“How could you know that?”

“Summer spoke highly of her curious little lioness.”

“You knew my mom?”

“She was a lovely woman.”

“Yeah, she’s—”

Midsentence she froze, words lodging in her throat and everything she’d ever known, all the hope carrying her through all these years screeched to a halt.

Maybe... maybe she heard wrong.

There wasn’t... there was no way she came all this way, finally found the faunus sanctuary, found the one place her mom would be, only for her to...

“... Was?”

Two pairs of sad eyes watched her world fall apart before she was pulled into a hug only a mother could provide. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

They were talking, she saw their mouths moving, but she didn’t hear much else after that. Everything around her swallowed into an abyss until there was nothing. Nothing but the empty space protruding from her bandaged stump. Once again she tried making a fist, feeling something tighten and tighten around her heart until the phantom explosion of the useless organ was almost half as painful as releasing it hadn’t been in her chest since the night her mom left.

Some books came to a natural end. Others had their pages torn.

Nothing was real.

Nothing had to be real.

Everything she’d ever experienced could just a dream, including herself.

Yang Xiao Long didn’t need to exist, and maybe that was for the best.

Everyone left her anyway.

Even part of herself left.

Was it her fault? Was it her fault Mom left in the middle of the night? Was it her fault she died? Was it her fault Dad lost himself? Was it her fault Ruby left her behind? Was it her fault she lost her arm? Was it her fault Blake always ran away?

What did she do? Why did she mess everything up? She’d fix it if someone told her, she’d do anything to become a version of herself people didn’t abandon, but no one told her. They just left her to rot. Left her constantly wondering how she could be good enough.

But if she was never good enough before, maybe there wasn’t a point in trying anymore.

She could’ve stayed with the Belladonnas. They offered her their home. But how could she stay there? How could she stay in Blake’s home? How could she stay somewhere Blake should be, but she just... wasn’t. Just gone, like she’d never been there in the first place. Like Yang dreamed all their interactions. Like Blake was nothing more than a manifestation of her yearning to see her mother again.

And now both were gone.

She had to relearn everything she knew. How to fight, how to dress herself, how to do everything that used to be effortless and now it took everything she had to even try. Every movement and thought was sluggish, weighed by the grief that she now understood weighed down her dad all this time. A heaviness Ruby would never have to feel. Something she would shoulder alone, again.

She’d always had a goal before. Find her mom, find the faunus, especially the one with cute kitty ears. In fucked up ways she achieved all three.

So... now what?

What else did she have going for her?

She was pathetic. She was weak. She couldn’t save anyone. The one person Yang vowed to protect Blake from took her down like she was nothing, like she wasn’t one of the strongest warriors who grew up in Patch. But Patch was nothing, and so was she.

Well, it... it didn’t matter, she supposed. With no goals to strive for, no promises to keep, she could do whatever she wanted. It was freeing in a way. No responsibly or expectations. She could just exist until she got to be with her mom again. That was the only reasonable thing she could hope for.

Blake made her choice.

And Yang would make hers.

But the one thing she did before departing the faunus sanctuary was leave Mom’s fairytale behind.

Fairytales weren’t real, after all.

Cold pleasure exploded through her nerves, shooting up and up and up until a guttural moan tore past her lips, and then she collapsed like a ragdoll by her lover’s side.

Not enough, she supposed, as a tiny body began wiggling underneath her shoulder. “Get off me, you brute.”

Yang laughed through her pants, nuzzling her lover’s neck with her nose. “You weren’t saying that five seconds ago.”

“Well, I’m saying it now.” Another forceful shove that was about as effective against her as a puppy. “Move.”

But out of the kindness of her heart she obliged, rolling just enough to free her captive. “You have the best bedside manner. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Weiss huffed, sitting up and stretching, white hair like an avalanche down her bruised neck and scratched back. She turned to peer down at Yang, her ghostly left eye glowing blue in the darkness. “Your arm still functioning properly?”

Yang shrugged, stretching both arms high above her head.

Weiss had some incredible powers, able to summon anything she’d killed in battle, including just parts of them. After losing her left eye in a childhood accident she was able to reclaim her sight, and with such an insane mana supply she could keep the spell running all day.

And despite her frosty exterior she extended such talents and kindness to Yang, a cold, translucent blue arm attached to her stump. She flexed this stranger’s fingers—a bandit, an assassin, it didn’t matter, she’d be wearing a different one before long—still amazed at how versatile it was. How she could feel everything.

“Yep, feels good. You actually kept the spell going even when we were so busy. Is that your way of saying I’m no good?”

“No. Just that I’m better.”

“Big talk from someone so small.”

“You’re insufferable."

Weiss redressed at sat at the desk, pulling out dozens of scrolls and inking them with symbols. Despite the painless insult Weiss’ first instinct was to put more of her time into Yang’s well-being. It should feel nice that someone was putting her first for once.

But it didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that,” Yang said, because she didn’t. She managed before Weiss came along, and as convenient as these spare arms were she knew she shouldn’t rely on them. Weiss stayed the longest, but it was only a matter of time before she left, too.

“I know. I want to. You’ll need them.”

“You’re wasting your mana on me.”

“I’m a Schnee. My mana is nearly infinite.”

“Your time isn’t.”

Weiss sighed. “You’re not a burden, Yang.” Weiss sat beside her once again, expression twisted with frustration and compassion. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Blaming yourself.” Weiss’ nails were gentle, then sharp enough to be someone else. “Blaming her.”

Hot anger tightened her chest. “She left me, Weiss. Like she always does. Like everyone always does.”

“She isn’t everyone. She’s just the one that hurt the most. Unlike everyone else she keeps coming back, doesn’t she?”

“Not this time. She’s... she won’t come back this time.”

Weiss shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s been years, Weiss. She’s always known how to track me down. If she wanted to she would’ve by now.”

“If you’re tired of waiting then go find her yourself.”

“My track record of finding people is currently zero, if you haven’t noticed.”

“It’ll stay zero with that attitude.”

“I’ve spent so much of my life just... wondering. Hoping. And each time I’ve just been... let down.”

“Really? You mean to tell me you were let down when you met her?”

Of course she wasn’t. Yang remembered that night of the full moon clear as day, searching for her mom and finding Blake instead, the twitch of those cat ears, amber eyes glowing in the dark, like she jumped straight off the page of Mom’s stories.

“You are the biggest oaf I’ve ever met. You also have the biggest heart. If things don’t... work out... well. You’ll always know where to find me.”

Yang was a truth-seeker abiding in a world corrupted by liars. Some were blatant with their trickery, some barricaded with good intentions to protect those they loved, others said nothing at all to avoid having to lie. People hid so much of themselves, pressing and molding themselves into pretty little shells to hide their vulnerable undersides, living in these feeble homes they’d constructed for themselves for so long they fused into some mutilated caricature, impossible to remove when the time came, thus continuing the generations that couldn’t even hold a proper discussion in fear of their truth being discovered.

She used to be like that, too. With Dad and Ruby. Never letting herself be anything less than strong. Using herself as a shield to protect them from their pain, the same pain she suffered through alone, ignoring how she chipped and rusted in the process. She was a reliable tool and easily scrapped, and regardless if they meant to throw her away she still ended up rotting in the trash.

Maybe this was why Yang tended to learn more about people in hindsight than when they were in her life.

In this case, the realization that knocked her on her ass was that Weiss was a fucking beast.

And not just in bed.

It wasn’t that Weiss lied to her. It was just never brought up in conversation—and those conversations were already limited to when their mouths weren’t busy with more important matters. Yang had just been under the assumption that all the scrolls Weiss bestowed upon her contained the same arm she gifted her when they were intimate—a bandit she’d disposed of in self-defence, she said.

These scrolls contained an army’s worth of arms, snow stained red from escaping her father’s clutches, and not all of them were human.

That warning would’ve been preferred before Yang accepted a bounty to incapacitate a King Taijitu and tripping over the sudden weight when the beastly arm of a Beowolf launched from her stump. With so much pull at her right side she basically had to learn to fight all over again in the middle of a battle that could’ve resulted in the most pitiful death of all time.

She’d gotten used to the Grimm arms now—and they were pretty convenient for anything that didn’t require the use of thumbs—but still. Each scroll, human and Grimm, only lasted a short amount of time, and knowing she would run out eventually meant she only relied on them when necessary. She knew she could just go back to Weiss to get more, Weiss even encouraged it, but something about it felt wrong. And not just because she’d be using Weiss; taking advantage of her kindness, loneliness, and explosive amounts of mana.

It was because even though Weiss took so much time and energy preparing these arms for her, these extremely useful aids both in battle and everyday life, none of them were hers. Not truly. She avoided looking where a golden gauntlet used to shimmer, emptied by recklessness and ignorance. With each rush of phantom pain came a worse rush of shame, of loss, of mourning the girl she used to be. Her stump marked her failure, marked the day Blake tore out her heart and ran, the foreign cold of icy blue flesh nothing but an inadequate bandage.

Ah, that’s what this feeling was.

Guilt.

Because how pathetic could she possibly be? Insulting an invaluable gift from someone who loved her. A gift so personal it went beyond magic and flesh, beyond life and death, let Yang do almost everything she was able to before and things her old self never could.

But it still wasn’t hers.

And that’s when hindsight struck again.

She didn’t know who she was anymore. After giving herself so much to others she lost herself in the process. She had no idea who she was without Mom, without Blake, and now without Weiss.

Was she who Mom would’ve wanted her to be?

Was she anyone?

It was... scary, confronting the truth that she might not be. It would be so much easier settling into a lie. Throwing down her remaining gauntlet and growing old in Patch. Clinging to Weiss, or Ruby, or even Dad just to feel useful again, leaving the faunus behind the way Blake left her.

But even in this unintentional shell she’d crafted for herself the one thing she did know was she wasn’t that type of person, and maybe deep down Blake wasn’t either, and the only way she’d find out was by finding Blake.

She wasn’t any closer than when she started, but maybe she had to find herself, first.

She still sucked at finding people.

She was thoroughly convinced that she’d always be on some sort of journey regardless who or what she was looking for because her destination was always hidden beyond the horizon. Just out of sight, just out of reach, and onward she’d walk.

This self-reflection was lonely, but at least it was her choice.

There was something sobering about it, too. Back at Patch, and especially when she first started travelling, her every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of seeing Blake again. Of what stories she’s share, what new drawings peppered her sketchbook, of that beautiful smile that jumpstarted her heart. Of counting down the full moons until she saw her again, counting the faces she’d passed that weren’t hers, of every person with a hood not concealing her favourite pair of cat ears.

But now that she knew Blake wasn’t going to show, that she didn’t constantly have to be on the lookout for her, she could be on the lookout for other things.

Things she needed to be alone to accomplish.

Like finding beauty in life again.

Because, truly, there was so much of it, but spending her childhood as a mother and the rest concealing a secret so dangerous it threatened an entire race left little opportunities to see beyond her responsibilities. But now she was free, and the past few months she used that freedom to observe so much of life’s little pleasures.

The smell of freshly baked bread. The first bite into a juicy fruit. A cold drink on a hot day. Warmed by the fire in her veins on the chilly ones. A soft pillow after a strenuous fight. Carefree children laughing and playing. A dog tilting its head into her hand. The joyous melodies from the bards. The exuberance of local festivals. A couple excitedly expecting a child. Stomping in puddles after a rainfall. The different shapes of the clouds. The breeze drifting through her hair. Holding a deep breath in her lungs, releasing, and simply being alive.

So many little, mundane things.

And they were all so, so wonderful.

They made her feel like a kid again, back when things were simple. Back before Mom disappeared. When Mom would tuck her into bed with a kiss to the forehead and... read her a story...

Yang had to physically restrain herself from reaching into her bag.

She knew the fairytale wasn’t there.

The protagonist wasn’t, either.

“People watching, my dear?”

Yang was occupying a bench in this city’s central plaza, more advanced than most and densely populated, and since she was surrounded by a throng of strangers she only noticed now that one had taken a seat next to her, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile.

“I guess,” Yang said, not really sure how to respond. Her conversations were limited nowadays to renting rooms and redeeming bounties.

The woman didn’t seem perturbed by her aloofness in the slightest. “Watching for someone special?”

“...Yeah.” Yang glanced around the blurry faces, knowing the effort was fruitless, sighing anyway. “But I won’t find her yet.”

She expected the woman to press her, but she didn’t.

“I understand,” she said instead, tone rich with genuineness. Her gaze was soft on Yang, like she could see everything going on in her head. “I lost my daughter, you see.”

Yang’s eyes widened, taken aback by how casually this woman revealed something so personal to a stranger. “I’m sorry,” was all Yang could say, wishing she sounded more like it. Because she did. Maybe out of everyone in the area she could understand what this woman’s went through the most. I lost my mom lingered at the tip of Yang’s tongue, but she swallowed it down like always.

“She loved this fountain,” the woman said, eyes bright with nostalgia. “Oh, how her face lit up when she saw herself in the water. Just the biggest smile you’d ever see.” Her expression sagged a bit, but she never lost the gentle tug of her lips. “I often come here when I miss her.”

Yang’s heart throbbed, silver and gold eyes flashing in her mind. No matter how much self-reflecting she did, how many little things in life she’d come to enjoy, the holes in her chest carved by their hands hadn’t shrunk in the slightest. She missed them every fucking day.

“Does it... ever get easier?” Yang asked, barely getting the words out of her constricting throat. “Missing her?”

“No, dear.” The honesty was appreciated, but it killed her all the same. “But I’ve made peace knowing she’s here, even though I can’t see her.”

Yang released a shaky sigh, looking back to the crowd she’d never know. “How are you so sure when you can’t see her?”

“I believe anything can be found if you look hard enough.”

The breath heaved from Yang’s lungs, remembering that exact sentence, exact moment, exact feeling, Mom’s voice.

Her hair soared with the speed she turned to look—

But the woman was gone.

And just as quickly she was hit by another ancient déjà vu, blinking away Blake’s afterimage. She sat and waited, jaw slack, for the woman to reappear, to be whoever Yang needed her to be for just one more second, but then Yang remember who she needed most right now was herself.

Several minutes later, when she felt confident enough to move without crying, she knelt in front of the fountain and peered down at her shimmering expression. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but this was a pleasant surprise.

It wasn’t much of a smile.

But it was a start.

Maybe part of the reason things turned out this way was because Yang forced herself to pretend she hadn’t been brewing with anger since she was a child—but she was, she was boiling over all the time, but because that would make her look rash and unreliable and scary she had nowhere to safely unleash it.

She was angry that her mom left. Angry her dad became so emotionally unavailable she had to step up and take care of her sister. Angry that all Ruby had to do was say yes and she got to leave with the girl of her dreams. Angry that Weiss’ selfless love was wasted on her. Angry at humans centuries dead for forcing the faunus into hiding. Angry at Adam for what he did to her, and even more for what he did to Blake. Angry at herself for not taking Blake as seriously as she should’ve.

Angry at Blake for fucking everything.

And only after accepting this anger, letting herself feel every white-hot inch of it, could she process it, work through it, and then finally move past it to see everything from Blake’s point of view.

Of course Blake had been terrified. How could she not be? Her ears were seen by a human when she was just a child, and if Yang had been anyone but Summer’s daughter then their meeting might’ve had horrific consequences. And even after this scare, even after knowing how important she and her parents were to the faunus sanctuary’s stability, even after knowing how obsessive and spiteful Adam was, Blake fought through her fear and kept coming back to see her anyway, because she wasn’t the type of person to go back on her word.

Not until Yang got hurt.

Because Yang’s safety mattered more than her happiness.

Yang understood that now—even if she didn’t necessarily agree—Blake’s web of mysteries long since unravelled enough for her to recognize her thought process. How she was quick to blame herself, run away, both for the sake of herself and those she was running from. Maybe Blake hadn’t been avoiding her all these years just because she blamed herself and thought she deserved to be alone.

Maybe she thought Yang deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t abandon her. Someone who wouldn’t break their promises.

And even if that were true, Yang didn’t care. What she deserved, regardless who decided that, was irrelevant.

Yang just wanted to see her again.

She never stopped looking, using what Blake taught her to spot faunus hiding amongst humans. They were few and far in-between, sometimes she went years without seeing one, but they were there, gathering information and materials on these specialized stealth missions. Headpieces flattened their ears and bags hid the bulge of their wings and coats concealed the placement of their tails. Other signs included the combo of relaxed hands but sharp eyes, keeping their claws reigned but constantly alert. They had to be careful at all times, stalking in the belly of the beast so to speak. If they slipped up it would be more than just their life on the line. Their entire race could be in jeopardy if caught by the wrong humans.

And today, Yang witnessed those consequences firsthand.

It was during the shortcut through the bowels of the forest, a path often avoided due to being overrun by murderers and thieves, and Yang heard the child before she saw her, the high-pitched shriek scattering the birds above in a surge of black. Hopping down a slope Yang saw her, a bird faunus with wings nearly bigger than her body and a group of humans treating her like an animal hunted for sport. Her wings were tied to prevent her from flying away, bald patches from being harshly plucked, and her cries and begs for freedom were ignored by the bastards in favour of discussing how much mora she’d run them.

Yang’s fury was instant, flames enveloping her hair in a thick whoosh. Her display drew every pair of eyes and almost as many swords, but she wasn’t worried. Retrieving a fresh scroll was second nature by now, letting frost pinch at her stump and shoot outwards in a bulging mass of Grimm ferocity. She noticed all of them take a nervous step backwards, and maybe if they ran themselves off the nearest cliff she’d let them go. In a similar vein, if this had occurred a few years ago she would’ve charged them already, taking them out as quickly and brutally as possible.

But that wasn’t how she behaved anymore. She didn’t let her anger take control. She acknowledged it, harnessed it, and used it to stay composed.

She let them come to her, more than happy for the opportunity to show off another thing second nature to her: breaking jaws.

Most went down easily and stayed there, helpless against the force of her massive arm, but one guy thought it would be smart to turn his blade on the child.

Yang didn’t even feel her body move. One moment she was too far to do anything and the next she was shielding the girl, her real arm swiping his weapon aside while her Grimm arm readied an uppercut.

And right before she made contact, her eyes drifted from his face to whatever was happening with her arm. As if gradually dipped into a bucket of paint blue became yellow, ice became fire, and foreign flesh became hers. It melded securely and comfortably against her stump, the correct puzzle piece instead of one forced to fit, and when her fist finally reached his chin she was left just as breathless.

He soared into oblivion while her heart did the same, transfixed on her glowing, golden arm, how it pulsed like lava but carried the warmth of gentle sunlight. How it remained long after the ice arms would’ve normally melted away. How, despite her low amount of mana, she was able to call not only that Grimm arm, but any of the arms she previous inhabited at will.

She held her hands together—normal and most definitely not normal—and even though they were of separate colours and sizes, both were undeniably hers.

For the first time in forever, she felt like herself again.

Grief was a tangible desaturation. It mutes colour, beauty, memories. Hope is sucked dry from ever possible source, leaving someone’s world barren with despair.

So it wasn’t until Yang’s second visit to the faunus sanctuary that she truly got to see it.

The layout of their buildings bordered with flora, their thriving fruit trees, their alignment with nature in a way humans forwent ages past. How they made such limited space their own. How they were prepared to evacuate at any moment but they didn’t let the fear of their ancestors stop them from enjoying the beauty of life and it’s choices, from making this space something they were proud of, eager to expand when given the chance—if ever given the chance.

It wasn’t fair for the expectations of an entire race to be placed on her. For three years the guilt of that thought, of that retreat, slowed her movements and her life. And it wasn’t like they were asking her to fight a war. Honestly, they weren’t asking her for anything. She could probably walk away for the rest of time and they’d ever blame her. Blake certainly wouldn’t, not after how hard she’d pushed her away.

But this was their chance.

Yang made a choice last time she was here, and now she’d make another.

Kali’s embrace bled warmth nearly forgotten, and the tiredness in Ghira’s eyes was outweighed only by his understanding, of knowing how hard it was to recognize and make the best choice.

Most of all, they looked at her like she was their hope. They looked at her the way she looked at this place now. Fresh eyes, fresh perspectives, fresh starts.

Mom got to see all this, she realized. She got to confirm what she always believed to be true. Got to prove that humans existed out there that wanted to unite with them, learn from them, live with them. It was a dream that couldn’t be fulfilled by one person in one lifetime, but that was all it took for something to start, and her and Mom’s dreams were one in the same.

There was something sad in walking the same path as the mother she’d never see again, a lonely ache deep in her chest, but there was happiness, too. A connection beyond time, beyond death, uniting them fully in this movement, in their sights and thoughts and motivations.

Welcome in their palace just like her mother, she drank in the rich fabrics and artwork, the tomes holding culture and mystery and truth that humanity blocked from history. She was always in such a rush before but now she took her time, memorizing the feel of their spines under her fingertips, the musty smell of their yellowed pages.

Blake’s room was her destination, much of it reflecting the child Yang once knew and yet so much of the woman she never got the chance to learn. Bookshelves lined the walls, flourishing with thick, alphabetically arranged titles. Dresses and cloaks hung in the alcove, dried makeup pigments on her desk. Sketches and paintings covered the walls, the ones unable to fit unrightfully stacked in forgotten piles. A tray of teacups gathered dust on the dresser, like she’d prepared to have tea with someone for a long time.

And on the bed, purposely placed, was a book Yang hadn’t seen in years, a piece of loose paper sticking out from the pages.

Flipping it open to the marked page with the giant tree was the lion drawing. With golden fingers she traced her two most important treasures, things she thought she didn’t need anymore. That she wouldn’t been better off leaving behind. Abandoned and forgotten like so many had done to her.

But no one ever forgot her, did they?

And there was only one person who came back after they left.

For once, that person was waiting for her. That person was giving her a choice.

And she chose.

So many years and it was like this place never aged at all, still brimming with the fairytale-like wonder that captivated Yang in the first place. The rows of nightshade remained resilient, returning like weeds after every winter and the tree still stood tall and strong, and being taller herself made it easier to find. She laid her palm flat on the blanched bark, it was every bit as mystical to her now as when she was a child—even knowing that, obviously, this wasn’t the same tree as in the book. That tree didn’t exist.

But her memories here did.

“You still shouldn’t touch those. They’re poisonous, remember?”

It almost didn’t feel real, finally hearing Blake’s voice again, after thinking maybe she never would. An illusion of the forest trying to bury her in memories.

But when she looked over, emerging from the shadows were eyes like fireflies, burning hotter than Yang’s flames could ever dream.

Blake looked a bit different, and maybe Yang should’ve expected that. Time didn’t pass in this place but it still ticked everywhere else, including for them, even when it didn’t always feel that way. She’d cut her hair back to how she’d styled it as a child, bouncing along her shoulders with each step closer. Jewelry lined her cat ears in an imitation of her mother, glinting softly in the moonlight. Her dark makeup was sharp as ever but couldn’t conceal the even darker bags sinking her eyes, like she hadn’t gotten a full sleep in years. Like her last good sleep was when they woke up together, the night before everything collapsed on itself.

Even still, she was the most beautiful woman Yang had ever seen.

While Blake’s steps had been steady her eye contact was not, failing quickly and looking anywhere else. Originally the tree was the only thing here offering an interest, but since their separation Yang’s appearance had changed too, in one very notable way, and from how Blake kept trying not to get caught staring at her glowing arm it was obvious she couldn’t think of anything else.

“Yang, I...” And Blake’s words crumbled before they could even start, all her faux cheeriness gone and replaced with the true heaviness of this situation. Her lips parted several more times, each attempt a failure as she inwardly battled with herself for any words that could possibly be enough.

Were any? Was there anything Blake could possibly say that would stitch up the hole in Yang’s chest? Remove the sting of her absence? That she chose to leave her behind in her most vulnerable moment?

“I’m... I’m so sorry. This was all my fault, everything was. I was a coward, and I ran, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your time, or...”

Yang held up her hand, signalling Blake to stop.

No. Nothing she said could be enough.

And that’s fine, because Blake came back.

That’s all that mattered.

Yang raised a golden pinky, a callback to what linked them in the first place, and then Blake was a sobbing mess n her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, tears hot on Yang’s neck and hands tight on her back, holding her like she never wanted to let go. “I’ll keep it this time. I won’t break this promise, I swear. Anything you need, ever, I’ll be here. I’ll be right by your side.”

“I know. I missed you.”

“Gods, Yang. I missed you, too.”

And it hurt hearing Blake cry again, but at least this time she was able to comfort her. That she could cry too, really cry, it was okay to cry, and that Blake would hold her just as tight as they wiped away each other’s tears.

“Your hair...”

Blake bit her lip, tucking inky locks behind a lowered cat ear. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. It suits you. Not that it didn’t before, it always—I mean. Yeah. Good. It’s good.”

It was obvious Blake was still trying not to stare at her arm in a combination of guilt, intrigue and awe.

“Please don’t feel bad about it,” Yang said. “That day was...” She tried not thinking about it often. Not that she was scared of that asshole, he wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again, but the way Blake shrieked her name like she’d just lost everything still rang in her ears. “It’s not your fault, okay? And I’m way over it.” She flexed her arm, muscles luminescent in the moonlight. “Look how fucking cool it looks.”

“It’s definitely not what I was expecting.”

“It’s a gift.”

“From who?”

Yang’s smile was fond. “Someone who believes in us.” Blue was never hers, but it was still something she treasured. Without it to push her along, maybe she never would’ve found herself. “I adjusted it a little, though.”

Blake’s eyes sparkled, already understanding. “You made it yours?”

“Yeah,” she breathed across Blake’s lips. “I made it mine.”

What surprised her was the lack of desperation compared to their first kiss. After three years of no contact, not even able to see her, hear her voice, having her just out of reach, and especially after confirming that Blake craved her presence this whole time too, she expected both of them to lose themselves in this sense of relief and desire.

But they weren’t who they were three years ago. They were better versions of themselves, surer versions of themselves, and the ones who were destined to be together.

So in place of desperation was peace.

It was the playful brush of Blake’s tail against her thigh. The soft caress of Blake’s hands on her waist, her shoulders, her chest. The comforting warmth of Blake’s curves pressed snugly against her, the universe in her eyes and the reassurance of her breath. How the trembling in her hand vanished as soon as she touched Blake’s waist, golden arm holding them together.

“I love you,” Yang said, reaching to stroke Blake’s cat ear. “I think I always have.”

“Oh, my lion.” Blake mimicked her motions, and even though Yang was still certain cat ears were way cooler than human ears, Blake seemed to adore them all the same. Just like Mom said she would. “I love you, too.”

Her lips were even softer than she remembered now that she could savour them, now that there was no rush or worries or anything besides this moment expanding into the rest of the lives.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” Yang said, grinning sheepishly.

“We’ve kissed before, Yang.”

“Well, yeah. But, like, before that. When we were kids.”

Blake blushed, biting her lip. “You, too?”

“Ah...” Yang rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks warming. After everything they’ve been through it shouldn’t be childhood crushes catching her off guard. “We’re both terrible at this, aren’t we.”

“The worst. But... at least we have all the time in the world to get better.”

“Oh yeah? And how does ‘getting better’ start?”

“With more kisses?”

“Anything else you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Hmmm.” Yang looked up at their towering friend. “I’ve always wanted to climb to the top of this tree. The view looked so pretty in the fairytale.”

Blake backed out of her hold with a sly smile on her face, extending her claws. “Race you to the top?” But she didn’t even wait for a reply, using her agility to backflip up to the first solid branch.

“No fair,” Yang yelled up to her, “you got a head start!”

“Sounds like something only a loser would say!” Blake called back.

Before their lives fell apart, all Yang would’ve been able to do was watch.

For once, Yang could follow.

A Grimm arm came in handy here, bark chipping under her claws as she yanked her way up to the highest branch sturdy enough to support their weight, she and Blake laughing as they passed each other.

Climbing that tree made her feel like a child again, like Summer was still here, like she never left, like she’d been waiting for her at the top the whole time. It felt like a second chance to make things right with her, herself, with Blake, to grow from their mistakes—grow as strong and tall as this tree.

And at the top wasn’t high enough to see above the clouds. It didn’t show her the edges of the world. And it didn’t answer any questions she’d yet to ask.

But the view was still as magical as she believed it would be—because she wasn’t viewing it alone.

Blake rested her head on Yang’s shoulder, purring contently, and they enjoyed their first sunrise of endless to come.

Over a millennia had passed since their first meeting, and every first meeting since had been just as special.

They looked different each reincarnation—Yang had red hair while Blake had brown, and each time Yang had to reach on her tiptoes to kiss her she pretended she never bet that she’d be the taller one this time around—but what never changed was the colour of their eyes. Yang had the golden honey of Blake’s eyes memorized, knew the soul that resided within, each lifetime recognized in just a glance.

This lifetime, however, felt the most special for one very important reason.

“I was right the first time,” Blake said, petting Yang’s fluffy ears, coaxing a rumbling purr from Yang’s chest. “I knew you were a lion faunus. No shame in being a late bloomer.”

“Good things come to those who wait,” she mumbled, boneless under Blake’s affection. Her tail still had some life, though, rubbing along Blake’s leg. “That’s the lame saying, isn’t it?”

“Definitely lame and overused.” Blake smiled, one arm dropping to tug Yang closer by the waist. “But not untrue in our case.”

Yang’s heart pounded strongly in her chest. “Can’t argue with that,” she breathed, claws gentle at Blake’s collar as she pushed up to capture her waiting purple lips.

Keeping their memories and witnessing how much their efforts and circumstances changed the world was beyond what history books could ever record—and beyond what Yang could ever believe, because going from loving a fairytale to basically creating one was not something she actually thought she’d pull off, despite how confident she acted. Seeing faunus finally expand their sanctuaries until they had no need for them beyond sentimentality, seeing everyone join together, sharing culture and food and art and strength. It was something she was honored to help start, blessed to witness the beginning of, and it still blew her mind that she got to witness a thousand years worth of revolution and reconciliation.

The best part was watching Blake feel more and more free. She still remembered the first time Blake felt safe kissing her in the middle of a bustling plaza; remembered how she had to catch her because Blake had literally thrown herself at her, and then proceeded to not leave her arms for the rest of the night.

That sounded appealing now, too. It always did. Any intimacy with Blake always did. Yang could’ve kissed her forever, planned to kiss her until the end of time, and only pulled away when something else pulled at her pant leg.

She and Blake both looked down at the tiny head of red hair, ears twitching and fangs gleaming as she smiled up at them.

“Hi, Summer,” Yang greeted their daughter, the name Blake insisted on still causing a pleasant pang in her chest after all these years. “Are you done talking with Auntie Weiss?”

“Yep!” she chirped, handing Yang her phone. “I told her all about when you broke the boxing game at the arcade we went to, and she told me to tell you that you’re in... insuff...”

“Insufferable,” Blake interjected, amusement painting her tone. “It’s one of her favourite things to call your Mama.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means she absolutely can’t wait to babysit you this weekend,” Yang said, grinning at Blake’s affectionate eye roll. She ruffled Summer’s hair, only stopping once tiny hands playfully swatted hers away. “You gonna be good for her while your mom and I are on our trip?”

“Yes, Mama! I can’t—” she was interrupted by a yawn,”wait to see her.”

“Well I think your bed can’t wait to see you. C’mon, sweetheart.”

“No, not yet! I’m not even tired.”

“You just yawned,” Blake said, shooting Yang a playful but accusatory look screaming she gets this from you.

Which, yeah, fair.

“But—but I want a story! Can you please read me a story?”

“Aw, I’ll do you one better.” Yang leaned down to lift Summer into her arms. “Want the story in the tree house?”

It was Yang’s pride and joy, building one in every life so far that allowed the opportunity, because even though she and Blake could safely climb to the top of any tree not everyone could, and their daughter deserved a view that could change her life like it changed Yang’s.

Summer was more than enthusiastic with the suggestion and soon they climbed up the tree house together. Yang shivered in the cool night air but quickly warmed as Blake curled into her side and Summer hurriedly planted herself in her lap.

“Which story do you want today?” Yang asked, grunting as Summer got comfortable and paid no attention to nearly smacking her chin with her forehead.

“Your favourite!” Summer cheered.

“You sure? You always ask for that one.”

“Because Mama always sound so happy telling it!”

Yang blinked, peering at Blake for confirmation. “You do,” Blake supplied, kissing Yang’s cheek. “Tell us your favourite story, Yang.”

Yang looked out the window of the tree house at the full moon, warm with love and chest tight with nostalgia. Even after all this time she missed her mom, wondered if she made her proud, if she knew how much her kindness and acceptance and desire to change the world made a difference. How she was the reason Yang met Blake, why they existed today, had a family, that faunus and humans were finally living peacefully together. That she and Blake and others just like them would never need to hide again. That their daughter could live a life never having to worry about such things.

Yang would never know for sure. There’s so much about her mom she never got the chance to know.

But what she did know was, even though she couldn’t see her, it felt like she never left.

“Once upon a time,” Yang wrapped an arm around both of her favourite people, holding them close, “a human and a faunus met under the full moon.”