Chapter Text
January 4th, 797 E.A
Patch Village, Kingdom of Vale Territory
The door would swing open and the girl would step inside. Dust danced above the table, the sunlight peeking inside through the curtains.
The Girl would stand there, one step into her home, not daring to breathe.
She wasn’t focused on what lay in the room ahead—rather on what wasn’t.
The Girl would think to herself - “If I made even a single sound, this emptiness would sneer at me, gladly becoming real.”
This was back when both were still children, maybe a few months after Summer had met her fate.
The days when her dad would lock himself in his office all day or stumble around the house, lost in thought, his stare piercing right through her and Ruby as if they weren’t there.
Sometimes others would intrude upon their home, arguing with Dad, only to storm off.
Yang Xiao Long could no longer remember when this was exactly—these memories and the exact order of conversations have become muddy and confusing.
She shifted, her palm brushing against the wooden floor, her gaze trying to pierce the darkness that had swallowed her room.
Beyond the bed next to her, illuminated by the moonlight falling through the window, the room had disappeared within the night.
Yang told herself too many times—she had her own demons now—far too many to bear, new wounds erupting from the old scars.
But at nights like these, those old scars would burn no less than her limb that had no longer been there.
She would gaze upon herself, curled up in bed, from somewhere far as if her experiences were someone else’s. Time itself would run away, leaving her behind—her surroundings shifting as if she wasn’t here.
But those memories from the past, from back then? Despite time eroding everything, those glares, words, and faces twisted by anger—they would still cut deep, every muscle inside her body locking up.
Summer's passing, Raven, the cabin, Ruby, Uncle Qrow and Dad clashing—these memories would linger as if they had happened yesterday.
Yang shriveled against the wall, curling up, her hand gripping her knees.
How long has she sat there, now, on the floor, winter chill gnawing at her bones? Was it already morning? Or was it still barely past midnight?
Since the flames devoured Beacon, shattering her life, the time had been a blur for Yang Xiao Long—days endlessly repeating, going through the motions, following a script, numb to everything around her.
She glared towards the doorway—at the exact spot Dad had just stood in before, wishing her good night.
He had been trying his best not to fall apart and she hated being a burden like this.
But he wasn’t here anymore—taking a ferry back to Vale before the sun had set—setting off on yet another pointless attempt to help her.
Or at least what he had thought she needed.
They all would leave you.
Silence coated the room around her, shadows creeping towards her as the wind picked up outside, trees swinging, branches clashing against the window.
The only light in the room had been the moon intruding through the window—Yang herself had turned off the bedside lamp.
Why had she decided to curl up in the corner of the floor?
She had grown tired of twisting and turning on the bed, the arm that wasn’t aching with every howl of the wind outside.
Sleep eluded her.
Whenever she would doze off, that face would linger close, right in front of her as the searing pain would tear her apart.
And then all she would be left with was this house—empty, silent.
Deafeningly silent.
Just like back then.
When Summer had passed, Yang didn't quite understand it—the empty house weighing upon her very soul, without either Mom or the scary red lady there.
As days passed an understanding crept into her mind—Mom was gone forever.
She did not know why or how, but she could comprehend what Dad meant when he said she was gone.
Meanwhile, the house had grown emptier with every passing hour.
The lady in red who would scowl at her whenever she came over vanished right after her Mom had departed.
And, after the walls trembled with screams of her Dad and Uncle, Qrow’s visits had stopped too.
Now it was just her, Ruby, Dad, and his ghosts.
This all had felt so familiar to her—silence strangling her, sucking all air out of her home, interrupted by nothing but footsteps, creaking chairs, opening and closing of doors.
Everything here—furniture, books, curtains, clothes, even her—stuck in place as if they had grown roots, never to be moved again, her home frozen in time.
Sometimes when The Girl she used came back home, dread would grip her—a delusion of a house abandoned, nobody living there anymore.
No one - not even her.
As if the ghosts had sucked the very life out of their home.
Like Summer, everyone would disappear forever one day, only vague recollections remaining—whispers of people having existed there.
Someone else would move in, their laughter and joy resurrecting these walls—ignorance painting over what had once been.
Or maybe time, ever the cruel master, could tear into their home, the foundation crumbling till nothing remained.
Dad was no longer there.
Summer was no longer there.
Ruby was no longer there.
She was no longer there.
As if they had never been at all.
The sensations she experienced back then still lingered beneath the surface every moment of her life.
The Girl back then decided that had she done nothing, the silence—the vacant emptiness—would engulf her, devour them all—and nobody would remember them.
She knew she had to step up - she needed to.
The foundation had already been built.
As Summer spent more and more time away on her missions, Yang would already make meals for Ruby and Dad. Dad tried, but he wasn't that good of a cook, after all, so Yang already would attempt to learn new recipes, to varying degrees of success.
Now The Girl made up her mind - she would start cleaning too. It wouldn’t wash the anguish, nor drive the stranglehold of emptiness away, but she had to try.
It was back then that The Girl developed a routine to at least do something because she couldn't accomplish anything that mattered.
Little did The Girl know that the routine would become all she had known in her life.
Back then Yang wasn’t as explosive as she had been nowadays—she brimmed with positivity, sure, but solace and thought had been The Girl's best friends.
Yang used to have dreams—grand ideas of who she wanted to be.
She no longer remembered what exactly they were.
Those dreams faded back then, used as fuel for the primal wish to live, matter, and persist.
Meanwhile Ruby would thunder through the house—a bundle of joy, crashing into everything and everyone, the ever mischievous and and energetic gremlin.
With Summer's passing, the lives they had led shattered and the sisters had no choice but to pick up the pieces.
Then, one winter quiet night, the terrors had started.
Yang would jolt back up in the middle of the night, her body trembling from the screams echoing through the room.
In her room, Ruby would lay in bed, her breath shallow, her body tense as if something only she could see gripped her, its nails digging into her skin.
Yang didn't quite understand what exactly terrified her sister those nights.
After she had asked, it became apparent that Ruby had convinced herself something had taken residence inside the walls, crawling around at night, creeping ever closer to her every second she closed her eyes. Ruby, her voice trembling, would speak of the tapping in the walls, of the whispers from below, of the faces behind the window glass, their gaze burrowing into her skull—of the shadows looming by her bedside as she couldn’t move.
Yang would stay awake with her just in case, but the room would remain empty.
Yet, like clockwork, every night, Ruby would jolt awake terrified, screaming, crying.
Yang would stay with her, pushing her own fears and anxieties away, locking them in the darkest corner of her soul so she could stand strong for her sister.
One night, as they sat together in the dim glow of Ruby’s bedside lamp, Yang made her decision— she would burn bright enough to light the way for those close to her if they ever found themselves lost in the dark.
She would fill the void, chasing away the emptiness, the Death Itself that had taken residence in their home. And she would be the one to anchor her sister, to pull her back from whatever horrors that had strangled her every night.
It started with fairytales.
Just like Summer did before, she would sit there reading the stories to her sister from beginning to end. At first, Ruby would just stare at the bedroom walls the whole time, but then would get engrossed, listening, and eventually sleep could overtake them both.
Yang smiled, for the first time in a long while back then, her heart fluttering with joy.
In a life torn apart, she had finally found something she could do to make a difference.
As Yang dedicated herself to living for her family, their house would no longer feel empty once again.
Yang spun around in the kitchen come sunrise, baking breakfast for her sister and her Dad, as the scent of freshly baked cookies, frying eggs, and sliced bread would fill the house.
And then she would tell Ruby tall tales about terrifying journeys and adventures that it took for her to acquire the ingredients for it.
She would speak of Things in the Forest lurking to steal the wanderers' time, and the fairies of the old spiriting away unruly children to far past. Their house was now a castle - Ruby And Yang - guards, knights, and heroes with a larger-than-life mission of guarding it.
Laughter returned to these rooms as the siblings hid from pretend monsters— fighting dragons, saving damsels, and unearthing never-before-seen treasure.
Yang did not know back then if Ruby's nightmares had passed, but her sister no longer would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and terrified.
Eventually, Dad started talking and smiling once again. Pieces were still missing, but warmth had filled their home once again.
Once again, it became the place where she could feel safe and needed.
Until this Fall.
Until that evening at the Arena, when it all had crashed all around her once again, reality slamming into her the speed of a highway truck.
Yang stretched out her arm in the dark as if grasping at something she couldn’t see.
The wind had started wailing outside, the storm intensifying, the branches dancing in the snow, their shadows creeping ever closer to her.
Every sound, every flash would make it worse.
Her stomach heaved and the pain in her arm—the other one—grew worse.
Her home once again stood empty and this time her Dad had tried to pick up the pieces, with no regard to his own wellbeing.
She saw him wince when he’d move through the house—yet when he’d turn around, a smile would shine on his face.
Yang could see herself in that smile—could remember how she’d act when it hurt inside.
She never realized how painful it would be to recognize that in someone she cared about.
Did her dad or her sister notice when she’d smile? Did they know of the turmoil in her thoughts—of the uncertainty and pain and sheer emptiness that never left her, not even for a second?
Did they know how much she had lost just to be strong for them?
Did Blake?
Yang clenched her teeth, shaking her head.
No, that traitor doesn’t deserve you thinking about her. Not now. Don’t think about her, don’t.
The house was once again like it had been back then when Summer left, yet the roles had switched.
This time she was the one locked in her room and Dad bore that fake smile.
And Ruby? Ruby slid into the role that hurt Yang the most—the one that left shortly after, with no regard for her sister’s wellbeing.
The fact that she did it so easily—with her destiny and conviction—twisted the dagger even further into Yang's heart.
Only Uncle Qrow hadn’t changed, for better or for worse.
Just like back then, whenever he’d visit, things would grow tense.
Ever since Summer’s passing, actually.
While his visits would grow sparser back then and Dad would frown and glare, he would still allow Uncle to come to see her and her sister.
Qrow would bring them presents and speak of larger-than-life adventures and mischief he had gotten into as a Huntsman. While Yang could never tell if they were for real or make-believe, Ruby listened intently, hanging onto every word—as if she had witnessed a fairytale.
Looking back, Yang should have realized that these were the moments when all the childhood stories and games meshed together into Ruby's unwavering resolve to step into the footsteps her mother, Summer, had left behind—to fight the pretend monsters that turned out to be all too real.
And that Yang would follow after her, ever the protector she had resigned herself to being.
After Ruby enrolled in Signal Academy, it seemed logical for Yang to chase after her sister and do the same. Even if, unlike Ruby, she wasn't really into all of that superhero-play-along, it was the simplest way to keep her sister close and protect her.
She couldn’t shake the thought in the back of her mind that filled her with dread—that Ruby wasn’t safe, that there was something, someone, just beyond her field of vision, lingering, waiting to take her away.
She had learned to fight to protect her sister.
As unlikely as it would sound now if she told anyone, after Summer's passing, Ruby used to be the one with the short temper—flaring up at other kids in the village.
No longer a bundle of joy.
Explosive.
And Ruby couldn’t back her temper up with her fists, so in such desperate moments Yang had molded herself into the knight in shining armor—taking and throwing punches, defending her.
Once again she had molded herself into what her family needed—finding relief in her ability to punch her problems away.
Life was simpler that way and there wasn’t anything that she couldn’t fight—and thus she didn’t need to show herself vulnerable.
Meanwhile, Ruby, shielded from the dangers of the world, would grow more and more disconnected from the other children, shrouding herself in her cloak, engrossed in her fairytales as she dreamed of becoming a hero.
Had they switched roles? Not likely—to Yang it had felt like both she and Ruby merely put on different masks as they had continued their play.
After all these years, now Yang could see a path heading straight from that moment to the start of her reputation as a hot-headed mess that would thrash everything in her path.
All the way to the instant when her bravado had crashed against an unbreakable wall in the form of a man with a strange mask when she had tried to protect Blake.
Yang clenched her fist.
No, you don’t get to think about her. She doesn’t deserve to be in your thoughts.
Yang gripped the corner of the bed, struggling back onto her feet, as she crawled back onto it.
A ridiculous notion that changing where she’d try to survive the night would let her escape the thoughts that had suffocated her.
Yang tried to not think back to Summer’s passing, but those flashes of time would creep back in once in a while, grief, and emptiness rushing in like ocean waves.
She leaned back, resting her head against the wall behind her, the faint smell of cedar invading her nostrils, her hair brushing against the rough texture.
She begged the wind to stop these intrusive thoughts that had plagued her sleepless nights.
Yang was no longer a child who believed in the monsters that lounged in the shadows of the night, yet the memory of "the scary lady" lingered like a shadow that refused to be chased away.
When did she find out that Raven was her mother?
She didn’t remember the exact moment, but that realization just made her memories all the more confusing and disordered.
Every smile, every exchange between her parents, every confrontation Dad had with Uncle—they had all shifted, growing all the more ambiguous and foreign to her.
It was back then that she had decided to find her mother—no matter what.
One day, she thought, she would find her and force all the answers out of her, even if she had to fight her.
One day she would find an explanation for the emptiness inside.
The need to fill this void turned into a fire that burned within her—she would be the one to keep the family together—their joy and safety replacing hers.
So what if that had left her drained—every smile, every bit of bravado as exhausting as a punch in the gut.
She could take it. She could take it all and stand victorious, tearing through whatever obstacles lay ahead.
Look how well that turned out, you idiot.
Could she have changed something? Did something differently?
Could she have avoided that ma—
That man stands in front of her as he raises her sword.
She screams, her eyes locked with her friend on the ground.
She lunges forward—every muscle in her body longs to tear this monster apart for what he did.
And then the man swings his sword.
And then the man swings his sword.
And then the man swings his sword.
And then—
Yang, bit into the pillow, her fist smashing at the wall above her head.
She flipped around on her back, gasping for air.
The moonlight shimmered through the window, lighting up the other side of the room—and the crack on the wall going up to the ceiling.
Since when was her room broken? Maybe it had always been.
Her head pounded.
Yang bit into her lower lip, stifling a scream.
What a hero she had turned out to be, what a protector!
Now the Hero lay there, bound to her bed as the jumbled mess of memories and experiences, both melancholic and terrifying, tormented her sleepless, monsters tearing her apart worse than howling winter winds, than the phantom pain tearing at her lost limb, gnawing from the inside, tearing apart her skin to reveal the hollow shell she had become.
Here, in this empty room, this empty house.
Here lay an empty vessel who had lost it all, screaming inside as she had sought a way to continue forward.
Empty.
They all left you.
They all threw you away, what an idiot you were, Yang.
Weiss had visited her once, a while after what had gone down at Beacon, but before Ruby woke up.
Yang still couldn’t get up—she just lay there, staring at Weiss, recognizing that same pained expression hidden behind a polite smile.
Once again a facade all too familiar to her.
A kindred soul, a moment of comfort in the world that had grown so hostile and alien to her.
"I have to leave. I’m sorry."
Then Weiss left.
The last bit of normalcy that she had before—torn away from her.
At least Weiss said her goodbyes. At least she did not have a choice.
Atlas announced closing its borders within days after Weiss had left with her father.
Was this your fault too? It might have been because you weren’t strong enough.
Yang pulled her pillow from beneath her head, hugging it.
Dad had told her she’d been screaming that night, once the paramedics had gotten to her—so much that she had to be sedated.
What she did remember was the day she had woken up—the time when she realized what had happened.
The exact moment when she had looked down, her head pounding, her body sore all over—it was seared into her mind, forever.
The memory lingered every time she’d close her eyes—the searing ache as she tried to open them that morning. She couldn’t at first—and when she did her sight was a blur.
Her mind took a while to wake—a scrambled mess it had become, stuck in a loop of what had happened. One moment she’d hear her father’s steps, and next—the wailing screams of the dead as Beacon, as Vale, burned.
Her body had felt like it no longer belonged to her—just a lump of flesh dropped onto her bed in her room.
Then where was she?
Eventually, her mind found itself once again, as someone had opened the window and autumn winds caressed her face.
She stretched out her hands—and then did it again.
And again.
Confusion chased away whatever sleep had been left.
She looked down, tearing the blanket off, her breath hitching in her throat.
Dad hugged her.
All Yang could do was grasp at the bedsheets, trying to separate reality from fiction.
He’d dance around the details of what happened—of where were her team mates.
It took her days to suss out what happened to Beacon—to Pyrrha.
Once the third day came, she asked Dad about Blake and Ruby.
Hearing that Ruby had been unresponsive all this time tore her apart worse than waking up had done.
The news about Blake? Burned whatever had been left of her heart to ashes.
Dad refused to tell her what exactly happened to Beacon, to Vale—and Qrow always felt like he was avoiding the subject altogether. Behind the closed doors, however—the walls shook with their voices once again.
But it wasn't their fault.
It’s all your fault, you worthless, weak, useless idiot. You ruined everything again because you were too weak.
She never could process what happened—still hadn’t, but the memories of that night had slowly returned.
And then Ruby had woken up.
But your sister left you too.
Well, Ruby didn’t leave at first. When she had woken from her slumber, her sister rushed to her.
Yang gritted her teeth—the conversation didn’t go well.
You just had to break whatever bonds still existed between you two, driving her even further away, you stupid hot-headed fool.
She always prided herself in being the one who had kept the family together—dedicating every ounce of her being to rebuild what had been lost.
She locked up every bit of anger she could—every bit of disdain, aimlessness, and sorrow. Yang Xiao Long didn’t have time to be all emotional.
Over the years the turmoil inside would burst out—her fighting style growing more destructive, more unrestrained.
She built a wall around herself and before she knew it had turned into a dam, holding back an ocean of emotions she hadn’t allowed herself. She found comfort in those short bursts of violence and chaos—guided, directed, pointed at her enemies, at those who would have hurt people she cared about or stood in her way.
The burst of anger—a vice—just like his flask to Uncle Qrow.
That man had broken that illusion of control with a swing of his sword.
The moment Ruby first entered her room after Beacon still tortured her.
What stood in the doorway was a shadow of the lively, energetic girl she had been before. She tried to smile, she tried to pretend everything was fine, but Yang knew—and it made her feel horrible.
So when Ruby began to speak with her, the usual restraint and positivity Yang had offered her sister before gave way to a torrent of emotions she was no longer capable of hiding.
The conversation was a minefield, interrupted by awkward pauses, fueled by still-fresh wounds.
Ruby would deflect—she always did—trying to be positive and supportive, almost goading her into reaffirmation that everything would be fine.
The more Ruby spoke, the more she had brought up the things that had happened, the more Yang’s body ached, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.
Yang couldn’t stand it anymore—her every answer a retort intended to contradict and hurt.
Ruby visited her three days in a row.
She’d speak of the future and of the hope that remained and how they could get through this, yet her face, the way Ruby held herself, sung a different tune.
And every time Yang tore down every attempt at positivity, every lifeline toward hope that Ruby had.
Maybe you wanted someone to blame, Yang? You always did. First, it was the bullies in the streets, then it was Raven having abandoned you, then your enemies. It took you so long to lay the blame on the one loved the most.
The last, the third visit was the worst.
Useless. Thrown-away. Powerless.
She let loose, her words spilling out in a torrent of anger and pain.
Tears drenched her face as Yang spoke, but that only made matters worse—forcing her to realize how vulnerable she must have seemed right now.
And her sister? Ruby just sat there, listening, speechless, as if she had been hit with a brick and couldn’t figure out why.
“You can dream of heroes or unicorns, for all I care, but I have to greet every day the reminder of all the tragedies and betrayals awaiting me whenever I look in the mirror.”
The words Yang had screamed to her sister’s face she couldn’t ever take back.
As far as their confrontations went, this time had been different. For once, it was completely one-sided—Ruby remained dead-silent the entire time, frozen.
Yang could see the fear and anguish in her sister’s eyes.
But that didn’t stop her—the last thing she needed was pity, compassion, mercy.
Years and years of frustration and despair and helplessness, most of it not even having anything to do with Ruby, came pouring out.
“You’re delusional, Ruby. You always have been. And look where it got you!”
Even remembering those words, made her shiver.
Yang wrapped herself in the blanket, her bones aching.
Fighting was what she knew—whether it were her enemies or the obstacles in her life.
Was it so strange that in the time of despair, in time when she could no longer hold back her emotions, she would latch onto the first person she could as a target, her words the only weapon she had left?
She again glanced at the doorway, the door half-closed.
It wasn't just her father who had stood there, driven away by her bitterness.
In the dark, she could still see the faint outline where her sister would stand all three times she had visited her.
She and Ruby had always been close. But now, it was like something had been broken between them.
After she had lashed out, after that third time, Ruby didn’t visit again.
The house had grown dead silent—only her dad peeking in once in a while as she sat there in silence.
She didn’t reach out to Ruby and didn’t try to apologize.
Yang could have—her dad made sure her physical recovery would go down swimmingly, helping her orient herself through the house.
Or so he had thought.
Ruby would get the same treatment too, but the two would never cross paths.
Instead in her free time, Yang would slump down by the window, gazing at the skies as the snow blanketed the forest.
A few days later she’d discover from her desperate and anguished father that Ruby ran away on a journey without telling them.
Was this her fault too? Could she have held back a little, somehow?
Did Ruby blame herself—or did she think of Yang as useless?
Every night she’d relive that last argument they had—as if she were watching a movie, unable to pick different words.
Meanwhile, her dad got even more desperate in his attempts to locate fitting prosthetics. With Atlas closing its borders and intercontinental communication down her options were limited.
Her dad would travel and forth between Patch Island and the Vale, scourging the Kingdom for help, unwittingly leaving Yang to simmer in her loneliness.
Nights like this had become commonplace.
It was not his fault.
Was it your fault, you stubborn fool?
So here she was.
Useless. Abandoned. Thrown-away. Powerless.
Alone.
Those words had become a mantra in her mind—ringing louder and louder till the morning would come.
Could she have done something to change her fate? Anything at all, that would have prevented all the suffering and loss?
Could she have said the right words when they mattered—made different choices?
Like back during the Fall of Beacon—in the courtyard, when she had to pick between what she had become and what she had been searching for.
Yang curled up, the blanket covering her chin, hugging the pillow as if her life depended on it.
She wanted to disappear into it.
Peeking out, she reached for the dust lamp on her bedside table, and with a click, the moonlight gave way to hues brass-brown—light strong just enough to cover her bed, illuminating the darkness on the other side of the room where a pack of crates stood still.
All that she had left was this room and those crates—her teammates' belongings that Qrow somehow managed to salvage when retreating from Beacon Academy.
She never had a chance to ask him why he even bothered—the reminder of the people who had left her now filling her room.
She left most of it alone.
Except for a few books that Blake had brought with her—to pass the time.
Reading had become her solace on nights like this, giving her almost a voyeur kind of sensation.
Hey, it was their choice to not be there—Blake, Ruby, Weiss, they could stop her any time if they had wanted to.
But whatever satisfaction was there, couldn't overcome the emptiness around her.
Alone, only a dimly lit flickering dust lamp by her side, cold winter winds howling outside.
Alone, sleepless, only with thoughts of everything lost haunting her—thoughts of all the choices she hasn't made, all the dreams she never dreamt before...
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
She reached for the book next to the dust lamp.
Rap, tap, tap.
Suddenly there came a taping as if someone were gently rapping at her window from outside.
Darkness there and nothing more...