Beacon Academy: Ozpin's Office
A few months ago...
"I assure you, Qrow, James hasn't sent me anything indicating that Evelyn has gone rogue," Ozpin said, not understanding why Qrow didn't trust Evelyn after her return from a mission in Menagerie. Evelyn was essential for getting there in the first place.
Ozpin had assumed that both Qrow and Evelyn would build trust and camaraderie since they were on the same side. However, ever since returning from their successful mission, Qrow had been checking in to see if Evelyn had done something wrong.
Across from him stood Qrow Branwen, arms crossed and brows furrowed. This time, his usual slouch seemed more like a cog waiting to explode, as if he were bracing himself for something. His jaw clenched around unspoken thoughts.
"She didn't go rogue," he said finally. "That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?" Glynda Goodwitch asked, her voice cutting clean across the office as she looked up from a scroll.
She had been reviewing the mission logs, even the paper report, perfectly clean. No casualties. No property damage. And yet Qrow acted like they'd brought back a ticking bomb.
Qrow's mouth twisted. "Yeah. That's the problem."
Ozpin raised a brow. "You'll have to explain, Qrow."
The Huntsman ran a hand through his dark hair and began pacing, his boots thudding softly against the floor. The view of Vale's skyline beyond the tower windows remained untouched by the tension in the room.
"I've worked with a lot of people," Qrow muttered. "Soldiers. Spies. Huntsman and Huntresses. Even murderers. You spend enough time with someone, and you get a read on them. Their reactions. Their quirks. Evelyn? She doesn't have any of that."
Glynda frowned. "Are you suggesting she's hiding something?"
Qrow shook his head. "No. I'm saying she's numb. She didn't flinch when a White Fang member pulled a knife on a kid. She disarmed him, froze his legs, broke his arm, and knocked the guy out. She didn't say a word on the trip home. Didn't eat. Didn't sleep, far as I could tell."
Ozpin's gaze lingered on the window. "Perhaps she was simply focused on the mission at hand."
Qrow stopped pacing and turned to face him.
"It's her eyes, Oz. She's not looking at people anymore. She's looking through them. Like she's already a thousand miles away. And when she talks…" He trailed off, then sighed. "She doesn't sound like an eighteen-year-old. She sounds like she's buried someone every week for a year straight."
The silence in the room deepened.
Glynda crossed her arms. "She has buried people, Qrow. She's a Winter Maiden who grew up in Mantle's slums. She's endured more than most regular people twice her age."
"I know," he said softly. "I know. That's what worries me. Who knows when she will start showing hatred for people that aren't faunus."
Ozpin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The soft whir of gears from above was the only sound breaking the growing silence, like a clock ticking down to a timer.
"She hasn't," Ozpin said after a long moment. "She hasn't shown any signs of aligning with the White Fang or inciting rebellion. Her reports have been meticulous. Clean. If anything, Evelyn seems more detached from them than I expected, almost like she doesn't want to be associated at all."
"That's what I'm getting at," Qrow muttered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I think she's starting to crack under the pressure. It's only a matter of time before she snaps. I mean, come on, Atlas treats faunus like dirt, and the White Fang? They're getting more aggressive by the day..."
Glynda arched an eyebrow. "You're suggesting she's... what? A teenager waiting to snap?"
"I'm saying she's too controlled." Qrow exhaled sharply. "Too quiet. When she fights, it's like watching a machine made of ice. That doesn't happen unless you've had all your emotions burned out of you."
Ozpin stood and walked to the window, gazing out over Beacon Academy, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was unreadable, eyes lost in the clouds, slowly rolling in above the school.
"There's a difference between control and suppression," he said softly. "One is learned. The other is survival."
He turned back to them, his gaze heavy with experience.
"She was given power by chance, not choice. And she bears it alone, far more than any of us will understand. The fear of discovery, the fear of failure, the unjustly to faunus all around the world."
Qrow looked down at his flask but didn't open it.
"I'm not saying she's going to go White Fang," Qrow said. "But people like her, people with that much pain and power wrapped up in one soul, they don't get better in silence. They either break or they burn out."
Glynda nodded grimly. "Then perhaps we should stop watching her like a threat, and start helping her like an ally."
She then turned to her scroll, around in her hand, and brought up a file of a surveillance image from Menagerie. It showed Evelyn standing near a refugee camp, cloak fluttering behind her on the island, several Faunus children clinging to her legs while she was patting their heads while smiling.
"She's gained a reputation," Glynda noted. "They call her the Snow Princess or Sister."
Ozpin's eyes lingered on the image as he turned to see the picture Glynda had on her scroll.
It was blurry, caught from a distance, but unmistakably Evelyn, her silver-white hair catching the sunlight like fresh snow, her arms gentle around children, feeding their warm food, those children's lives had known nothing but hunger and abuse.
"She smiles with them," Glynda added quietly, "in a way I've never seen her do around us."
Qrow stepped closer and squinted at the photo. "It's a good smile," he admitted. "But it's not real."
Ozpin's brow furrowed. "What makes you say that?"
Qrow tapped the side of his head with two fingers. "Because I know what a real smile looks like. That smile in the photo? It's for them. Not for herself. That's the kind of smile you wear when you're trying to convince the world you're not breaking apart inside."
Glynda closed the file and set her scroll down. "Then maybe we shouldn't be talking about her like she's not here. We should bring her in. Give her a voice in all this."
Ozpin gave a slow nod. "Yes. You're both right. She deserves honesty, not observation and time."
"All I'm asking is that you keep an eye on her. I believe Ironwood isn't sharing all the information he told us. Just watch over her and keep me updated," Qrow said before walking away to the elevator to leave the office.
As Qrow was gone, Ozpin sighed and took another sip from his mug.
"I can only hope that your theory is misguided, Qrow. If you are indeed correct, then the White Fang's increasing aggression is even more alarming than I feared. It won't be long before they begin targeting civilians and key locations, and soon enough, they will establish leadership among their ranks." Ozpin thought, wishing that Qrow's insights would turn out to be unfounded.
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Present time...Atlas Academy- Evelyn's room
Evelyn stood in silence for a moment, letting her cloak fall from her shoulders onto the bed as the soft click of the lock echoed in her room. It was clean. Too clean. White walls. Metal floor. A window that looked out over a city built on clouds and lies.
She had never decorated her room since coming to Atlas Academy when she was little. After all the things she experienced as a child, she lost the inspiration to do so and no longer had the vision for it that she once did.
She didn't move to turn on the lights.
Instead, she walked to the small desk by her bedside and sat down. She pressed her finger against the blue button to scan her fingerprint and unlock her device, activating her scroll. The glow from the screen illuminated her pale face with a cold blue light.
Atlas Broadcast News was already on-screen.
"…as tensions rise between Mantle residents and Atlesian military patrols, sources close to the Council say new curfew measures may be implemented to ensure the safety of the kingdom. In other news, Jacques Schnee remains under house arrest while Council hearings continue behind closed doors. No official charges have been—"
Evelyn shut the feed off.
Of course, there were no charges. Of course, there were no answers. Just curfews and containment. Control is used to cover up the problem instead of solving it.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, then slid through her message logs.
Requests to Ironwood for supplies for the faunus in the mines: Ignored.
Petitions for Faunus aid relief: Stalled.
Reports on illegal dust mines using children:Flagged. "Under investigation."
"Be patient."
The words echoed like a curse in her mind.
Be patient.
They always said that. Patience for the Council. Patience for "due process." Patience while the bodies piled up in ditches and cold alleys in Mantle.
Evelyn let out a shuddering breath and dropped her scroll on the desk with a soft clatter. She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, arms limp at her sides, as if the energy had bled out of her.
"Three favors," she whispered bitterly.
That was the deal.
Three favors in exchange for her silence. Her secrecy. Her obedience to the kingdom.
She'd only used one so far to shut down dust mines in Mantle that had forced children to work. The shutdown lasted three weeks. Then the mines reopened under a different name. Different owners.
Same corpses.
She had given the poor Faunus hope through her kindness by saving them, her own kind, whom she convinced that her actions saved them. But when she walked away, she was met with a sight that would haunt her; it was their lifeless bodies, eyes staring blankly in despair and betrayal. In that moment, the harsh truth hit her.
She was responsible for their deaths; she should have known that greedy people would keep them working to death and find ways to exploit them like animals. Humans are the root of evil to the faunus, her own kind.
The room was still dark. The glow of the shattered moonlight shined through the window, providing the only light in the room, casting a faint light on her cloak and the bed while the darkness covered half of the room where she was. Her fingers slowly curled into fists in her lap.
She didn't cry. She hadn't cried in years. The part of her that could do that had frozen over long ago, somewhere between her parents' final scream that she could hear in her dreams while she saw her grandmother's last breath.
But the silence? That she still felt. The silence always knew how to claw its way into her heart, curl up inside her, and whisper what she already feared most.
You can't save them.
You never could.
The silence wrapped around her like the cold. Familiar. Numbing. Almost comforting in its consistency.
But tonight, it gnawed.
She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor as her silver-white hair swayed. She paced once, twice, then stopped in front of the mirror embedded in the wall.
Her reflection stared back at her. With her silver-white hair, skin as pale as ice, and eyes that glowed faintly, heavy with the weight of her inheritance. She remembered how she looked when she first joined James Ironwood, thinking she could truly make a difference by saving her three favors. But now, years later, seeing herself felt like looking at a glass that was fractured and far from the vibrant person she once was.
Two favors remain, and the first was used in an attempt to stop the dust mines that were forcing children into labor. Although she had overstepped her boundaries, she managed to obtain evidence that could lead to the decline of Jacques Schnee's reputation and initiated investigations into other nobles and directors affiliated with the SDC. Currently, Jacques Schnee is under house arrest while the investigation is ongoing.
Despite having sufficient evidence, it appeared that the council and the officers did not believe the evidence presented. If that is justice, then it seems hypocritical in her eyes.
A symbol of hope and a protector of the people, that was what she was meant to be when she inherited the Winter Maiden powers.
She reached out and touched the mirror's surface.
"Liar," she whispered.
She raised her fist, ready to swing and shatter the mirror, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she lowered her head, allowing her hair to cover her eyes while she clenched her fists tightly. Her nails pierced through her black gloves, and blood began to drip from her hands onto the floor.
"Liar," she repeated.
The mirror didn't respond, nor did it lie.
--------------------------------------
Meanwhile...
The sharp clang of metal echoed in the training area.
Winter Schnee spun on her heel, using her rapier to deliver precise strikes against a holographic opponent, her movements fluid and focused. The projection staggered backward under the precise assault, only to vanish with a flicker of blue light. A second drone phased in immediately, and Winter advanced again, blade raised, posture flawless.
But her timing was off.
Her form, while textbook-perfect, was filled with impatience. She parried too early, struck too fast, and didn't wait for the hologram's next move. With another flicker, yet another opponent falls.
And still, her eyes glanced toward the door.
Again.
She reset the simulation and brought her blade to a ready stance. "Initiate Sequence 2."
Three more enemies spawned. Faster this time, better coordinated. She flowed through the first, danced past the second—but a misstep left a virtual blade grazing her shoulder.
The simulation flashed a warning, stopping the simulated battle.
Winter gritted her teeth and disengaged with a sharp breath, her blade lowered.
Evelyn was late.
They were always on time. They trained every other night in this exact room, like clockwork. Sparring wasn't just practice for them; it was their shared outlet. Their quiet promise that someone else understood.
Evelyn never missed unless something happened.
Winter turned toward the mirrored wall, pushing a few damp strands of white hair behind her ear. Her brow furrowed slightly. She didn't like admitting it, but Evelyn's absence worried her.
Evelyn was many things that she noticed, guarded, cold, quiet, but undisciplined was not one of them.
Not even close.
She stepped toward the weapons bench, laying her rapier gently onto its stand. The training room fell silent, save for her boots against the polished floor and the hum of the heating vents.
Winter looked toward the clock on the wall. Twenty-seven minutes late.
She exhaled through her nose and walked over to the small bench near the lockers, opening her scroll. Still no message. No ping. Nothing.
Winter stared at her scroll for a long moment, the silence of the training room now louder than any battlefield. The screen reflected off her pale face, casting a faint blue glow that seemed to highlight the faintest wrinkle of worry at the edge of her brow.
Twenty-eight minutes now.
She tapped out a message.
Winter: [You're late. Are you okay?]
She hovered over the send button for a moment… then pressed it.
The message went through.
No response after a while.
She placed her scroll down beside her, her gloves folded neatly next to it. Arms rested on her knees, hands clasped together as she stared down at the floor, where her own reflection looked back at her in the polished metal tiles.
Evelyn had changed, but not in the usual ways people do as they grow up or become stronger. It was more like she had come back from a war that no one else believed had happened. She didn't talk much about her past, not really, but a little bit.
Still, Winter could see the shadows in her eyes, the same shadows Winter sometimes recognized in her own reflection when she was back at her home at the Schnee Mansion.
Evelyn never asked for comfort. She didn't complain; she just kept walking, as if things would improve with time. However, as time passed, Winter noticed that Evelyn was getting distant from everyone, which Winter didn't mind since they weren't that close, maybe rivals.
If one thing is certain, she didn't understand everything about Evelyn. No one did.
There were some moments when Evelyn let her guard down. During these instances, Winter could see the person beneath the frost. Evelyn was more than just a Faunus; she was a girl who might be dealing with attachment issues rooted in her past, desperately trying to hold onto something.
But lately… those moments were getting rarer.
Her scroll buzzed suddenly.
Winter's heart skipped.
She grabbed it, holding her breath.
But it wasn't Evelyn.
It was an Atlas Military alert: another protest in Mantle had been dispersed by Atlesian forces. Several injuries. No deaths reported. Standard language. Sanitized and brief.
Winter's thumb lingered on the screen.
No deaths reported.
That didn't mean there weren't any.
It just meant no one important enough had died for it to matter.
She let out a sharp breath through her nose, stood up, and picked up her rapier from the rack. Even though her training session was over, her mind was still buzzing. The room seemed to close in around her, feeling tight and restrictive, almost as if her own frustration was caging her in.
She didn't want to admit it aloud, but she'd been growing… concerned about Evelyn.
Not as a soldier but as a person.
She moved toward the locker and began to change out of her gear, slipping into her standard Atlas Military uniform, the buttons on her uniform snapping shut with brisk, practiced routine. Her hands hesitated at the last one, though.
What if she's not answering because she's hurt? What if she's—
Winter clenched her jaw and shook the thought away. Evelyn could handle herself. She always did.
After all, she was the most improved and considered a prodigy in Atlas; she can handle herself, so she shouldn't worry.
She needed to report back to General Ironwood about any missions that required her attention.