I dreamed of a moment that I thought I had long since come to terms with.
Alex and I were at the company when we got the call, discussing a new project that was dumped on us by the higher-ups before our old one just went out the door.
NYPD said that it was a hit-and-run. That it was an accident.
They gave their condolences and moved on.
Not caring one bit that their words and destroyed our worlds completely.
It was a closed-casket ceremony. Mainly because her body was far too damaged after the crash. Hell, it took a lot of effort for Alex and I to identify her in the morgue before they handed over the body to us for the final rites.
I still remember it like yesterday.
Alex had this hollow look, one that I probably shared, as he held a three-year-old Sam who kept asking him where her 'mommy' was.
I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back.
He shut down completely for many days after that, forcing me to supress my own grief and look after Sam while dragging Alex to therapy.
I did not blame him for his reaction. After all, to us, Diana was our only family outside each other.
To us, a pair of orphans, she was the beacon of light that stopped us from becoming the same kind of scum that call the streets of New York home.
And now, that beacon was gone.
I woke up from the dream, with tears flowing down my face. The dark hotel room that I booked after my very first mercenary work illuminated only by the low-wattage lamp on the desk nearby.
Why did I have this dream after so many years?
I think it is because I lost my world all over again. And this time, I have no one left.
——————————————————————————-
"What is the ETA?"
"Ten minutes!"
Qrow Branwen snarled at the words from the pilot, taking a swing from his flask before strapping his weapon, the Harbinger, to his back.
Looking out the viewport on the Bullhead, he spotted the dense smoke rising from Yamamura, the frontier village of Mistral.
Over the city, in the skies, Nevermore circled the city like the predators they were, taking potshots with their feathers at anything moving they spotted.
On the ground, even from this distance, he could spot the broken walls of the mountain settlement, showing that at least a few Goliaths had made their way in.
The frantic distress call from nearly half an hour ago that attracted his attention in the first place also mentioned several packs of Beowulves, a hive of Lancers, and even a Geist.
He did not need his decades of experience to tell him that this settlement was done for, even if they somehow managed to beat this invasion. The damage to the infrastructure and the loss of lives too large for this place to continue existing afterwards.
Yet, he is a Huntsman, and he must do his duty that he swore an oath to uphold all those years ago.
As the Bullhead approached the city, the Nevermore spotted the aircraft and immediately started to pelt it with their feathers, forcing the pilot to dodge and weave through the attack.
"I can't get any closer! Those Nevermore will shred through us if I try!!"
"Alright! Open the doors and retreat! Wait for my signal before coming back. Follow the standard Total Loss protocol if I don't call back in three hours!"
"Got it!!"
With his piece said, Qrow jumped out the doors that opened, disappearing into the canopy below.
Then, from the end of the treeline, a corvid flew out, heading straight for the city.
Flying over the city burning up, all he saw was a disaster.
Blood pooling across the streets from various torn-apart bodies. Screams and cries for help abruptly silenced before he could even triangulate their general vicinity. Roars and shrieks of the Grimm dominating the night sky.
Then, he saw it.
Somewhere in the northern district, there was a large collection of Grimm.
At once, he flapped as hard as he could, making a beeline straight for the gathering.
One of the first lessons a huntsman receives early on in their education is that, should they ever be in a situation similar to this, they must always head to the largest cluster of Grimm in the vicinity.
Because where there is a large cluster of Grimm, there is a similarly large cluster of survivors whose negativity is drawing in said Grimm.
And sure enough, the moment he got close, he saw a rather large number of survivors.
Without hesitation, he ducked into a nearby alley and transformed back into his regular form, Harbringer already in its Scythe form.
Qrow was like a living storm, cleaving through everything that got in his way.
The Beowulves? Either decapitated or dismembered on the spot.
The Lancers? Turned into minced meat.
Nothing could withstand a single swing from his blade, allowing him to carve a path through the large swarm of the Grimm.
However, his moments stalled for barely a few seconds the moment he spotted what was happening at the very center of this swarm.
It was a boy, no older than his eldest niece.
His flaming crimson hair was sticking to his head, as his cold blue eyes stared at the monsters he was fighting with a focus and calculation that seemed far too out of place on a child's face.
But the thing that gave him pause was not what the boy looked like. It was what he was doing.
His feet dug into the ground, which kept rupturing with his every step, creating deep, molten craters, signifying the absurd strength and unfathomable heat the boy was deploying in the fight.
His skin shining with a crimson glow, like molten metal, probably a side effect of whatever semblance he was using.
Behind him, huddled together in the broken restaurant, were a few dozen civilians, including many children and women, showing that this group was separated from other groups that should have been evacuated to the bunkers the moment invasion alarms were sounded.
The moment any other Grimm surrounding them got close to the civilians, the boy would suddenly let go of one of the tusks and throw a superheated rock at the Grimm, shattering its body.
However, with each one of these actions, the boy was pushed back a step, making him steadily lose ground to the monster he was facing.
As for the Grimm that the boy was facing? It was a beast that somebody his age or even those twice his age had no business being involved with.
A Goliath.
A juvenile, given the smaller size compared to a fully grown one, but a Goliath nonetheless.
A beast capable of turning buildings to rubble and breaking through walls as if they were made of paper.
And the boy was holding it back while holding onto its tusks. Stubbornly anchoring it in place with whatever impossibly powerful semblance he had.
The moment he realized the stakes of what he was seeing, Qrow's speed increased severalfold as he dumped most of his Aura into enhancing his physical parameters and what remained into his Scythe's blade.
One after another, Aura slashes filled the air, decimating the horde like a blade cutting through grass.
Finally, with most of the threats dealt with, the seasoned huntsman jumped onto the Goliath and, with a single swing, severed its head, killing it instantly.
With the pressure gone, the boy's shoulders slumped as he panted in slight exhaustion before recovering quickly and staring at Qrow with wariness.
The veteran huntsman did not miss how the boy recovered from such a draining fight so quickly.
Whatever the boy's power was, it was in a class of its own. That much he could tell straight away.
But this is neither the place nor the time for such thinking.
Seeing that the boy was fine and could probably still fight, the huntsman quickly suppressed his emotions and spoke out.
"Qrow Branwen, Huntsmen."
"Ignis Ruben, Mercinery."
That statement, once again, gave the man a pause as he searched for any obvious tattoos on the boy's body that he could find.
If he were a mercenary in Mistral, it meant that he was most likely associated with a crime family.
That makes things easier.
He instantly stopped seeing the boy as another potential rescue target and started considering him as a potential asset in this disaster.
"Any other survivors?"
"Unknown. I ran into this group when I was headed for the town's exit. But there might be some in the Eastern district. They have far more robust architecture and defensive positions there."
Qrow nodded at those words.
"I'll check it out. Can you guide these survivors to the bunkers? I'll pay you for it after the job is done."
"....Fine."
And so it was that the first ever connection between the outsider and the crow was forged in the fires of a dying city.