Hey everyone! I just wanted to say that this fic probably won't go too far. It's just an idea I had and now I'm trying to write a few thousands words on it. Also, I've just took part to a contest of short stories where the max limit was 5k words, so now I want to write more. I'm just passing my time like this.

The library was silent.

Normally, people would assume that libraries should always be silent, but that happened only when there were actual rules to back that up. When a library had no rules whatsoever, it became no more and no less than a room filled with books. However, that day the library was silent.

And the book was very interesting, too.

Not that he cared much about the book's contents anyway. It was just an excuse to stay alone and in peace. Besides, he had already read much about the anatomy of an Ursa. Just like he had read enough on basically every subject the library provided. Politics apart. He really hated formal subjects. He preferred subjects like the three races -those being faunuses, humans and Grimm-, fairy tales -his mistress did tell him they were important, plus they were fun-, sometimes following his uncle's advice and reading materials like psychology or parapsychology. He had never been good at those.

The current book was about the humans conflicts with the faunuses.

He found the whole ordeal aberrantly stupid and born from a prejudice so abjectly racist that it made him sick. Humans and faunuses were both people. And besides, humans could've been defined as faunus without any visible animal part, so there shouldn't even have been a racial distinction. If the Grimm didn't differentiate between human and faunus, then why should they humans do it? Surely humans were more intelligent than Grimm... right?

The book said otherwise.

Of all the battles and wars against the faunuses, he specifically couldn't understand the ones to force them into Menagerie. Apart from the outrageous name, whose synonymous was "zoo", the island was simply inhospitable. Two thirds of it were deadly desert, scorching hot at day and freezing cold at night. The remaining third... was definitely overcrowded. Despite not housing a single human, Menagerie was too small to contain such an amount of faunuses. He suspected humans had forced the faunus there just to gather them where they could be hit easily.

Why would humans exterminate faunuses, he didn't know.

With a sigh, he flipped a page. That wasn't the time to question humans' decisions. The wars were over, although the racism wasn't, and among his great powers -like living, breathing, speaking, eating and so many more- there wasn't time travel. He couldn't do anything about the wars. What really ticked him off was that humans still acted like they were in the right. Even after the White Fang had turned into a terrorist organization, even after the bloody fights that occurred almost daily across Remnant, the humans were still keen on faulting the faunuses for everything. Besides, it wasn't like they had a choice in being a faunus or not.

Faulting them for being faunuses was like faulting someone for being human. It wasn't just pointless: it was idiotic. He would really have liked someone to explain him why the humans treated the faunuses like that, but all the answers he had gotten were vague or dismissive. Racism was just there, without a reason and filled with blind stupidity, but unfortunately it was there. He had read that one of the most steadfast "supporters" of the racism was the Schnee Dust Corporation.

Maybe that was why his mistress disliked Dust so much.

He couldn't bring himself to deny the fact that the SDC -or at least the SDC's owner- was one of the worst racists he had ever heard of, if the rumours about the faunus extreme exploit were anywhere near the truth. But at the same time Dust was a useful material, deployed in both military and everyday use. He seriously doubted all those Bullheads and airships were completely Dustless. And as for the military, basically every single Hunstman used Dust-infused weaponry. His dad was no exception, just like his two "uncles" and his "aunt". He knew they actually weren't related, but since they were significantly older than him and he saw them often, he had got used to calling them so... although not in his father's presence. Dad wouldn't have allowed it.

Dad was like that.

He continued to read with a bored expression. The interest had come to an end around an hour before, and now it was just another book about violence and pointless massacres. A reading worth of a Huntsman... if only it hadn't been on such a stupidly bloody subject. He really couldn't understand how people could claim that the Grimm were the greatest threat, while it was obvious that interracial wars, crimes and accidents killed just as many. The Grimm killed people, but at least they did not steal, cheat, betray, lie or rape. They were simple: kill humans and faunuses. The people, on the other hand, were completely unpredictable. They could be offering a tea one day and stabbing in the back the following one.

One could almost see the Grimm as the better race.

Almost. The Grimm were not cruel nor merciful at killing, but they killed. It was just that. They. Killed. People. On the other hand, while among them there might have been not the best individuals, people could also be greatly helpful. They could protect, love, defend, heal, repair, build, work, and many other things. Huntsmen and Huntresses were people, they weren't Grimm... although there was the rumour of Grimm so powerful to be considered the Grimm version of the Hunstmen, but it had never been confirmed. Obviously. If Ursai and Nevermores could kill even experienced Huntsmen, then just how powerful would a Grimm-Huntsman be?

The answer was crazily so.

The clock on the wall signed eight o'clock.

He sighed in relief. Finally he had something to do. Sundays were always like that. Everyone would be gathered in the main room, leaving him to eat on his own. Not that the others ate: they discussed their plans for the future. He scrambled on his feet and put the book back on the shelf, knowing that his mistress would simply exterminate him if he didn't.

"Finally", he replied, calmly. He wasn't in a hurry, after all.

With a sigh, he exited the library and left the hundreds of volumes behind, his steps echoing in the empty corridors. 'Why have such a large mansion, if then it's always empty?', he asked himself. Probably it was just a habit of the ones who could afford to waste space. He and his family surely could.

It took him very little to reach the kitchen. Usually he would've dined in the dining room, but since it was Sunday, he would arrange himself in the kitchen and good riddance. Taking some cheese and bread, he sat down to eat, shifting to find a comfortable position. His wings didn't really help. They were tall and wide, and he couldn't exactly fold them under his shirt. That would've hurt like Hell, although his wings didn't exactly have bones. Or rather, they had, but it wasn't like he couldn't repair any damage with just a little bit of concentration.

He sighed. Why was all of it so damn difficult? Why couldn't his family just have stools instead of chairs? Or at least let him sit on a stool. Having three-yards-wide wings wasn't exactly the best when one had to sit on a normal chair. Especially so when said chair was more similar to a throne than to a real chair.

He sighed again. Dinner had always been a very lonely matter on Sundays. He began nibbling the cheese idly, not really hungry but knowing that if he didn't eat he would be hungry later. He had the evening for himself, although it wasn't a really exciting knowledge. He would probably end up studying in the library or having a walk and fight some Grimm. The normal Sunday-evening routine he had gotten used to through the years.

Except that this time, his father entered the room while he was in the middle of his dinner, looking dead serious for a chance. Nervous, even. And that was something completely out of the ordinary. The day Tyrian Callows wasn't his usual cheerfully crazy was the day he'd never thought he would see. The faunus's long scorpion tail was twitching nervously behind him, and his yellow eyes were scanning the room as if searching for threats, something utterly absurd since Salem's fortress was the last place in Remnant where the man could find an enemy... except for his own colleagues, of course.

"Come with me", his father whispered warily. "Our Mistress desires to speak with you".

His eyes widened. Salem wasn't the kind of woman to wish to speak with anyone outside her loyal underlings. Especially because she wasn't a woman. She might've resembled a woman, but she was something completely different. She was the Scourge of Humanity, the Devouring Dark, the Queen of the Grimm, the Dark Maiden. The very creatures of Grimm were named after her.

In just two words, she was his mother.

Silently, he rose from his seat and nodded at his father, following him in the main hall. Tyrian was strangely quiet, not even giggling or talking to himself, and guided him through the myriad of corridors flawlessly. He followed just as quietly. It would've been the first time he saw the others during one of the their meetings.

"Why should Salem want to see me?", he asked, frowning when his father didn't reply. "She never did".

The man continued to ignore him as the two of them made their way to the main hall. Despite what someone could think, the fortress wasn't filled with Grimm. Most of them swarmed outside, an indistinguishable mass of black skin and white bones. He grimaced at the sight. The Grimm were so similar to him, and yet so different. They were mindless beasts with no choice but to kill. He pitied them. Where he had free choice and free will, the normal Grimm were no more than pawns ready to die... although he knew he was considered just as much. Maybe not a pawn... maybe a champion of Salem, but expendable just the same.

As they passed through a room, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

His own skin was whiter than snow, but his hair was as black as the darkest night, and his eyes were as bright and red as his mother's. A small crown of black spikes of bone symbolised his royalty. On his back, powerful black wings were folded, unused, against his back. From his forearms protruded two twin blades of black bone, that reached out his elbows and past his hand, making them useful weapons similar to his father's twin axe-katars. He was wearing a black shirt with a night-sky blue jacket and black trousers with high boots. His father had always told him that the boots were important... although his father had also always told him that sleeping upside down hanging from the ceiling was important. Not that he'd ever tried.

Tyrian was crazy like that.

As they arrived in front of the door of the main hall, he was surprised by his father, who spun around and gripped his shoulders so hard it hurt. "Do not disappoint the Queen", he whispered. "Never!".

He frowned and nodded. Tyrian was never so serious... except during training. While training -or fighting at all- he was a giggling mess but always serious. And dangerous. "What am I supposed to do?".

"Just agree to whatever she says, and accept whatever she says", said his father, eyes narrowing. "But always tell the truth, even if it's an unpleasant truth. She will see through any lie. Always".

He nodded. The basic rules of living in the Fortress of Salem. He had memorized them long ago. Even if Salem was theoretically his mother, and biologically too, she was still his mistress. She was his boss. To her, he was her son only when it came to genes. In any other case, he was a pawn like the others.

Tyrian gave him one last glance before pushing open the large wooden doors and entering the main hall. Without waiting for him to follow, he hurried to his seat and crouched on it, waiting for Salem to give him orders, like he always did. He wasn't exactly the strategist of the four servants of Salem. Of course they weren't the only ones, but they were the most loyal ones. And the ones who had served her longer.

"Enter, child", said Salem, a vague hint of amusement in her voice as she caught scent of his nervousness. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions".

He bowed low and entered, barely avoiding to flinch as the doors closed behind him. Without speaking, he walked forward until he standing right in front of the table, and so in plain sight for everyone. He didn't sit, instead standing upright stiffly and waiting for orders.

"I've heard that you want to become a... Huntsman", continued Salem, and from the faces of Watts and Hazel, they were clearly against the idea. He could understand Hazel: the man had lost his little sister because of her desire to become a Huntress, but Watts was new. He was usually against the ideas of Cinder, but not against the ideas of Salem. "As you surely know, everyone but me here is a Huntsman or a Huntress. So I'm sure you can guess I'm not against the idea itself".

She frowned. "And it's also true that another Huntsman... it could help our cause. We have so few good Huntsmen in our ranks. And with the powers you already possess, you would make for a very remarkable Huntsman". He responded to her with a frown of his own. He didn't understand where the conversation was going. "But we also have to consider that you are you. You are a Prince of the Grimm, and that could influence your training as a Huntsman". She smirked, although her sarcasm was terrible. Being the Queen of the Grimm didn't leave much time to practise with something like sarcasm.

"Nonetheless, we agreed for you to choose. If you're ready to face the risk of being discovered, and thus killed, then you'll be free to train and become a Huntsman officially. But...". Her smirk widened and took a vicious edge. "If you don't wish to risk your life pointlessly, Tyrian, Hazel and Cinder can continue your training, and they'll make a warrior out of you".

He frowned more. Becoming a Huntsman would've meant leaving the fortress and -finally- seeing the rest of the world. He had been told how to act and all the laws of the humans, but he'd never actually seen the cities outside of books and -sometimes- movies or pictures from Emerald's or Mercury's scrolls. Yet again, was it worth the risk? Being found out meant death, either straight on the battlefield or after a long torture. The title of Prince of the Grimm didn't come with invincibility. But becoming a Huntsman...

"Milady, if I can speak freely... I wish to be officially trained to become a Huntsman", he said nervously.

Both Hazel and Watts scowled at that, Tyrian just giggled maniacally, but Salem seemed pensive and amused. "Is that so? Very well, child, your answer was honest".

She smirked malignly and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, after five more minutes, she deemed him nervous enough to speak. "Your wish will become reality. I will have Watts handle the bureaucracy". The doctor frowned at the new, and maybe that was why he was against the idea. "You'll have to decide the school you want to attend, child. But for now, I need you to take your human form".

He frowned. He wasn't really used to his human form, but he obliged nonetheless. No one stood up to the Queen. Or rather, no one stood up to the Queen and survived to tell about it. In a blur of dark mist, the Grimm essence disappeared from him and he was back to his human self.

His boots were, honestly, the only thing that remained unaltered. His trousers were now of light blue, his shirt was white and his jacket sky blue. His skin lost its pearly white shade and assumed a more lively shade of pink. His eyes weren't of a fiery red any more, now of a cerulean azure, and his once black hair was now golden locks that partly fell on his eyes. His wings, like his crown and the spikes on his arms, disappeared in a mist of darkness.

"Since you will need a weapon to become a Huntsman, and you won't be able to use your more natural power, I had Watts forge you an armour and your weapons". She gestured to the man to show him the weapons, something he did with evident displeasure. Well, not completely displeasure. He was also evidently proud of his work.

The man stood up and walked up to him, taking his left arm and making him wear something very similar to a bracer. When he finished putting one on, he moved on to the other arm, where he made him wear a twin bracer. Both of them were pure white with golden rims. As he continued to frown at them, unsure of what to do with them, Watts pulled out a chestplate and forced him to wear it too, followed by a pair of greaves. Idly, he noted how all the armour was white with golden rims. They surely wanted to take attention away from his "darkness", so to speak. When he finished, Watts stepped back and nodded at Salem.

"This is our gift, child. Do not waste it". Seeing his confusion, she smiled. "We know you've been trained by Tyrian. So, we decided to give you a similar weapon".

Watts picked up something else and walked up to him, consigning it to him. It looked like a sword, with relative scabbard. Both were pure white with golden rims or, in the sword's case, a golden hilt and azure cloth on the handle. He eyed them for a while before Watts showed him how to activate the scabbard. When he did, it unfolded into a kite shield, bearing a strange insignia of a double crescent on it, gold on white field. He swung the sword a couple of times to test its balance, of course finding it to be perfect, before nodding to Salem.

"Of course, in case you had to acquire your natural form, those weapons would be too recognizable, so Watts made a few modifications to them". Salem smiled unpleasantly. "Go on, child, assume your natural form".

He nodded. It was so easy to let the Grimm in him reach out and take over part of himself. The dark mist enveloped him against for just a second, and he was back to his Grimm self. But this time he was different. He had no natural spikes on his arms, but instead a pair of black blades, both with silver rims. They protruded from his elbows of twenty or so centimetres, and another thirty from his hands. He frowned. That was a remarkable work. He didn't even know how in Hell had Watts been able to do such a thing. Probably with the help of Salem. His clothes were different, too. Now his armour was black, and it covered his shoulders, too, just like his greaves now ended in vicious spikes, useful and painful. The whole set had silver rims, just like his normal armour had golden ones. He frowned once more.

"I... Thank you for this gift, mistress", he said, knowing that he had to thank not the crafter, but the Queen. Watts didn't seem to notice it and instead returned to his seat in silence. "I shall use them wisely".

"I don't doubt that, child", said Salem, letting a small smirk reach her face. "But now, I won't hold you any longer. I'm sure there is much you still have to do. Watts, go with him. Since you will be the one to fill out the forms, it would be better for you to go with him".

With a nod, the man stood up and walked out of the room, quickly followed by him.

#####

The two walked in silence until they reached the kitchen once again, where they arranged a very quick dinner. Watts was his favourite person after Hazel, but at the moment he looked bothered by something, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. After dinner they walked back to the library, where Watts found an atlas -not the kingdom, of course- and opened it on a table, gesturing him to come closer.

"You see, this is Remnant", he whispered. "Given your age and skill level, you should have no problem attending one of the Four Academies. Beacon, Atlas, Shade and Haven for Vale, Mantle, Vacuo and Mistral".

"I have to choose one, right?", he asked, frowning. The kingdoms of Remnant looked all the same, seen by the map. "Which one is the best?".

"It depends on what are you looking for", replied Watts, shrugging. "Atlas has the best technology. The highest danger is Beacon, but it's probably also the best one. Ozpin is there".

He shivered. Ozpin, the man who dared stand up to Salem. The man who could resist Salem. His name was of course known to him. And it was infamous. "But you said it's the best one?".

"Beacon has always been known for its efficacy... although it's not unexpected, since Ozpin is the Headmaster". Watts caressed his moustaches and sighed. "Yes, I'd say it's the best one. I will forge some transcripts for you. Tomorrow you, Emerald and Mercury will go to Vale. They will leave you as soon as you start Beacon".

"But you said I was good enough to attend it normally", he noted. "Why forge some?".

"There are some exams to be accepted into Beacon. And not all of them are combat ones", replied Watts, flatly. "A couple of them in particular are medical exams and blood samples. I'm sure you don't want them to find out something strange in you".

"Ah". Realization dawned upon him and he nodded. "Okay. So we go tomorrow. How do I get to Vale?".

"Emerald and Mercury will go on Grimm", replied Watts. "Given your motion sickness, I think it would be safer for you to just fly on your own. But now, let's stay serious for a few seconds. What is it that you have not to do?".

"Reveal my true identity", he immediately replied. "Reveal my mother's identity. I would say reveal this palace's location, but unfortunately I don't know where I am, so that's not a problem. That's about it, right?".

"Yeah. Remember: we don't give a damn if you cause a ruckus there, but give away your mother's identity, and you are dead not by their hands, but by ours". He nodded. "Now, we'll need to get you a new name".

"A new name?".

"Of course. Noir Callows can be a nice name for you, but it would be better for you to just have a new name. Make up a story for yourself". He winked, uncharacteristically for him. "You get to decide your past life. Make up whatever you want. And get a new name".

"What name should I choose?", he asked, frowning. "I mean... how do I choose?".

"Oh my God, is it really so difficult?". He massages his temples. "Your sisters would flay you alive to get the chance to get a new name, and you don't know what to choose?".

"And what would you choose for yourself?", he asked, unamused. "Enlighten me".

"You and sarcasm clash like fire and ice, boy. As for me...". He smirked and the boy knew he already had the answer. "I already went by false name. One of the most recent ones was Jonathan Arc".

He looked pensive for a second. "Jonathan Arc, uh? Well, since you're my uncle...". His smirk matched Watts's. "I will go by the name of Jaune Arc".

My first foot note!

Now, I have to say this: I'm in doubt. I'm a dedicated Arkos fan, but right now I'm in doubt! I'm not sure if it would be better (for me to write, of course) to write an Arkos or a Lancaster story. (btw, why is it called "Lancaster"?)

I beg everyone of you to help me out with this. I can assure you, it's not to increase reviews: I know some people like to have high review rates, but I really don't care. I could have zero or a million reviews and I wouldn't care. But the content is important. So if you're willing to lend a hand to a poor young writer in doubt, please do.

You can of course ask for other "Jaunex?" ships... but they won't sail. Stop. I can understand attraction, but I'm mentally unable to write a JaunexYang or a JaunexBlake. Or other ships like those. I can write of attraction but not of actual ships. Besides, JaunexYang is just a big, fat "no". Too many blondes!

And if there is some merciful soul among you all and they want to leave a review, I would of course be happy to read your opinion as for why would a ship be better than another! I was considering Lancaster only because Ruby is cute.

Just. For. That.

Let me know... or ignore me. Whichever you want!

Khor Evik Vlakhavlakh