SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Blackout (New)

Blackout

"Sir," Cunningham said, "the dragon is headed towards Beacon."

Ironwood resisted the urge to curse under his breath, for fear that someone — Fitzjames, perhaps, closest to him — would overhear. That would never do, to have his mood be … the officers on the bridge could probably guess his mood, but that didn't mean he had to confirm it for them.

But he felt like cursing nonetheless. Beacon? Of all the places that it could have gone, it was heading towards Beacon.

Of course it was headed to Beacon. The CCT was there, and if this was all nothing more than an elaborate heist, with everything serving to get the Relic of Choice for Salem, then she would want her strongest asset present to make the task of stopping Amber more complicated.

Besides, Beacon was Ozpin's school; more than Atlas, Haven, or Shade, it was Beacon that he had moulded to his will and in his image. That alone might be the reason for Salem to want it gone.

But that was the least of Ironwood's worries right now. The appearance of the dragon anywhere on the battlefield would have been a bad thing, given the supremacy it had established over the Atlesian forces, but at Beacon? The CCT, Amity Colosseum, the operation to stop the Relic being taken … there were so many targets, and so little he could do about any of them.

His forces had already yielded the Beacon Road, falling back in the face of a grimm onslaught renewed in confidence and vigour now that it had broken through the outer defences. The fact that his forces had been able to fall back so quickly was commendable, the fact that they had been able to do so with the enemy hard on their heels without the retreat turning into a rout even moreso, but his admiration for what the troops had accomplished didn’t change the facts on the ground: first, that they were retreating; second, that grimm had already slipped through the cracks before the three battalions had managed to form a line, forcing the troops to face both ways as they fell back; third, that they had given up the Beacon Road; that whole area was under grimm control, and there was nothing that they could do to defend the school.

Not that they would have been able to do anything to stop the dragon even if they hadn't already moved past the road; that had already been demonstrated with a brutal clarity.

Ironwood frowned. That wasn't helping.

Just because things had gone badly since the dragon showed up didn’t give him a licence to give up.

Just because he wasn’t sure what to do about the dragon didn’t give him a licence to let everyone who was still looking to him know that he wasn’t sure what to do.

Six cruisers had opposed the dragon over the Green Line. Six cruisers; he hadn’t been too disheartened when the Wonderbolts had had to fall back, confident in the firepower of his cruisers, but then they, too, had failed. Six cruisers out of his total of twelve — his total of nine now, after the loss of Courageous, Gallant, and Ardent — and they had failed to stop that grimm, even to slow it down.

He didn’t have any bigger guns.

He had ordered the medical frigates back over Vale, putting some more distance between them and the dragon; the carriers had also fallen back, although a shorter distance; select Skybolt squadrons were rearming with heavy titan-buster missiles, which were a card he still had yet to play. To play it over Beacon would mean exposing his airships over ground that had been, if not actively abandoned, then at least put beyond reach of support, in skies that were now grimm-controlled.

That would be hard on the pilots. Harder than asking them to go up against the dragon would be, anyway.

Not to mention it might be too late; if the dragon was heading for Beacon, it would get there before any Atlesian units could intercept.

“What’s the position of the Amity Colosseum?” he demanded.

“It’s not moving, sir,” Cunningham replied.

Come on, Twilight.

He considered ordering the Resolution to push the arena away, but even an intact cruiser might have found that a struggle, let alone one that had already taken damage.

Not that a damaged cruiser would be able to defend the arena.

“Des Voeux, hail the Resolution,” Ironwood ordered.

“Aye aye, sir.”

It took less than a second for the voice of Major Cochrane to issue into the CIC. “Resolution here, sir. I take it you're calling about that bastard I can see on the monitor.”

“You can’t fight it, Major, not with the Resolution in that condition,” Ironwood said.

“We can give it a go, sir,” Cochrane replied, sounding affronted by his dismissal of the idea.

“No, Major, you will not,” Ironwood insisted. He tightened his jaw for a moment. “If necessary, I want you to try and use your ship to push the Amity Colosseum away from Beacon and towards Vale.”

“Push it?”

“I have someone working on getting the arena’s engines online, but if that fails, then the Resolution is the only plan B I have.”

There was a moment of silence before Cochrane replied. “Understood, sir. When will it be necessary?”

“If, in your opinion, the dragon is moving to assault Amity,” Ironwood informed her.

“In my opinion, understood, sir,” Cochrane replied. “The old lady will give it her best.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Ironwood said.

“Sir?” Cuningham said. “The dragon isn’t moving towards the arena; it’s on a direct course for the CCT tower.”

“Cochrane, you have your orders. Ironwood out,” Ironwood said, because he needed to focus on the other target at Beacon. Of course they were targeting the tower. Even if the dragon’s main aim was to make it hard to stop the Relic from being taken from Beacon, the CCT was too juicy a prize to pass up.

The CCT network was quantum entangled between the four main towers: if one tower went down, the whole network went down. If the dragon took out the tower — when the dragon took out the tower; it wasn’t as though it was going to be stopped before it could — then it wouldn’t just be dampening communications across Vale, but across the whole of Remnant.

If — when — the tower fell, then the only possible communications would be point to point between individual devices, or what signals could be bounced off individual relay towers if someone was in range and their device could make contact.

That would have huge implications for Remnant, but the implications that were utmost in Ironwood’s mind right now were those for the control of his military; he would be unable to contact any of his units spread out across distant stations, and they would be unable to contact him.

And his forces would be completely cut off from Atlas.

He needed to make preparations while he still could.

“Des Voeux,” he said. “Transmit all logs to HQ immediately and send the following signal to the Council, to General Roebuck, General Reeve, and to all units: communications are about to go down, blackout protocols are in full and immediate effect, acknowledge receipt of order. Send it now.”

“Sending now, sir,” des Voeux replied, his voice shaking a little, but only a little.

In the circumstances, Ironwood considered that quite commendable.

They were all doing very well at keeping calm, if nothing else.

Ironwood could see the dragon on the sensor images displayed in front of him, a large red shape moving inexorably towards the defenceless tower.

If Oz were still alive, Ironwood might have asked him why he’d thought it was a good idea to build the CCT tower outside of Vale’s defences.

He might also have asked how he’d persuaded everyone else to go along with it.

“Are we going to try and intercept it, sir?” Fitzjames asked.

“No,” Ironwood said, watching the dragon draw nearer and nearer. “No, we’re going to have to let this play out.”

The dragon drew nearer to the tower, the black mass closing inexorably with the green point upon the map.

“Log transmissions almost complete, sir,” des Voeux informed him. “We’ve received acknowledgement of blackout protocols from Home Fleet command, Argus base, Cold Harbour—”

“Anything from the Council?”

“No, sir,” des Voeux answered.

Unlike my units, there may not be anyone answering the scrolls at the Council at this hour, Ironwood thought.

Roebuck may have to inform them when they wake up.

“Anyone else?” Ironwood asked.

“No, sir. Still waiting on a response from Mantle, as well as acknowledgements from outlying bases in Mistral and Vacuo.”

No time, Ironwood thought, for the dark red symbol of the dragon was almost upon the tower.

“Log transmissions complete,” des Vœux announced. “Mantle is acknowledging recei—”

All the screens went dark.

---

The lights of the Emerald Tower gleamed in the darkness, as true a beacon as any that could justify the name. The many lights of emerald green that burned did not burn brightly, but they possessed an intensity nonetheless; if one were to stand on the grounds of Beacon and look up at the tower that rose so high into the sky, they would see the lights burning and feel that no darkness could snuff them out.

As the dragon bore down upon the tower, those same lights seemed to cause it pain; the dragon turned its head away and moaned softly.

Then it turned its head back towards the tower, the high tower, the tower with the green lights burning within it, and opened its mouth.

A great beam of burning, blazing energy streamed out of the dragon’s maw and struck the tower halfway up its great height.

And the Emerald Tower, seat of the headmaster, CCT tower for Vale, tower of the burning lights that never dimmed, exploded. Instead of the green lights, there was a pillar of flame as fragments of stone and steel flew out across the grounds of the school.

The dragon landed upon the ruined stump of the tower, cut down to size, like a bird returning to its nest.

The grimm stretched its long neck up towards the sky and roared in triumph.

---

Aboard the Valiant, all the screens in front of Ironwood, all the sensor displays and the readouts, went black.

Some of them returned a moment later, amidst a soft hum and whirring of computers: the battlefield images, the maps of Vale that showed the dragon holding stationary above — or on top of — what had been the CCT, the videos of the unfolding battle captured by drones. What did not return, and what wouldn't return for some time in the best case, was everything beyond the immediate location. A few seconds ago, Ironwood had been at the head of the mightiest force in Remnant, able to reach out from the bridge of his ship to direct movements in any one of the four kingdoms, to deploy ships and men, to unleash force if required.

Now, all of that had been stripped away from him. Now, his reach, his gaze, his voice extended no further than this battlefield and the three squadrons that he had with him here in Vale.

"Comm check," Ironwood ordered. "Make sure all units and ships can still make contact."

"Aye aye, sir," replied des Voeux.

As much to the point, if Ironwood was cut off, then so — with the exception of the Home Fleet stationed around Atlas itself — was every other ship and unit deployed across Remnant. Mantle, Argus, ships on patrol, bases across Anima and Vacuo, they had been plunged into darkness, severed from their link to home.

That was why protocols existed for just such an eventuality. The exact orders varied from base to base, but all patrolling vessels should begin immediately to make their way home and report to Home Fleet for further orders; the forces at Cold Harbour, Argus in Mistral, and Adin Bay in Vacuo — the respective primary Atlesian bases in the other three kingdoms — were to hold their positions and attempt to establish contact with Atlas via other means; other units were to reach out to local civic authorities and had leave to remain if requested, in which case, they too should attempt to reestablish communications with Atlas; otherwise, they should make their way home as best they could; forces at Mantle, Crystal City, and other locations across Solitas were to maintain readiness and await further orders; the Home Fleet in Atlas itself…

One weakness of Atlesian protocols — aside from the fact that they had never really been tested outside of theoretical exercises — was that they assumed the commanding general would be at or nearby Atlas when communications went down, and that they would be able to take personal command of the main force based around Atlas. As it was, command of the Home Fleet would fall to Brigadier General Roebuck, under the supervision of the Council. And Ironwood could not help but worry that this situation would expose a number of older officers holding high rank who clung like barnacles to the Atlesian military. Some of them should have been retired before now, but they were often well-connected, with eminent friends who would speak up for them, and some of them even had distinguished records from their younger days. If push had come to shove, Ironwood could have probably sacked officers like Cordovin or Roebuck, but it would have raised a stink and required an expenditure of his political capital, and so he had taken to assigning them to prestigious but undemanding positions that offered no grounds for complaint — who could object to being left to mind the shop in Atlas, or to being appointed commander of the Argus base? — while not offering much opportunity to do any harm.

And, of course, connected to him via long apron-strings, enabling him to reach out and tug on them if they started to stray.

Now, the apron strings had been cut, and command at Argus might involve more than glad-handing with civic dignitaries and hosting the Town and Garrison Ball; command at Atlas might involve more than simply doing the paperwork until Ironwood's return.

He might need to have some fights when he got home.

But getting home, and bringing his surviving troops with him when he did, required winning a fight right here and now in Vale.

Everything else, all his other forces spread out across Remnant, would have to wait; he would have to trust his troops to look after themselves. Even the officers he would rather didn't have to.

---

The picture on their television went dead, the images from the news replaced by roaring static.

Leaf got up off the sofa where it seemed that she'd been glued for the entire night, watching the news from Vale as ANN continued to live broadcast the unfolding events in the city of her birth. Everything had been cancelled, the schedules cleared for non-stop coverage by Atlesian reporters in the city itself; the sports correspondents in the city for the Vytal Tournament had become war correspondents reporting on grimm attacks and the sounds of battle raging on the other side of the walls of Vale. They had sometimes, annoyingly, cut to talking heads back in some studio in Atlas, speculating pointlessly on what might be going on and what it might all mean. 'Well, Wolfe, if we're seeing that, then this might happen next,' okay, but you don't know that's actually happening, do you, you don't know anything.

All that Leaf and Veil knew were what they could see on the TV — and what Leaf's mum was telling her. Leaf had called her; she was sat on the threadbare sofa with the TV on in front of her and her scroll in her hand, the line open to her mom.

They hadn't talked about anything personal, only about what was happening back in Vale: what the Valish news was saying, what Mum could see and hear. It sounded really weird what was happening there; Leaf couldn't make sense of it, the talking heads on the Atlas TV couldn't make sense of it, and it sounded as though Mum was having a hard time understanding it herself. Like, the Valish had fired on an Atlesian ship, and everyone started talking about a possible war for a hot second, especially when Mom said that General Blackthorn had come out and announced martial law was being declared — martial law? Seriously? — only then, Councillor Emerald had gone on TV, with Sunset, of all people, to say that General Blackthorn was just ill, or something, and he hadn't meant to start a war, and it was all just so bizarre.

Except it seemed, from what the TV was showing, from what Mum said, that as much as it sounded really weird and made Leaf's head spin to try and think about, it had meant that the fighting in Vale had stopped, which was good, especially since Mum was trying to get into Vale right now.

The no-personal stuff … that had mainly meant not talking about Leaf; it was impossible not to talk about how Mum was doing with a battle raging around her, what she was doing. What she was doing, along with Daniel and Angie, was queuing up to get into Vale. Councillor Emerald had ordered everyone who lived on the wrong side of the Red Line — which unfortunately included her parents, because you could get a bigger place for your money on the unprotected side of the wall — to get behind the walls where it was safer. So far, the last Leaf had heard, they hadn't actually made it yet; they were still waiting to get through.

Mum hadn't been too worried, though; the sounds of fighting had been so far away. Leaf hadn't been too worried either; sure, it was a big shock all of this happening to Vale, where her family lived, but it was gonna be fine. The Atlesians were going to hold the line and keep the grimm at bay. They'd already defended the Amity Colosseum and Beacon, so they were going to stop the grimm outside of the Vale in the same way, for sure. Rainbow Dash and Blake would protect her family, the same way that they'd protected her.

Only then, suddenly, this really huge grimm, so huge that you could see it from miles away, had shown up, and it … things hadn't seemed quite so rosy after that.

And now, the TV had gone dead. There was only static on the screen in front of them.

Her scroll was still working, but it had disconnected her call to Mum.

"What?" Leaf muttered. "See if you can get that to work; I'm gonna call her back."

Veil, still sat down on the sofa, leaned forwards as she grabbed the remote and turned the TV off and on.

It was still static only on the screen.

Veil began to cycle through the channels as Leaf called her Mum back — or tried to. Her scroll told her there was no signal — matching the no signal icon on the top right of the screen that she was only just noticing.

"Have you got a signal on your scroll?" Leaf asked.

"Hang on a second," Veil murmured, continuing to press the button on the remote to send it cycling through the channels.

There was only static; there was nothing on any of the channels that Veil flicked through to.

"Take over," Veil said, tossing the remote to Leaf — who fumbled it, letting the remote control bounce off her and land on the floor with a thud — as she looked around for her scroll.

Leaf picked up the remote, and instead of cycling through the channels, she started picking ones at random.

Still nothing; if it wasn't static, it was a blank screen.

She went to the TV's homepage, only to be greeted with the message Your device is not connected.

Veil had her scroll out now, looking down at it in her hands. "I've got no signal either." She glanced at the television. "No signal on the TV, nothing on either of our scrolls—"

There was a knock on the door, not too heavy, not angry-sounding, but insistent.

"I'll get it," Veil said, getting up off the sofa.

She walked in front of Leaf, and for a second, she blocked her view of the useless television, even as Leaf was left with nothing to do but to stare at it, her eyes sometimes flickering to the equally useless scroll in her hand.

She couldn't call Mum, she couldn't watch the news, she had no way of knowing how things were going in Vale right now. The grimm could have suddenly destroyed the whole city and killed everyone, and she wouldn't know.

Not that … not that that was going to … that wasn't going to happen, right?

Rainbow and Blake wouldn't let that happen.

Except … except that grimm looked really big, and now…

Veil opened the door. On the other side of the door stood one of their neighbours, Frangipane, Fran for short. She was young, like them — these apartments advertised themselves as being for 'young professionals' — with golden brown hair worn in a bob and eyes to match, and a very soft, round face. She wore a pastel pink dressing gown that she clutched tightly around herself with one hand.

"Sorry to bother you," she said softly, leaning forwards a little. "But have you two lost your signals for your scrolls and television?"

"Yeah," Veil replied. "Both our scrolls, and the TV. You too?"

"Yes," Fran said. "I was worried it was just me, but it seems not; that's good … or not, I suppose." She hesitated, looking around Veil towards Leaf. "Do you think … sometimes, when one of the towers requires maintenance, the whole thing shuts off for an hour or two in the middle of the night. Do you think…?" She stopped. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't disturb you any longer. But … if you need to … I'll let you go."

"Thanks," Veil said. "We'll let you know if anything changes."

"And so will I," Fran said. "Goodnight."

"Night," Veil murmured, not adding the 'good' part, because it hadn't been a great night so far, and it was only getting worse.

She shut the door; it clicked closed.

Leaf stared down at the dead scroll in her hand. She frowned and started to call Veil, her thumb swiping through the screens to get to Veil's scroll number on her device.

Veil's scroll began to ring. Veil started, looking down at it in surprise before pressing the red button to decline the call.

"That still works," Leaf observed. "We can still reach each other. Which means…" She paused. "Fran thinks the Vale tower might be down, doesn't she?"

Veil bit her lip.

"You can say it," Leaf told her.

Veil still didn't look at Leaf. "It would make sense. A tower going down would bring down the network. No TV, no calls except to other scrolls that you can directly connect to."

"No news from Vale," Leaf muttered. No word from Mum, no developments about what was going on there. The only news being the fact that she couldn't get any more news because the tower was down, which was … pretty terrible news, really.

She had no way of getting hold of her. No way of reaching her mother, finding out if she was okay, if Daniel was fine, if Angie was fine. No way of reaching Dad, either.

No way of knowing what was happening to them, or to Blake or Rainbow Dash or Sunset or Ruby or the rest of Vale. They could all die, and she wouldn't know.

Veil took a step towards her. "I'm sure that it'll be fine," she began.

"But you don't know that, do you?" Leaf snapped. "Nobody knows because we don't know anything!" She stopped, a scowl on her face as she looked away. "Sorry, I—"

"It's fine," Veil assured her. "I wasn't helping."

Standing in this apartment wasn't helping either. Looking at the television with its disconnected message wasn't helping; it just made Leaf want to kick it until it worked. Looking at her scroll wasn't helping; it just made her aware of how far away and unreachable her family was.

Looking down also made it clear to her that her hands were shaking; it made it harder to ignore the trembling in her limbs.

It wasn't all nerves — part of it was that she'd gone too long without a cigarette — but the nerves weren't helping either.

"I'll be outside," she muttered, grabbing her coat off the arm of the sofa and thrusting her scroll into one of its big pockets.

Veil got out of her way as Leaf walked towards the door, pulling her coat on as she went; she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, with its soft blue lights running along the ceiling.

Leaf's hands kept on shaking as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the other pocket of her coat, tremblingly pulling one out of the packet and sticking it in her mouth. The nicotine would calm her down, make it … make it easier. Take the edge off.

Leaf closed her teeth around the cigarette as she fumbled for her lighter. Where was it, where was it? Ah, yeah, here it was. She pulled out the cheap plastic lighter and tried to light it, clicking the handle over and over again. She got sparks, but no flame; it sparked and sparked, but there wasn't any fire. Leaf's thumb pushed down and down repeatedly, but it still wouldn't work. Why wouldn't it work?

Work, you stupid—

"Here," Veil said, stepping out into the corridor with a box of matches, striking one against the side of the box and holding the burning match up.

"Thanks," Leaf muttered, leaning forward to light her cigarette on the match. She leaned back and took a long drag as Veil extinguished. She felt … the weakness in her arms and legs felt less already, but the worry, the nervousness, the fear … that was all still there. Her mind was still on Vale, or in Vale, and the cigarette hadn't taken it away from there. It hadn't, or maybe it couldn't.

She glanced at Veil. "I thought you didn't want to be around when I smoked?"

"I don't like it," Veil admitted. "But I don't want to leave you alone, either."

"It's…" Leaf trailed off, because who would believe her when she said that it was fine?

Veil said, "They were okay when you spoke, right?"

"Yeah," Leaf said. "But that was … things can change." She took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew the smoke away from Veil. She coughed a little bit into her free hand and kept her mouth empty, the cigarette gripped between her fingers, as she turned back towards Veil.

"You'd think a rich guy could afford a house on the right side of the wall, wouldn't you?" she muttered.

"Your stepdad?" Veil asked. When Leaf nodded, she went on, "Is he actually rich, or did he just feel rich to you?"

That was a good point. "I suppose he is only middle class," Leaf admitted. "But still … outside the wall? Just because you can get a nice house cheaper there doesn't mean … I know that Vale wasn't exactly safe all the time tonight, but right now … I really wish they'd got inside the wall."

"And your dad?" Veil asked. "Where's he?"

"Passed out in the bathroom, probably, with no clue what's going on," Leaf muttered. She twitched and put the cigarette back in her mouth. "He lives in the Docklands, not far from the harbour." She took another drag, waiting for it to start calming her nerves. It was taking its sweet time about it. "He'll be fine, unless the whole city…" She didn't finish the sentence.

"I understand why Mum left him," she said. "After the time we came home and found him … I thought he was dead for a second. I think he might actually have been dead for a second. I understand, but at the same time, that didn't mean I wanted to see her run into the arms of someone else, just like that. Someone with a new, better daughter."

"'Better'?"

"Better than me," Leaf muttered. "I was…" She hesitated, puffing on her cigarette, turning away from Veil as she breathed out some more smoke. "I was kind of a bitch," she admitted, as she turned back to face her roommate. "And now…"

Now I might never be able to make it up to her.

Veil said, "I … you were right, earlier; I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what's going on in Vale now any more than you do, or when we'll get some news. But what I do know is that we're always told that Atlas has the greatest army in the world. A world-class military. A world-beating … no, not world-beating — that implies we want to fight people — but we're supposed to be really good at this. And although they didn't win the tournament, the people that we saw — your friend Rainbow Dash, Blake in that one fight, Neon Katt, they were pretty good. And it seemed like they were doing better than okay when the battle started. So … even though I don't know what's going to happen, maybe having some faith in Atlas, and in your friends, would make you feel better than that cigarette will."

Leaf looked at her, taking the cigarette out of her mouth, holding it in her hand. "Have some faith?"

"It's not faith in nothing," Veil said. "And it couldn't hurt."

Leaf looked down at the cigarette in her hand. Having some faith. She'd like to have faith; she'd like to think that she did have faith, in Rainbow and in Blake and in her adopted home … but it was easier to have faith when you were having your faith confirmed on the news and by the fact that your mother was still okay and able to talk to you.

It was easier to have faith when you could see with your own eyes.

---

Saphron was standing at the window, tugging the curtains to one side a little as she looked out.

"There are people coming out into the streets," she announced, turning her head to look a little towards Terra. "They look confused. Some of them … might have their scrolls out, I'm not sure."

"Not just us then," Terra observed. She stood in front of the television, which had been playing static for a little while. As a computer engineer by profession, Terra had been fairly certain that it wasn't a problem with their TV set, even before she'd found that she couldn't get on the network on her scroll either.

And if the neighbours were having problems too, that just confirmed it.

Terra hoped that it was just a local failure; they weren't unheard of, but they could occasionally happen: relay towers could go on the fritz and stop transmitting equal signal strength in all directions. You could usually diagnose the problem remotely and fix it with a software patch.

She really hoped this was all it was, because if it wasn't … the potential issues only got larger in scale from there.

"Come away from the window," she told Saphron. "We don't want to attract attention."

Saphron did as Terra asked, stepping back and letting the curtain fall back down in front of her, but she also turned to Terra and asked, "Shouldn't we go out there, find out what's going on? I mean, they're our neighbours; they're not scary."

"Okay," Terra said, "but be careful."

Saphron didn't reply; she just slipped on her shoes and grabbed her keys on the way out of the door, which she shut behind her.

Terra, on the other hand, called Captain Vanille, her boss at the Atlesian base where she worked; he was an officer, even though he supervised a team of mostly civilian contractors like Terra.

And even though his team was mostly civilians, he insisted on them calling him 'sir.' Terra had gotten used to it.

It took him a little while to answer, a little while during which Terra's foot tapped impatiently on the floor as she kept shooting glances towards the front door. She wondered how Saphron was getting on out there with the neighbours; probably better than Terra would have.

Captain Vanille answered. Terra could hear the sounds of feet moving rapidly and heavily upon surfaces, as well as voices raised in … was that marching chant?

"Cotta-Arc," Captain Vanille said in a weary voice. "Let me guess, you're calling about the CCT issue."

"I'm not the first, sir?"

"Not even close, Cotta-Arc," Captain Vanille replied.

"And?" Terra asked. "How bad is it?"

Captain Vanille didn't reply.

"Sir?" Terra asked. "Is it an issue with the relay tower? Do you need someone to go and take a look at it?"

"If I did, I'd have called you," Captain Vanille informed her. "We received a transmission from Vale, informing us that communications were about to be lost and blackout protocols were in effect. Then we lost the CCT."

"'Lost the…'" Terra's eyes widened. "You mean … the whole network is down?"

"We sent an acknowledgement, but now we can't raise Atlas, or the General in Vale, or reach anyone in Mistral," Captain Vanille said. "We're on our own out here."

"Gods," Terra muttered. The CCT was down? Completely down? The whole network was down? The worst case scenario was the one that had come to pass? That was…

What was going to happen now?

"In the circumstances," Captain Vanille went on, "don't bother coming in tomorrow; I'll let you know if I need you the day after. It will probably take that long for Colonel Cordovin to decide what to do next, and even then, I'm not sure how much use we'll have for a CCT Technician with no CCT network."

Thanks for reminding me that I could be out of a job thanks to this, sir, Terra thought. It might not be the biggest issue to come out of this, but it was important to her personally. "Okay," she said softly. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me, sir."

"I've got to get back to it; it's all hands on deck here," Captain Vanille said. "But I'll be in touch."

"Yes, sir," Terra said, but he'd already hung up on her.

Terra was left standing in the living room, looking down the hall, with her scroll in her hand.

The CCT was down.

Communications across the whole of Remnant were offline.

The front door opened and Saphron came in. "It's the same story all along the street," she announced. "No TV, no scroll signals—"

"The CCT's down," Terra said. "My boss at the base just confirmed it."

Saphron shut the door without looking at it. Her blue eyes were fixed on Terra. "When you say 'down,' you mean—"

"It's all gone," Terra said. "All of it. We can't talk to Mistral, to Atlas—"

"Or Vale," Saphron murmured. "My family." She paused. "Can it be fixed?"

"That depends," Terra replied. "On what caused it to go down in the first place. Given the circumstances, it probably isn't a software issue."

Given that they'd seen a giant grimm reported on the news, it was likely — possible, at least — that the Vale tower had been physically damaged or destroyed. In which case, they'd have to build a new tower, and then … the four towers had all been built at the same time, all turned on at the same time, entangled together; could they add a fourth tower back into the network and thus restore it? Terra didn't know. She wasn't sure if anybody knew.

"What about running the network off three towers?" asked Saphron.

"I don't know if that's possible either, but even if it was, it would mean we still couldn't talk to Vale," Terra said. "It would be out of range."

"I … see," Saphron murmured. "So you're saying the only way to send messages between kingdoms now, the only way to find out what's going on, is—"

"The mail," Terra said.

"So I'll either get a letter from Jaune telling me that he made it through the battle okay," Saphron said, "or he was too lazy to put pen to paper."

Terra smiled, glad that Saphron was taking it without despair, or at least putting a brave face on things. "On a more prosaic note, if the CCT does remain down, then you might have to get a job. Not much call for a CCT software engineer when there's no CCT network."

Saphron's eyebrows rose. "So, communications are down across Remnant, and you're unemployed? This gets better and better, doesn't it?" She kicked off her shoes and walked softly across the hall, her bare feet making practically no sound at all. "But with Jaune and Pyrrha fighting for their lives in Vale and communications down across the world, we should count our blessings, shouldn't we? Even if you don't have a job, we're still safe, and we have Adrian, and he's safe, and I'm pretty sure the bar down the road is looking for kitchen staff." She approached Terra, placing her forearms on her shoulders, her hands joined together as though she were about to pull Terra into an embrace. She didn't though, not yet, though she stood close by, looking ever so slightly down into Terra's eyes.

"They'll be fine, won't they?" she asked. "Tell me again that they'll be fine."

"They'll be fine," Terra told her. "The valour of Mistral, with its undefeated champion at the forefront, and allied too with the might of Atlas, will triumph without a doubt, no matter what setbacks may be thrown in their way by the course of the battle. Their final victory cannot be doubted. They'll be fine."

Now, Saphron pulled her into an embrace, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Then so will we," she said. "So will we."

---

Dad had started keeping the hunting rifles locked up in a cabinet when Rouge was young; all the children were grown up now — physically, anyway — with the possible exception of Violet, but nevertheless, the Arc family rifles were still kept in a locked cabinet in the shed out back.

That was where Sky was right now, looking for the right key amongst the many keys on this particular keychain with one hand, while in her other hand, she held her scroll.

"No, Sprout, I don't know what's going on," Sky spoke into the scroll, as she picked her way past Grandpa's creepy old stuffed Jackalopes — why they still had these, she did not know, no one liked them; when she was a kid, she used to hate coming in here because of the way their eyes used to follow her around — towards the gun cabinet at the back. "If I knew what was going on, I would tell you, like I've told you everything I know: the TV has gone dead, Kendal can't get through to her bosses in Vale, Aoko can't get … anything, and all our scrolls say there's no signal."

"Then … how are we talking?" Sprout asked. "Are we talking? Is this all in my head, am I hallucinating this out of—?"

"No, Sprout, it's not all in your head," Sky told him, wishing — and not for the first time — that she had another deputy. "We're talking. Aoko says that our devices can still communicate point to point; it's just anything longer distance that isn't working." That hadn't been the only thing that Aoko had said — she'd also said that she thought that the reason for that was that the whole network was down everywhere, across the whole of Remnant — but as that wasn't something that Sky knew, only something that Aoko thought, she wasn't going to bring it up.

No sense in panicking people before time. There'd be panic enough once it was confirmed. If it was confirmed.

She was just glad that the mayor went to bed early; she wouldn't have to deal with him until morning.

Things might not be any clearer in the morning, but at least it would be morning; she didn't want to have him yelling her ear in the middle of the night.

"Now," she went on, "what I need you to do is get the huntsman up and out, tell him that I'm worried that there might be some trouble tonight, and I'd like it if he stood guard."

"That guy scares me," Sprout whined.

"Why?" Sky asked. "I think he likes you."

"He offered to put me through training so vigorous that I'd wish I was dead!"

"I'm pretty sure that was him being nice," Sky replied. "Look, you don't have to hang out with him, just get him out of bed if he's there and have him outside where people can see him. Then take a wander around the village, knock on doors, make sure everyone's okay. Nice and calm, no fuss, no bother."

"Uh huh. And what are you going to be doing?"

"I'm going to be on patrol," Sky said as she found the right key to unlock the cabinet. "You think you can handle that?"

"I … guess so," Sprout admitted. "Patrol where?"

"I'll talk to you later, Sprout," Sky said as she hung up on him.

She shoved her scroll into her pocket as she shoved the gun cabinet key — it was a small key, kind of knife-shaped — into the slightly rusty lock and, with a bit of jiggling, managed to turn it to unlock the cabinet.

A pair of long-barrelled hunting rifles, breech-loaders with wooden stocks and telescopic sights, confronted her, along with a couple of boxes of ammunition.

"Going out on patrol?" Rouge said. "That's new."

Sky half turned around. Her eldest sister stood in the shed doorway, her hands clutching the folds of her skirt.

"For one of us," Sky observed. "I saw the way you looked in there, when Aoko couldn't connect to anything. You were going to head out, weren't you?"

Rouge hesitated, not speaking.

"Come on," Sky said. "I know what you are now, what you can do; you can be honest with me."

With one hand, Rouge reached up and clutched at some of the rocks on her necklace. "Yes," she murmured. "I was worried that people might start to worry, and that worry would … bring the grimm. If all the grimm in this country aren't already at Vale, troubling Jaune, bringing the CCT network down."

Sky ignored that last part. "And how were you going to explain that to Mom and Dad and everyone else? Were you going to tell them that you were going to stalk the woods protecting everyone with your magic powers?"

"I … hadn't thought about it," Rouge replied.

"Good thing I thought about it for you, then," Sky said. "You're going out on patrol with me, to watch my back. What could be more natural? You want a gun?"

"I don't need one."

"Take one anyway, for the look of the thing," Sky told her, as she grabbed one of the boxes of ammunition in one hand and wrapped her other arm around both hunting rifles. That left the cabinet empty, apart from the remaining rounds, as she began to make her way back towards Rouge.

"Alright," Rouge said softly. "I hope Aoko's wrong about this."

"About the CCT?" Sky asked.

Rouge nodded. "You might think it wouldn't affect us, but it will."

"We survive fine without Vale up in our business," Sky replied.

"We rely on Vale buying what we produce," Rouge said. "Our wool, our fruit and vegetables, our milk."

"Will people not need fruit and veg because they can't watch TV?" asked Sky.

"Will anyone be able to pay for it without the CCT?" responded Rouge. "Isn't most money stored on computers?"

"It is?" Sky said. "That … that's something for someone other than me to worry about." She handed Rouge a rifle, glad to have one of them taken off her hands so that she could get a better grip on the one she had left. "I understand that it's not ideal, and I wasn't thrilled to suddenly not be able to find out what was happening with Jaune, but Vale existed before the CCT, and it'll survive without it, right? Our ancestors didn't need a network when they raised this town, and we can't give up on it just because we don't have a network." She put the ammunition next to a jackalope for just long enough to chamber a round into the breach of the rifle. "What was it you said that night, about generations of Arc women keeping the town safe?"

"While generations of Arc men protected the world," Rouge murmured. "Like Jaune." She paused. "Kendal's talking about going to Vale, to find out what's going on. Dad thinks it's too dangerous."

"It is dangerous," Sky said. "But, if the network doesn't come back online—"

"I thought we didn't need one."

"We don't need it, but someone's going to have to find out what's going on," Sky pointed out. "Although maybe Kendal doesn't have to go all the way to Vale; maybe she can just go to the next town over and check out the lie of the land from there. Or … maybe it won't be dangerous; maybe by tomorrow, or by the time that Kendal reaches it, whenever she sets out, it will all be over."

"We can only hope," Rouge murmured. "Because while we might — or might not — be able to do without the CCT network, I don't think that this village, I'm fairly certain that we couldn't do without Vale, and I'm afraid that if Vale was lost—"

"Then we'd have lost Jaune," Sky said quietly.

"Yes," Rouge whispered. "Yes, we would, but not only that … I'm afraid that not even these magic stones would be enough to protect Alba Longa from what came next."

---

The sconces in the corridors burned a dull red, illuminated by the fire dust crystals burning within. They cast long shadows on the floor, the shadows of Terri-Belle and her sisters.

Terri-Belle stalked down the palace corridor towards her father's chamber, her sandals squeaking as she marched over a mosaic of Theseus II descending into the underworld. She stepped directly upon the emperor's face and then beyond him, treading over the dark rocks of Erech's domain as she moved swiftly towards her destination.

The CCT was down. The whole network had collapsed. The technicians had already assured her — with commendable speed — that it was not a fault in the White Tower, and therefore, it was not something that they could correct. Rather, the fault lay elsewhere, most likely in Vale, and wherever it was, it was beyond their capacity to repair it here in Mistral.

From what they had told her, Terri-Belle understood that it might well be impossible to repair at all. They hadn't been entirely sure, but in such circumstances, Terri-Belle preferred to take the more sceptical — one might say pessimistic — attitude.

That way she wouldn't be disappointed.

The CCT was down, and they had to proceed as though it was going to be down for the foreseeable future, if not forever. That would lead to panic in Mistral — and Mistral, it had to be admitted — had not exactly been calm before this. This news from Vale, the footage of the battles raging there, the fact that all track had been lost of Pyrrha Nikos — not to mention the sons and daughters of Haven — had put the streets into a state of excitement already; now that the CCT was down … the absence of news was more likely to inflame the city than calm its passions.

Too much excitement would mean that it would not only be Vale that was facing the fury of the grimm.

Her sisters followed her down the corridor; Shining Light and Blonn Di were on either side of her, while Swift Foot followed directly behind. Blonn Di's shadow sometimes fell upon her as the dull lights of the dust crystals fell upon the four.

"Shining Light, I want the entire Imperial Guard mustered in the palace courtyard; I'll join them there as soon as I've spoken to our Lord Father," Terri-Belle ordered.

"The entire company?" Shining Light asked.

"Yes, all of them," Terri-Belle said. "And Blonn Di: Professor Lionheart isn't answering my calls, so go to Haven and rouse him directly. Tell him that the CCT is down and that he is to … gather huntsmen to be ready at need, as many as he can muster, in case of an attack on Mistral."

"And if I find him not at Haven?" asked Blonn Di.

"Search brothels and dive bars," muttered Shining Light, a smirk upon her face.

Terri-Belle looked at her with something close to a glare on her face. "You should already be gone about your orders," she snapped.

Shining Light swallowed and bowed her head. "To hear is to obey, Captain and Warden." She bowed lower, from the waist, although not all the way, before she turned and scampered off back down the corridor in the direction from which they had come.

Terri-Belle kept walking as she returned her attention to Blonn Di. "Search the school if you don't find him in his office or his bedchamber, but look no further. If Lionheart is not there, then go to the Huntsman's Guild and find someone there who can assemble huntsmen."

"The Huntsman's Guild is not very happy with you presently," Blonn Di observed.

"I care not if I am the most pestilential creature in all of Remnant to the Huntsman's Guild," Terri-Belle declared. "Mistral may come under attack this very night. Tell them that and see if it will move them more than pique at me."

"As the Warden of the White Tower commands, I'll do these offices," Blonn Di said, offering a cursory bow of the head before she, too, departed.

Swift Foot was now the only one of her sisters who remained, and she moved to the side a little so that she was no longer directly behind Terri-Belle.

"Do you really think that Mistral will be attacked?" she asked.

"If the people begin to panic, then panic will bring the grimm," Terri-Belle declared. "It may be there are no grimm close enough, but it may be that there are."

"So what will you do?" asked Swift Foot.

"I will do as the Steward of Mistral, our lord and father, shall command me to do," Terri-Belle answered.

"Alright then, but what would you do?" Swift Foot. "What will you do if Father asks for your advice?"

Terri-Belle did not reply for a moment, considering her response. It had indeed been germinating in her mind, just in case Father should ask for her opinion, but nevertheless, she took an additional moment to give it further consideration. "I would position most of the Guard upon the walls, to keep watch for any approaching grimm, but I would select a dozen of them and have them patrol the streets in number, as a single company, to give the impression of strength that may—"

"Fool the people?" Swift Foot asked.

"Reassure them," Terri-Belle corrected. "I mean no deception."

"You want to make it seem that you have more strength than you have," Swift Foot suggested.

"Huntsmen and huntresses will increase our strength," Terri-Belle countered, although her youngest sister was not entirely wrong upon this point. "Polemarch Yeoh should not have taken our soldiers away to Vale."

"Would they have been any good?" asked Swift Foot. "They were very new."

"They would have been bodies on the wall," Terri-Belle answered.

As it stood, her numbers were very small. A single huntsman could fight on against many more grimm, but all the same, her numbers were very few to defend a whole city.

And all the while, the nascent beginnings of Mistral's army was caught up in a different battle, irrelevant to them and to their interests, far away in Vale. What a waste. What a mistake by Yeoh.

A mistake that she would have to live with; walking up and down this corridor demanding that Yeoh give her back her soldiers would not whisk them across land and sea and sky to Mistral.

"I could be another body on the wall," Swift Foot pointed out. "Let me help you."

"You will," Terri-Belle told her.

"I will?"

"But not on the walls of Mistral," Terri-Belle added. They were approaching Father's chambers now; his door, guarded by two Imperial Guards, loomed before them, getting larger as they drew closer. "I would have you relieve the guard on Father's door and wait there until you are relieved in turn."

"You call that help?" Swift Foot demanded. "To stand outside a door in the middle of a palace?"

"To guard our father, with your life, if need be," Terri-Belle replied, her voice as firm as the stones that made the palace. "An honourable position."

"A position without a scrap of glory to be found," Swift Foot muttered.

"There is more to life than glory," Terri-Belle declared. "And certainly, there is more to faithful service than the lust for glory." She turned and looked directly down on Swift Foot. "Guard our father," she urged. "Relieve two warriors whom I can make better use of elsewhere than here. Do your duty, as a daughter of Mistral."

Swift Foot's hand went to the hilt of her rhomphaia. "Very well," she said. "If Father will have me."

Terri-Belle did not reply to that, in part because they had almost reached the doors. "You are relieved," Terri-Belle told the guards. "The company is mustering in the courtyard; join them there. My sister will take over from you here."

The two guards — their names were Circe and Polyphemus — turned their eyes, all three of them between them, upon Swift Foot for a moment, but neither of them questioned her commands.

"As you order, Captain," Polyphemus said, his voice a low bass rumble, as both he and Circe headed off, in the opposite direction to which Terri-Belle and Swift Foot had approached.

"Wait here," Terri-Belle said.

Swift Foot drew her long, curved blade. It glimmered in the dull red light of the fire dust as she rested the tip upon the floor. "Shall I let no one pass?" she asked.

"Use your own judgement as to who comes, and on what business," Terri-Belle replied.

Swift Foot nodded. She looked incredibly earnest as she stood beside the door, no longer looking at Terri-Belle at all, her eyes fixed — not moving even a fraction — outwards, the way by which they had approached.

The doors to Father's chamber were ornately carved, decorated with bas-reliefs depicting the old gods of Mistral, from Seraphis ruling in the skies above to Amphitrite in the oceans and all the way down to Erech ruling in the underworld below. The door handles were brass, polished each day by servants; it was those handles that Terri-Belle seized, pushing open the doors into the Steward's chambers.

It was not Father's bedroom that confronted her within, but a sitting room where he could entertain his closest intimates in comfort and privacy; it was lit only by a soft blue light, illuminating enough of the plump settees and antique chairs for Terri-Belle to navigate around them and find the curtain separating the sitting room from Father's bedchamber.

The bedroom, which she entered as she ducked beneath the curtain, her tall mohawk acting as something of an obstacle for it for a few seconds, was smaller than the sitting room but not small; it had ample space to move around in if one wished to prowl by night. A large four-poster bed dominated, with all of the silk curtains of Imperial purple drawn, concealing Father from the sight of men. A golden water jug sat on a gold tray on the nightstand, with a crystal goblet resting beside it.

Terri-Belle approached quietly; though it was her intention to wake her father, she did not wish to do so by her heavy-footedness.

Some might have found it strange that Father could sleep on such a night as this, when confusion reigned and anxiety gripped the streets of Mistral like a hand around the throat, but Father had declared that whatever occurred would be as true when he awoke as when it happened. And Father was an old man, after all, and needed his rest to remain wise and considered in his judgement. No doubt, even in his dreams, he was thinking of what might be and how best to govern Mistral amidst the turbulent seas that might soon engulf it.

They might have need of such wisdom in the days ahead.

Terri-Belle pulled back the curtain. Her father lay sleeping, lying on his back, his eyes closed, his fingers interlocking over his chest just below his snow white beard.

He looked almost as a man dead. An old man claimed by the years he had run out of, gone to his grave with honour, about to be interred.

He looked so peaceful thus in his repose that Terri-Belle felt the urge to bend down and plant a kiss upon his forehead, as if a last kiss, before she sent him on his way.

It was as well that she was not in the habit of disturbing her father while he slept, or else she would have probably done it by now.

As it was, she only reached out with one strong hand and nudged his shoulder as gently as she could. His silk nightrobe of rich gold felt soft beneath her fingertips.

“Father,” she said softly. “Father, you must awake.”

The eyes of Lord Diomedes Thrax — he had violet eyes, like Swift Foot — opened slowly at first, then in a rapid flickering, and finally, they looked up at Terri-Belle.

“Terri-Belle?” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Have you descended in office to become the groom of my bedchamber?”

Terri-Belle bowed her head. “I apologise for disturbing you, Lord. It is an urgent matter.”

Father began to sit up in bed. “What time is it?”

“It is not quite dawn,” Terri-Belle replied.

Father frowned, adding more wrinkles to an already wrinkled brow. “And what news is so urgent that it could not wait until the hour of my rising?”

“The CCT is down, Father, Lord,” Terri-Belle informed him. “We cannot contact Thrace, Argus, Piraeus, anywhere beyond the city limits or a little further.”

When Theseus the First had founded Mistral upon this mountain, he had chosen well from a perspective of defence, but he had not been thinking about the technological advancements that would come after, clearly. The mountains and valleys that surrounded Mistral were a beauteous sight to behold, but they blocked CCT signal, even with many relay towers planted upon them; now that the network as a whole was down, broadcasting any signal past those mountains verged on impossible.

“And you wake me to tell me this?” Father said. “No doubt it will be fixed by the time I wake up.”

He started to turn away, preparatory to lying down again.

“No, Lord, it will not,” Terri-Belle insisted, her voice rising. “This is not a computer glitch that can be resolved in the White Tower; I have already spoken to the technicians, and they tell me it is not a problem here. The whole network is down, across Remnant. They believe that one of the towers has gone offline, probably in Vale, given the battle that is being fought there.”

Now, Father froze. Slowly, after a moment, he turned back to look at her once more. He stared at her intently, his eyes seeming to gleam a little in the gloom of the bedchamber.

“The Valish tower is fallen?”

“So seems the most likely explanation, yes,” Terri-Belle murmured. “I have not been to Vale to see it for myself.”

“And all communications are cut-off?”

“Yes, my lord,” Terri-Belle said. She paused a moment before she added, “Coming as this does amidst the news from Vale, I fear that the people will be greatly distressed, and that in their distress, they may call the grimm down on us.”

Father said, “In the morning, I shall send a messenger to Thrace, a rider; no, I shall send an airship, but I shall require a warrior of the guard to act as their escort. I will tell them … I must sleep a little longer on what the message will be, but they must know that though they cannot speak, Thrace is not forgotten.”

“No, Lord,” Terri-Belle murmured.

Thrace was the historic heart of the Thrax family and their strength: the location of many of their lands, their ancestral home, the place they had been kings and queens of not once, but twice, before the coming of the Mistralian Emperors and again during the days of the Red Queen. It would be as well to keep in touch, maintain the ties between their family and the old country.

It was also a strong land, if not the richest land, a land of hardy hill folk skilled in scouting and skirmishing and hunting. If Father’s messenger were to summon a few more of them here to Mistral, that would be no bad thing at all.

“In the meantime,” Father went on, “I fear there may be some truth to what you say of the people and their passions. Deploy the Imperial Guard to protect the palace immediately and send word to the Councillors, as well as to the patricians and the heads of the guilds, that they may join us here and shelter under our protection.”

It took a moment for Terri-Belle to realise what she had just heard. “The … the palace, Father?”

Father looked at her. “Do we not speak now as the Steward unto the Warden of the White Tower?”

Terri-Belle bowed her head once more. “Forgive me. The Palace, Lord?”

“The people, in their fear, may try to do some mischief to us, or to some other great ones,” Father explained. “I do not wish to suffer the fate of Princess Juturna. If the mob comes to our door, then they will find us well prepared, and you will meet them with steel and force if needs be. Do not be misguided in your mercy.”

Terri-Belle restrained the frown that threatened to cross her face. She could understand Father’s concern, to some extent, but though the people were frightened, they would hardly take out their fear upon the Steward and his family … or would they? There had been murmurings of discontent before this, over the response to the various grimm attacks on outlying villages and towns, the lack of protection for them. Such sentiment would boil over again … but was that not more likely if the Imperial Guard was arranged around the palace instead of on the walls?

And if the grimm attacked, then what was the point of a palace when the city was in ruins?

“But, my lord,” she murmured. “If the grimm should come—”

“Then let the huntsmen defend the city; is that not why they exist?” Father asked. “Let them, and Lionheart, prove that they are good for something.”

Terri-Belle was silent for a moment. She did not agree with her father’s decision. She did not see the point in concentrating all her forces to defend the palace only, leaving the fortunes of Mistral in the hands of other huntsmen. She was the Warden of the White Tower, with all of Mistral in her charge, not the palace only.

But he was her father, the Steward of Mistral, and she was faithfully sworn unto his service, to obey him in all things.

She had told Swift Foot that she would obey him in all things.

That did not mean that she could not speak. “My lord,” she said. “I do not think that we should abandon the defences of the city without making at least some effort to secure them.”

“And what is the purpose of a city, or a kingdom, whose rulers have been torn to pieces by an angry mob?” Father asked. “What is the purpose of a body without a head? Mistral may be vulnerable, but so is our position, and we must make the second secure before we may address the weakness of the first.” His lips twitched, as though he might smile, although he did not. “Your courage does you credit, my daughter, and your feeling of care towards the common rabble are worthy of a hero of the old tales. But it is a loyal daughter and an obedient captain that I require, not a hero, just as it is a wise Steward to guide it through these troubled waters that Mistral requires, not a benevolent fool dead of an excess of his own virtues.”

His voice dropped somewhat. “They once compared me with the old Lord Rutulus, father to the present lord,” he murmured. “They praised him for his antique virtue and excoriated me for lacking the same. But all his virtue saw him murdered, while my despised craft saw me survive and endure and guide Mistral out of the anarchy and to the renewed prosperity which we are blessed withal. So it shall be again, if you are loyal to me and obedient to my will.”

She had told Swift Foot that she would obey the Steward in all things.

Terri-Belle bowed, taking a step back to bend lower, placing one fist above her heart. “I shall respects, obedient to your will, my lord,” she declared. “It shall be done.”

---

A startled cry ran through the Square of Heroes as the picture was lost.

The composition of the crowd was not what it had been, when so many had gathered to watch Pyrrha Nikos triumph for Mistral over Weiss Schnee in the Amity Colosseum; people had gone home since there, or departed from the square at least, but others had trickled in to replace them, as if driven from their homes at this moment of confusion by the need for companionship, for someone — for a great many someones — to share their confusion and their fear with.

Turnus had remained too, with his remaining escorts, not because he wanted to share his feelings with the crowd so much as because he wanted to understand how the crowd was feeling, how the people of Mistral were reacting to all of this; he would get a better sense of that here in the Square of Heroes with so many people surrounding him than he would at home watching the news.

Someone with a bit of technical knowhow had clambered over the metal barriers that had surrounded the giant screens set up for the final match and tinkered with them in order to, for want of a better expression, change the channel. They had not done so until after the fighting had moved decisively out of the Amity Arena, and so, Turnus and the people had been given a good view of the fighting there.

That had produced a rallying of the public mood, for a moment; though the people had gasped when the shield was broken and the grimm began to descend into the heart of the arena, when Arslan Altan had led all the swords of Haven out onto the battlefield, a great cheer had risen up from the assembled masses, a cheer that Turnus could only imagine was echoed across the living rooms and bedrooms of Mistral by all those watching. At that moment, as the students of Haven swarmed the griffons, the initial shock of the grimm attack had lost a little of its sting, and it had been possible to believe that order would swiftly be restored.

The failure of Pyrrha to kill that teryx and its accompanying griffon had put a little dent in that enthusiasm, true, but that had been due to the incompetence of Jaune Arc, and in any case, the grimm had retired even if they were not killed. Things had seemed to be going fairly well, until everyone had left the arena and it had become impossible to see what was happening.

At which point, some enterprising soul had changed the channel, and Turnus had spent the rest of the night — it was coming up to morning in Mistral, though it remained the dead of night in Vale to the west of them — watching a collage of confusion, as various reporters in Vale tried to work out what was happening.

A madness seemed to have gripped Vale; a literal madness, apparently, something about the command staff of their military losing their minds and deciding that now, in the midst of a grimm attack, was the perfect time to start a war with the Atlesians. And then, and this was something Turnus had gathered from his scroll as much as from the giant screens in the square, the First Councillor had come in, accompanied by Pyrrha and Ruby's slandered teammate Sunset Shimmer, and like the adult in the room, told the children to put their toys away and go to bed.

It was like a comic opera interlude with deadly consequences, a clownish subplot in which some people had ended up dead. It was absolutely bizarre. Turnus wasn't sure what to make of it. A mass delirium? Had anyone ever heard of such a thing before?

Mind you, there could be mass hysteria, so why not mass delirium? They were all just surges of emotion amongst a crowd, no?

Speaking of mass hysteria, Turnus was afraid that the mood of the crowd had only gone downhill from the initial moments of hope when it had seemed like all things might be swiftly tied up and the grimm incursion dealt with.

Partly, that was due to the chaos in Vale, a chaos which was only partly the result of mass delirium. Even before the Valish Defence Forces had decided to succumb to a bout of lunacy, there had been reports of grimm cultists running rampant, power blackouts, the Valish punditry barricaded in their own studio while murderous cultists tried to break in and kill them all. People had been understandably concerned for the fate of the Mistralian tourists and the Haven students — friends, relatives, admired idols, or simply their fellow countrymen — who seemed to have wandered into first a snakepit and then, as news about the Valish Defence Force trickled in, a madhouse. The fact that the First Councillor had cleaned up that particular mess was not so reassuring when set against the fact that the mess had been made in the first place.

And then there were the grimm, who had continued to attack; it had become increasingly clear that this was no minor grimm incursion, no opportunistic attack of a few fliers, no; no, the fighting had moved from the Amity Arena down to Beacon, and then to the outskirts of Vale itself, where Atlesian troops and huntsmen from all the schools were presently engaged. There were no cameras out there, no reporters venturing out into the field, but from within Vale, the cameras had been able to see the Atlesian warships firing lasers and missiles, and the sounds of artillery had been heard through the speakers.

There were clearly a very large number of grimm outside of Vale, trying to batter their way through the defences, so many grimm that it defied credulity that they could have stolen up on Vale without anyone, especially not the vaunted Atlesian airship pilots, noticing their presence.

It was clear, even to the crowds unlearned in the ways of the grimm who gathered in the square, and no doubt beyond the square as well, that the Valish had known — they must have known — that the grimm were gathered about their city in great numbers.

They had known, and yet, they had done nothing. They had let the people of Mistral come to their city, the students of Haven, scions of ancient families, the hopes and expectations of Mistral's future, they had let them place their heads in the jaws of a monster. And now, the jaws were trying to slam shut.

Curses were raised against the name of Vale, its leaders, its people; more curses would be raised by far if anyone of note were found to have fallen in this battle. The death of Phoebe, the destruction of the Kommenos family, had passed little regarded in the general enthusiasm for Pyrrha's triumph, amidst Phoebe's own unpopularity and the low regard into which the Kommenos family had fallen since the Great War. But if Arslan Altan should perish, or Jason and Meleager, or gods forbid, Pyrrha herself … such a roar of fury would rise from the streets as would make the White Tower tremble.

Perhaps they had fallen already; it was impossible to say for sure because the battle had been observed at such a distance that the gap between those reporting and the events on which they reported — speculated, almost — had seemed almost as great as the distance between those watching in Mistral and the events in far-off Vale of which they sought to learn. It was impossible to say who was alive, who had perished, who was wounded; all that could be said was that the battle had not ended yet, that the Atlesians at least fought on, their ships at least clear to see. Beyond that, beyond the fact that the grimm had clearly not been beaten yet — driven from Beacon, true, but that had not stopped them from assaulting Vale immediately after — the people had nothing but their faith in their heroes to sustain them as they waited for news with increasing anxiety.

And then that grimm had appeared.

It was like … Turnus would not say it was like nothing he had ever seen because it resembled certain fossils in the Mistralian Museum, but as far as grimm went, he had never heard of anything like it. It was huge; even at the distance from which the cameras showed it, it was huge, and only grew larger as it surged from afar towards the battle.

Grimm of monstrous size existed, Turnus had known that already, but to see one, even via the medium of a camera … as it flew forwards, Turnus found that there was a part of him that expected, that feared, that it would lunge through the screen and turn its wrath upon the Mistralian crowd.

Judging by the way the crowd had edged away from the screen, it seemed he had not been alone in that.

It had looked a mighty beast and had proven its might by the way it smashed through the Atlesian airships as though they were toys. Turnus' eyes had widened to behold it, that Atlas the modern, Atlas the advanced, Atlas the strong, Atlas that embraced the future and showed the model for a successful kingdom, Atlas was being defeated before his very eyes, having all its pride and its pretensions torn to shreds.

And then the grimm — the dragon, they called it, after the creatures whose bones were on display in the museum — had turned its attention on the other side of the battlefield, where it was thought the sons and daughters of Mistral were, and though they could not be seen…

Turnus could not believe he was the only one wondering how Mistralian swords could overcome a power that had triumphed over all the Atlesian technology.

And then they had lost the picture.

Not just the picture on the great screens, although they had gone black, but scrolls too. There was no more news from Vale, no more news from anywhere, no sites of any kind; everything was connection errors.

But Turnus could call Lausus, who was standing right beside him, and he could call Camilla also.

She answered at once. For a moment, as her face appeared on the screen, it seemed that she was chewing on her lip. She stopped almost immediately. "My lord? How are things?"

"Not good," Turnus said quickly. "Camilla, do you have the television on?"

Camilla frowned. "We have lost our connection, my lord; is it the same with you as well?"

"It is," Turnus confirmed. "And is there anything on your scroll?"

"You," Camilla pointed out. "But no, I cannot access the CCT; I am told it's unavailable. Opis has found the same, and Juturna. What's going on?"

"I fear…" Turnus murmured. "Stay where you are, protect the house, keep Juturna safe."

"Are you coming back, my lord?"

"Soon, perhaps, but not yet," Turnus told her.

"Then be safe," Camilla urged him. "I fear the mood on the streets—"

"Is not a happy one," Turnus agreed. "But I'll be fine. You will see me shortly, I promise. In the meantime, take care yourself—"

"And of Juturna," Camilla finished. "Have no fear; she is safe in my charge."

"No doubt," Turnus said, even managing a slight smile before he hung up.

"What do you think it means, my lord?" asked Lausus.

Turnus put his scroll away. "It means," he began, "it means that … it may mean that the whole network is down, the CCT tower in Vale has been knocked out."

It may have meant that, or it might not, but it certainly seemed likely, considering the presence of that enormous grimm and the fact that it had been last seen heading in the direction of Beacon.

If the CCT was down, then … no communications across Remnant. No access to his money in Atlas — that was a wrench, but it did make him glad that he'd sold his SDC stocks when he did; they were in Mistralian assets now — no way of contacting his bailiffs or managers on his country estates, no way of contacting the subsidiary offices of Rutulian Security. No way for Juturna to talk to her friend Ruby.

No way of knowing what was going on in Vale right now. The flower of Mistral could be dying as they stood here, and they would have even less knowledge of it than they had had before. They were reduced, as their ancestors had been reduced, to looking for their coming from the White Tower and hoping they would return.

Small wonder that a great cry of alarm had risen up from the people gathered in the square, everyone turning to one another and asking what it meant, everyone looking at their scrolls and finding nothing.

"What's going on?"

"What does it mean?"

The sounds of the speakers was replaced in the Square of Heroes by the chatter of a frantic crowd, all demanding answers that came not, spinning implications out of fear.

"If the grimm could get so close to Vale, perhaps they are in sight of Mistral also?"

"The job board has been shut down because the Steward dares not let any huntsman leave the city!"

"Our heroes and soldiers were sent away to fight in Vale, and we have been left defenceless!"

"Treachery! We are betrayed!"

"Good people, calm yourselves!" Turnus shouted, using his semblance to make himself seem taller in the eyes of men. "Calm yourselves, or you will run riot at phantoms and bring the grimm upon yourselves by your antic dispositions."

Eyes turned towards him. Many in the crowd began to recognise him, even if they had not noticed him before.

"Lord Rutulus, what is going on?"

"Lord Rutulus, are we safe?"

"Lord Rutulus, why is the CCT network down?"

"Lord Rutulus, what do you know? Tell us! Tell us!"

"There are no secret councils to which I am privy," Turnus told them. "There are no clandestine meetings of patricians to plot the betrayal of Mistral, I assure you; we are, as we have always been, united in our devotion to this great kingdom of ours and greatly desirous for its success, prosperity, and safety. I know no more than I have seen and heard tonight, which is to say I know no more than you." He paused. "I am no prophet new-inspired to tell you with certainty that our Vytal Champion and all the sons and daughters of Haven will return safely, although I hope as dearly as the rest of you that they shall return with laurels bright upon their brows and glories fit to grace the names of ancient houses trailing in their wake. But I cannot promise you that, nor can any honest man or woman. What I can tell you is that … fear will undo us long before we meet the foe."

Those had been his father's words; he had spoken them when he had vowed to end the growing Anarchy that was engulfing Mistral and bring down the enigmatic master criminal at the centre of the growing web of crime. He had urged his fellow citizens to take courage and stand up for their city. Fear, as he had said, would undo them long before the criminals moved in.

Fear had already undone the people of Mistral by the time he spoke those words, and it had fallen to Camilla to display all courage and resolve that was to be found in the whole city, but that did not make his father wrong; the words he had spoken were as true as the day they had passed his lips.

"I do not say that there is nothing to fear," Turnus went on. "But are we not Mistralians? Were our ancestors not renowned for their valour? Would they not be ashamed to see you now, cowering at shadows, or less than shadows, letting your wild imaginations run amok, conjuring monsters to devour you? People of Mistral, go home. Pray to your gods if you are so inclined, and if not, then send at least your good wishes to our students fighting in Vale. And in the meantime…" — Turnus was aware, at least a part of him was, that he might be overstepping his bound at this point, but he might also be seizing an opportunity — "in the meantime, I will guarantee the safety of the city. If any grimm approach, they will be met with force and put to death before they reach our streets, you have my word."

There was no great cheer of enthusiasm, there was no outpouring of gratitude, but in the circumstances, Turnus was inclined to call it a success that he wasn't met by derisive jeering. The very fact that some in the crowd looked at least a little reassured was, in itself, reassuring to him.

There seemed little else to be said, even as it felt as though he hadn't closed strong enough. "This is Mistral," Turnus declared. "And Mistral she shall ever remain, so long as Mistral's folk stay true to her."

He turned away, moving through a crowd that parted to make way for him, while his warriors — Lausus, Aventinus, Silvia, Tulla, and Ufens — followed after him.

Lausus walked quickly, so as to draw almost level with him. "You will guarantee the safety of the city, my lord?" he asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice.

"This is my home, as much as anyone else's," Turnus pointed out. "I want to see it fall no more than any other man, and no doubt less than some."

"No one wants to see Mistral fall, my lord," Ufens called out from behind. "But if a big bugger like that one we saw turns up, I don't know what we could do about it."

"As well ask what we could do if the gods wished to see Mistral fall, Ufens," Turnus declared. He turned to face his men, walking backwards as he spoke. "Some things we mortal men cannot stand before, but that is no reason we cannot dare defy the rest. If a titan should appear, then yes, we will die, but I will not let the fear of such keep me cowering at home while beowolves prowl about the walls."

"Fair point, my lord," Silvia said.

"Lord Thrax and Lady Terri-Belle may think we take too much upon ourselves, lord," Lausus murmured.

"You mean I take too much upon myself?" Turnus asked.

"Our fortunes rise and fall with yours," Lausus pointed out. "You are the moon, and we the tides you pull this way and that … but yes, my lord, it's mostly you."

"If Lady Terri-Belle had wished to speak and calm the crowd, she could have been there," Turnus declared. "And if she wishes to stand upon the wall, I shall not stop her."

"Just as well, lord; there aren't many of us to do it alone," muttered Ufens.

"That is why we're not going to stand upon the wall," Turnus said as he got out his scroll and called Camilla once again.

"My lord," she said as she answered. "Is there more news?"

"No," Turnus said. "But I want you to get two, no, three airships, then meet me at the skydock with most of our people. Leave Opis, Drances, Gyas, Halaesus, and Messapus to guard Juturna, with Messapus in command."

"At once, my lord," Camilla said. "But why, if I may ask?"

"We're going to mount aerial patrols around Mistral to make sure nothing approaches the city," Turnus said. "If any patrol spots any grimm, they'll engage and destroy them."

"Do you think a grimm attack is likely, my lord?" asked Camilla.

"I honestly don't know," Turnus admitted. "But either way, the people will remember it."

Author's Note:

And so we have the last 'view from across Remnant' chapter, fittingly coming at precisely the moment at which all these characters stop being able to see what's happening.

The idea of the grimm bringing down the CCT and causing a worldwide comms blackout is one of the coolest ideas in Volume 3, to be honest, and it causes a lot of difficulties for the characters once they become separated, so I want to keep it here because even though they aren't separated at the moment, they will be.

The suggestion that Terra might lose her job as a result of the blackout is a reminder that it's not just big, sweeping, 'Ironwood can't command his military' consequences to all this, there are smaller issues like CCT technicians no longer being required to the extent that they were.

Of the scenes here, the most important are probably the ones at the end, with Terri-Belle and Turnus, as they help to set up for Volume 4. As Lord Thrax willingly cedes ground by failing to intervene at the moment of crisis, Turnus moves in, presenting himself as an alternative rallying point. One of the issues with his plan in the original was the idea that the people would look to him when he wasn't doing anything, but here he is taking action, the only one who is, and so his hopes for public opinion to swing his way look more grounded.

I will be away on Friday so no new chapter; the next chapter will be up on Monday 1st July

Comments

[Mastermind4892]

Message from the Kingdom of Vale. Stop.

Titan-class Grimm attacking Communication Tower. Stop.

Shit’s all fucked up. Stop.

[AngelicTitan]

That was a heavy chapter as the CCT falls, so do all news of Vale for the rest of Remnant. I find kinda of unsettling how we jumped from high stakes actions with everyone 1 wrong step or decision away from death to seeing the outside world, and people living their lives normally, the only connection to the terrifying conflict the screens.
It not only makes it very evident how devastating things are in Vale, but it also makes me realize how this may be happening around our own world with the wars raging in the other side of the planet. That’s the most shaking part of this chapter, and it’s what got me the most here. We are just spectating someone’s life and death scenarios.
Regardless, I loved how hopeless things seems and how people don’t realized how bad things were, and how fucking confusing the whole Siren business became. I also like how Sunset was shown with Councilor Emerald, she’s shown doing good, what she can in this moment.
I think next chapter we will the consequences of the blackout on Vale itself, and I hope we may see Sunset’s perspective on the whole Dragon business.

[Kiue Jin]

Lord Thrax's paranoia and insecurity about his position is... kind of working against him. Because on the one hand, the fact that he is completely abandoning the common people to safe guard himself and the noble government is... bad. In a moment of crisis, the government doing nothing but protecting itself and the elites is going to cause issues going forward.

However, there is a strange flip side to this. Because if Watts or Tyrian (Mostly Tyrian to be honest) had been able to take advantage of the chaos of the situation to murder Terri-Belle while she was out in the field, all hell breaks loose. While Terri-Belle's loyalty to an increasingly paranoid and insecure Steward is a liability, she is still a stabilizing force who actually cares about the well being of her people. Her being killed would easily send Lord Thrax over the edge...

Then again, I doubt the Steward is doing this for his daughter's benefit. He's too... self centered for that. But honestly, at least as far as Salem's agents are concerned, he's perfectly fine. He's a civil war waiting to happen after all.

[Stet709]

And just when I was saying the CCT tower was still standing, it goes down... crap...

I like the improved setup for post-V3
Not to mention this:

"So I'll either get a letter from Jaune telling me that he made it through the battle okay," Saphron said, "or he was too lazy to put pen to paper."

IYKYK

Well, we can see from Leaf's section that Sunset's contribution in aiding the First Councillor was indeed made public. What people think of that in light of the leak is anyone's guess.

Getting some Denethor vibes from LOTR from Lord Thrax. Feels his position is threatened by another (who doesn't really want it, I might add)? Check. Abandons his city in favor of himself? Check.

[BeardedRedMane]

Turnus is right, the people will remember this. When the city was in panic and left defenseless while their leaders hid behind closed doors more worried about their own safety instead of that of the people. Lord Thrax is a fool.

[Kiue Jin]

...You know, two pieces of world building that I recently saw in another Rwby crossover story that makes... well, a surprising amount of sense when you stop and consider it.

1. Prisons on Remnant have to be built with rehabilitation and reintegrating prisoners back into the community in mind.

2. The Death penalty must always be a valid option for truly serious crimes.

The logic being this is dictated by the existence of the Grimm. A prison on Remnant built with the intention of punishing criminals is going to be an absolute beacon of negative energy that no sane settlement is going to want anywhere bloody near them. You could build it somewhere fair away from a settlement (Sort of like the SDC slave ring did), but the supply logistics of that aside, you would literally have to fortify the place so heavily to prevent Grimm from just overrunning it. I'm sure that some nations in the past might have done this has unethical Grimm 'magnets' in order to draw the beasts into a battlefield of their choice that is of little meaning if the battle is lost, but the modern era doesn't seem the sort to do that.

So justice departments on Remnant would naturally lean towards rehabilitation for most crimes.

For the truly heinous crimes in which rehabilitation isn't really on the cards, there is the death penalty. You can't be a bundle of negativity, drawing the Grimm towards innocent people if you're fucking dead.