Chapter 1 — Betrothed?
Location: Schnee Manor, Noble District Continent: Solitas — Kingdom of Atlas
The corridors of Schnee Manor carried a particular kind of silence in the mornings — the silence of polished marble and high ceilings, of portraits watching from gilded frames, of a grandeur so practiced it had become hollow. But on this morning, that silence was broken.
A pair of small white boots clattered down the hall at a pace wholly unbecoming of an heiress.
Weiss Schnee, eight years old and utterly unconcerned with dignity, rounded the corner toward the front foyer with a brightness in her blue eyes that no amount of etiquette lessons had yet managed to dim. Her white dress and matching coat — trimmed with pale blue at the cuffs and collar — rustled as she moved, her silver ponytail bouncing with every step.
They're coming today. The thought alone was enough to make her chest feel like a shaken snow globe. Khanna. Sarai. And...
She stopped herself before the third name could finish forming, pressing her lips into a determined line.
And the others, she corrected primly.
The front gardens of the manor were drenched in winter light, thin and pale as spun glass. Weiss pushed open the heavy oak doors herself — a task that required more effort than she would ever admit — and stepped onto the stone landing. The cold air kissed her cheeks.
She was not alone for long.
"My, my. In quite the hurry, aren't we?"
The voice belonged to a man whose silver hair and gentle bearing made him look as though he had been carved from the same mountain as the manor itself. Nicolas Schnee II stood at the top of the steps, hands clasped behind his back, a warm smile reaching all the way to the corners of his eyes. He was the kind of grandfather that storybooks described — the sort who smelled faintly of pine and old books, and who never once made you feel small.
"Grandfather!" Weiss lit up immediately. "Are they here yet?"
A laugh, low and genuinely delighted, rolled from his chest. Before she could protest, his hands found her waist and lifted her into the air, turning her in a slow, sweeping arc that drew a bright peal of laughter from the girl before he set her back down on her feet.
"Not yet, little one," he said, smoothing the collar of her coat with the careful tenderness of a man who understood that some moments were worth preserving. "But they are nearly here. You must be very excited to see them."
"Extremely," Weiss said, in a tone she clearly believed was quite restrained.
From the doorway behind them came the quiet click of boots, measured and precise — a sound that could only belong to one person in this house.
Winter Schnee descended the front steps with the unhurried grace of someone who had long since made peace with the world's pace. She was seventeen and wore the uniform of Atlas Academy as naturally as a second skin: a dark blue jacket over a matching vest, a crisp shirt beneath, a navy skirt above grey knee-high stockings and polished black boots. Her silver hair was swept back neatly. She carried herself like a blade — composed, deliberate, faintly sharp at the edges.
The look she fixed on her younger sister carried within it, if one knew to look, a great deal of fond exasperation.
"You really are excited," Winter remarked. It was not quite a question.
"Of course I am." Weiss drew herself up to her full — if modest — height. "Khanna and Sarai are my best friends, Winter."
"Mm." The older girl's mouth curved, just slightly, at one corner. "And what of Sarai's brother? Odyn, wasn't it? Does he factor into this eagerness at all?"
The effect was immediate and deeply satisfying, from Winter's perspective.
Weiss's hands found each other in front of her, fingers twisting together in a gesture that she was entirely unaware of. She looked down at the stones beneath her feet, and the tips of her ears turned pink in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
"I... h-him too, I suppose," she mumbled. "Odyn is... nice."
Grandfather Nicolas cleared his throat softly — a sound that contained a universe of amusement kept carefully in check.
"Come now, Winter. Let your sister be." He glanced sidelong at his elder granddaughter. "That young elf is a fine boy. I am glad Weiss has such a friend."
Winter tilted her head, acquiescing. "As you wish, Grandfather."
He turned to her then, something more businesslike entering his expression. "Incidentally — are your mother and father nearby? I would prefer them present when our guests arrive."
Winter gave a small, respectful incline of her head. "Yes. I can fetch them, if you wish."
"No need." He smiled. "We shall go together."
The three of them had barely made their way back through the foyer when the sound of wheels on the gravel drive reached them — the dignified rumble of a carriage pulling to a stop before Schnee Manor.
Weiss was already at the door.
Four adults descended first, and even by the refined standards of Atlas's noble district, they commanded attention.
The first was a man whose presence seemed to fill the space around him without effort. Berethon Albanar, Chieftain of the Albanar Tribe and lord of their district within Atlas, was dark-skinned with hair of a deep cerulean blue — cropped close but for a neat, matching beard — and eyes that burned a vivid, molten orange. His ears were pointed, slightly elongated, a mark of his dark elven lineage worn without apology. He was dressed in the fashion of nobility: a dark blue buttoned coat beneath a crimson cape edged in white, with a golden sash crossing diagonally from shoulder to hip. Black trousers, a leather belt, white-gloved hands, and green boots completed the image of a man equally at home in a war council or a diplomatic salon. Upon his brow rested a slender golden tiara — understated, but unmistakable.
Everything about him said I am powerful, and the kindness in his face said I know it, and I am not afraid of it.
Beside him stood his wife, Hyatan Albanar — and if her husband commanded a room, she adorned it. Tanned skin, pointed ears, and those same burning orange eyes framed by long lavender hair that swept elegantly over the collar of her midnight-black robe-coat. A purple shirt, a crimson sash, a skirt that fell to just below her knees, purple stockings, and black heeled shoes — all of it finished with a violet cape trimmed in gold and a silver tiara that glinted in the pale Atlas light. She moved with the quiet surety of a woman who had never once needed to raise her voice to make herself heard.
The third figure stood a half-step behind and to the left — her armor announcing her before any introduction could. Silver plate, a blue cape, purple hair with streaks of black catching the light. Her orange eyes held a sharp, appraising quality, and the sword at her hip looked as though it had been drawn and returned a thousand times. This was Lylah — sister to Hyatan, and the woman that even Atlas's generals spoke of carefully. The Silver Lioness, some called her, though never to her face if they had any sense about them.
The fourth figure was, by comparison, almost puzzling in his informality. A cream-skinned man with perpetually dishevelled black hair and red eyes that had seen rather too much, a short shadow of stubble across his jaw, a long red scarf wrapped around his neck with the studied carelessness of a man for whom carelessness was an art. His white jacket was unremarkable, his torn crimson cape slightly worse for wear, his grey trousers and brown belt serviceable at best. A small black necklace was the single concession to ornamentation. This was Qrow Branwen — a Huntsman from the Kingdom of Vale — and what exactly he was doing here, in this company, at this door, was a story that the morning had not yet arrived at.
And behind the four adults — trailing after them with the particular long-strided walk of a boy who is trying very hard to appear as though he is not in a hurry — came three children.
Weiss was down the steps before she had made any conscious decision to move.
"Khanna! Sarai!"
The girl who turned to meet her was perhaps nine years old, with dark skin, pointed ears, and the kind of self-possession that most people don't develop until adulthood. Khanna wore her purple-black hair loose around her shoulders, and her smile was the easy, knowing smile of someone who has long since taken the measure of the people she loves.
"Weiss," she said warmly, opening her arms. "Good to see you."
The smaller girl behind her — barely six, with Khanna's same dark complexion and wide curious eyes — was Sarai Albanar, and she gave Weiss a hug that had very little technique but an enormous amount of feeling.
Weiss returned it with equal sincerity. Then she stepped back, looking past the two girls, and the brightness in her face flickered.
"Where is Odyn?"
Sarai tilted her head. "Oh — Nii-san said he has to stay with Mama and Papa for a little while. Something about... the discussions? With your grandfather and parents?" She frowned slightly. "I didn't quite understand it."
A small cloud passed over Weiss's expression. "I see."
Khanna's knowing smile returned, warmer now. "He'll be with us before long, Weiss. Come on — let's leave the grown-ups to their business."
She took Weiss by the wrist and pulled, and Weiss let herself be pulled, and the cloud passed, and she was running again.
She did not, however, leave without looking back.
Odyn stood at his father's side, a boy of perhaps ten, with the same dark complexion and pointed ears as his family, and eyes the same burning orange. He was slight for his age, but there was something in the way he held himself — straight-backed, attentive — that suggested he was paying very careful attention to everything happening around him, and filing it all away.
When Weiss looked back, he caught her gaze. His hand rose in a small wave. She returned it, and they both smiled, and then Khanna had pulled her around the corner and out of sight.
Odyn watched the empty corner for a moment.
Then Qrow Branwen — who had somehow drifted to stand beside the boy during the exchange — clapped a hand onto his shoulder.
"You'll catch up with them soon enough, squirt."
The boy smiled and glanced up at him, something unguarded and grateful in it. "Thanks, Un—" He stopped. Corrected quickly. "Mr. Branwen."
Qrow's eyes swept the courtyard with practiced subtlety. He leaned down slightly.
"Easy," he said, quiet and easy himself. "Can't have the wrong ears catching that. You know how it'd look."
Odyn let out a small, sheepish breath of laughter, the tips of his ears reddening. "Right. Sorry. I'll be more careful."
"Good man." Qrow straightened, and the casual hand on the shoulder became simply a man standing beside a child. Nothing more.
The group moved toward the manor's entrance.
Nicolas Schnee received them in the front hall with the grace of a man who had been hosting dignitaries his entire life and had made peace with the performance of it.
"Lord Berethon. Duchess Hyatan. Your presence honours us." He gestured toward the interior with a steady hand. "If you will follow us, we can speak further in the study."
"The honour is shared, Sir Nicolas," Berethon replied, with the warmth of someone who means it.
The procession moved deeper into the manor — Nicolas leading, Willow at his side, Winter a composed half-step behind, their guests following in kind. Odyn stayed close to Qrow and Lylah, flanked by two people who, he sensed, would intervene on his behalf if anything went wrong.
He had only a vague idea of why he'd been asked to remain with the adults. His parents had told him only that he was an important part of the day's discussions. He could guess at the shape of it — he was not, despite his age, an unobservant child — but the specifics eluded him. He walked quietly, and listened.
What he did not miss was the look on Jacques Schnee's face.
Jacques stood near the study doorway as the procession reached it, and his gaze — when it found Odyn — was not the gaze of a man encountering a guest's child. It was something colder. Something with a long history behind it, and no particular interest in concealing itself.
Lylah noticed. Her expression did not change, but her shoulders settled with the particular stillness of a blade returned to its scabbard: ready.
They took their seats — the Albanar party and their companions on one side of the study's two facing couches, the Schnees on the other. Before Nicolas could open his mouth, Lylah spoke.
"Before we begin, Sir Nicolas — there is something I feel must be addressed." Her gaze moved to Jacques with the deliberateness of a pointing finger. "Specifically, concerning your son-in-law."
Nicolas exhaled through his nose. He had hoped — perhaps naively — that Jacques would have learned from the near-disaster of their last negotiation with a non-human partner. He had kept the man out of these discussions as a rule. He had made an exception today, because it involved family. He was beginning to regret it.
"Of course," he said. "Go ahead."
Lylah rose. She was not a tall woman, but standing, she was a great deal more than her height. She looked at Jacques in the measured way of someone who has already decided the outcome of a confrontation and is simply waiting for the other party to understand this.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Jacques?"
Jacques's jaw tightened. He glanced — pointedly, deliberately — at Odyn.
"Nothing of great consequence," he said. "I merely question the necessity of having that child present in adult discussions. A foundling with no—"
He did not finish the sentence.
The sound of steel clearing a scabbard is brief and final, like a full stop. Lylah's blade was free in the time it took to blink, its edge hovering centimetres from Jacques Schnee's throat. The room became very still.
"I would recommend," Lylah said, in a tone of absolute quiet, "that you choose your next words with great care. The child you have just insulted is my nephew. He is also the eldest son of Lord Berethon and Duchess Hyatan — our hosts' guests and your betters in every sense that matters. If you open your mouth again before you have remembered that fact..." The blade did not move. "I may be less patient."
Jacques was sweating. Behind Lylah, faintly — whether from her own aura or simply from the concentrated intent of a warrior who had earned her title in blood — the impression of a great silver lioness seemed to settle over her shoulders.
He said nothing.
Nicolas cleared his throat.
"Jacques." His voice was level, the way mountains are level — immovably, with enormous weight behind the stillness. "I believe your office requires your attention. I will have someone find you when you are needed."
"I—"
"Jacques." The word fell again, quieter, and somehow heavier. "We are clear."
A long pause. Then Jacques rose, with the careful dignity of a man retreating, and left the room.
The door closed.
Willow Schnee closed her eyes for a moment, then inclined her head low toward their guests — silver hair slipping over one shoulder, pale hands folded in her lap. She was a beautiful woman in the way of things that have weathered something — the kind of beauty that asks to be understood rather than admired.
"I apologise," she said quietly. "For his conduct. He was not always..." She paused, finding no way to finish that thought without grief in it. "He was not always this way."
Hyatan's expression softened. She looked to her sister.
"Lylah."
The blade was already returning to its scabbard. Lylah sat back down, expression composed once more, only a faint heightening of colour at her cheeks betraying anything at all.
"Ahem. Of course, Your Grace."
Hyatan turned back to Willow with a smile of genuine warmth. "You need not apologise on behalf of another person's choices. We do not hold you responsible." She paused. "Thank you for saying so, nonetheless."
Willow breathed out, and some of the tension went with it.
Berethon leaned forward then, lacing his gloved fingers together, and the room shifted into the register of business.
"Sir Nicolas. To the matter we discussed at length — the agreement that might benefit both our communities."
Nicolas straightened, recognition warming his face. "Yes. You proposed it could offer mutual advantage to both your district and the Schnee Dust Company. I would very much like to understand the specifics."
"In two parts," Berethon said. "The first: technology. Nothing yet seen in Atlas, or anywhere in Remnant, for that matter. I cannot disclose the full scope of it today — but we can offer you the foundations, and a demonstration in time."
"And the second," Hyatan added, "is knowledge. Specifically, trade routes and vendors previously unknown to Atlas. If we were to formalise this partnership, we dark elves could ensure your dust reaches buyers across all of Remnant — faster, further, and in greater volume than your current infrastructure allows."
Nicolas was quiet for a moment. Then: "You said if Faunus had access to dust crystals, weapons, and machinery at equitable prices — your company's profits would increase substantially."
"Substantially," Berethon confirmed. "And rapidly."
"I see." Nicolas regarded the man across from him with the focus of someone whose mind worked slowly and carefully, and was invariably right. "Then I assume there is a condition."
Berethon nodded.
Odyn, who had been sitting quietly through all of it, felt something shift in the room — some subtle change in gravity that made him sit straighter without entirely knowing why.
"Just one," Berethon said. "It concerns not only business, but friendship. And the happiness of our children."
He glanced to his son. Then to Nicolas.
"Your granddaughter Weiss and our youngest daughter Sarai have become genuinely close," he began. "This I'm sure you've noticed."
Nicolas smiled at that — the real kind, that moved all the way up. "It is one of the great joys of their friendship. To see a Schnee and an Albanar running through the same garden together... it gives an old man hope."
"Our Sarai," Hyatan said gently, "has told us on more than one occasion that she wishes Weiss were her sister."
A quiet fell over the room — the pleasant kind.
Winter, who had been listening from her seat with her hands folded and her expression carefully neutral, found herself unable to prevent a small smile from forming. Willow's eyes had gone soft.
"That," Willow said, "is rather a lovely thought."
Berethon and Hyatan exchanged a glance — the kind that needed no words.
"Then perhaps," Berethon said, "we ought to give those girls the chance to truly become what they already are to each other."
The Schnees exchanged glances of their own.
Willow's brow furrowed, gently. "Forgive me — I hope I am not being obtuse, but... what precisely are you suggesting?"
"A proposal," Hyatan said simply.
Winter tilted her head. "What manner of proposal, milady?"
It was Nicolas who spoke — not with surprise, but with the measured tone of a man confirming what he had already half-understood. "I assume your son is involved in this proposal in some capacity."
Berethon looked at Odyn. Odyn looked at his father.
"And your granddaughter Weiss," Hyatan said.
The silence lasted only a moment before Willow drew a short breath — the particular breath of someone arriving at a conclusion they weren't quite prepared for.
"Surely you don't mean—"
"A betrothal," Berethon said, neither apologising for it nor rushing it. "Between Odyn and Weiss, when they come of age. Nothing binding before then — nothing that takes choice away from either of them. Only if both families agree, and only if the children themselves are willing." His gaze settled on his son. "Odyn. What do you say?"
The boy was quiet. Not uncertain, exactly — thinking. His orange eyes moved from his father, to Weiss's grandmother across the room, to a point on the floor somewhere between them where, perhaps, he was turning something over in his mind.
Then he looked up.
"If it makes my sister happy," he said, "then it isn't a bad thing." A pause. A faint colour at his cheeks that he did not entirely manage to conceal. "And... it wouldn't be bad to be close to Weiss in that way. I don't mind. I... I think I'd like it, actually."
Nicolas Schnee regarded the boy across from him for a long moment. Then he began to laugh — not the polite laughter of a diplomat, but the real thing, rising up from somewhere unguarded.
"Ha — you've done it again, old friend! You've managed to surprise me." He reached across and clapped Berethon firmly on the arm. "You have yourself a deal."
Willow smiled — a little dazed, a little warm. Winter exhaled through her nose, quiet and dry, the corner of her mouth pulling upward in the way of someone trying not to look as amused as she was.
Oum above, she thought. How on earth is Weiss going to take this.
Berethon turned to his son, the pride in his expression easy and unperformed.
"Thank you for your honesty, Odyn. You may go find your sisters — and Weiss."
Odyn was on his feet before the sentence was finished. He bowed to the room — quick, earnest, thorough — and rattled off his thanks in a single run-on breath.
"Of course — thank you, Father. Mother. Aunt Lylah. Mr. Branwen. And all of you."
Then he was gone, his footsteps already fading down the corridor.
The adults sat in his wake for a moment. Qrow's expression had not changed, but there was something around his eyes.
Nicolas glanced toward Winter. "Make sure he finds his way to the girls. We don't want him getting lost. Or..." A meaningful pause. "Running into that fool of a father of yours."
Winter stood, smoothing her skirt.
"Of course, Grandfather." She paused at the door. "I will see to it."
Nicolas turned back to Berethon as the door closed after her.
"Now then. The specifics, if you please..."
One hour later.
The garden gazebo in winter was not, strictly speaking, the warmest place to take tea. But Weiss Schnee sat in it with the poise of someone who had been raised to find marble floors adequate for sitting and glacial temperatures agreeable for conversation, so she managed.
The three girls had arranged themselves in the low chairs around the wrought-iron table — Weiss, Khanna, and Sarai — with their teacups cradled in their palms and the skeletal branches of the manor's garden stirring in the cold breeze around them. The gazebo sat at the garden's centre, a small white pavilion threaded with dormant rose vines, overlooking the pale expanse of the grounds.
Weiss was not, technically, looking toward the manor.
She was simply... aware of it.
"Thinking about my cousin again?"
Khanna's voice was serene. Her face was the picture of innocence, which was its own kind of incrimination.
Weiss snapped back to attention, and something warm and flustered flooded up through her chest and into her cheeks.
"I am not," she said, with the authority of someone who is very definitely lying. "I was simply... noting that it has been quite a long time. That is all. Normally when Odyn visits, he comes with you directly. I was merely observing the change in routine."
Khanna's expression did not change. It did not need to.
"Of course," she said, and lifted her teacup.
Sarai, who had been listening to this exchange with the grave attention of a six-year-old who is trying to understand something just beyond her reach, set down her cup.
"Are you sad because you like Nii-san, Weiss?"
The silence that followed was immediate and total.
Khanna choked on her tea in the most dignified way she could manage, which was not very dignified at all. She pressed her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
Weiss's face had gone an extraordinary colour.
"What?! No — I — that is absolutely not — Sarai, I don't — I mean I do like him, obviously, because he is my friend, and friends like each other, that is the entire — I just think he is very nice and that is completely different from — no!"
Sarai tilted her head. "Then why is your face so red? Is it because of Nii-san?"
Weiss opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at the table.
Khanna had recovered enough to reach over and pat her younger cousin's head.
"Sarai," she said, composing herself with visible effort, "I think we've teased Weiss enough for one afternoon." Her eyes were still bright with laughter. "Perhaps we'll get our answer to your question a little later."
Sarai accepted this with a philosophical nod. Later, she filed it. Like Khanna said.
Weiss took a long, steadying sip of her tea and very deliberately looked at something else.
Then — from behind them, with the particular energy of someone who has been looking for people he likes — a voice broke across the garden.
"Hey! Sorry it took so long!"
Weiss turned so fast she nearly upset her teacup.
Odyn came over the garden path with his hands raised in pre-emptive apology, a grin on his face that suggested he was embarrassed and happy in more or less equal measure. He had the look of someone who had been recently hurried — slightly wind-blown, orange eyes bright.
Behind him, at a more measured pace, came Winter.
"O-Odyn," Weiss managed. She set her teacup down with great care, smoothed the front of her coat, and straightened the part in her hair, all in the span of about two seconds. Then she looked at him with the expression of someone who has decided on mild reproach. "You certainly took long enough."
"I know, I'm sorry!" He stopped a few feet from her, hands still up. "Please don't be upset, Weiss — I really couldn't leave any sooner, I promise."
She looked at him for a moment, maintaining the reproachful expression with great effort.
It collapsed.
She smiled.
"Fine," she declared. "But you have to catch me first." She was already backing away, eyes bright, a laugh cresting. "You're it!"
"Hey — that's not fair, Weiss—!"
"You said you were sorry, so you owe me a head start! Catch me!"
She turned and ran, her laughter spilling out across the winter garden, and Odyn — after a single beat of absolute helplessness — ran after her.
"Get back here!"
Khanna watched them go. Then she looked at Sarai, who was watching with enormous eyes and a wide smile.
Winter arrived at the gazebo table and looked, with an expression of deep and fond resignation, at the two small figures disappearing around the manor's far corner.
"I leave him alone for thirty seconds."
"Sit down, older sister Schnee," Khanna said cheerfully, pulling out a chair. "There is still tea."
They ran the length of the manor's grounds and back again, and then around the side, and back to the front, and Odyn was faster — being longer-limbed — but Weiss was determined, and determination has its own kind of momentum. When they finally stopped, it was because their legs had conducted a quiet vote and declared the matter settled.
They collapsed onto the hill of frosted grass just off the manor's main path — more of a slow, graceful descent than an actual collapse, because Weiss had her standards — and lay looking up at the pale winter sky while their breathing steadied.
After a while, Odyn sat up.
His expression had changed. Still him — still warm — but quieter now, in the way of a stream gone still before it turns a corner.
"I never thought you'd actually outrun me," he said. "First time for everything, I suppose."
Weiss smiled at the sky. "First time for everything."
A pause stretched out between them, long enough that Weiss turned her head to look at him.
"Odyn?"
He didn't answer immediately. He was looking at something in the distance — or perhaps at nothing at all.
"We're best friends," he said at last. "Right?"
She sat up. There was something in his voice that required it.
"Of course we are." She looked at him steadily. "What are you talking about?"
"I was just thinking." He picked at a blade of frost-edged grass. "If something happened and we couldn't see each other for a long time — would you still remember me? As your friend?"
Weiss stared at him. "That is a ridiculous question."
"Is it?"
"You're the only person who calls me princess." She said it simply, as though it were obvious, as though it were proof enough of anything. "I could never forget that. I could never forget you."
Something in his face shifted — settled, like a key finding its lock.
"...Right." He looked down. Then, quietly: "Can I ask you something?"
"You already are asking me things," she pointed out. "But yes. Go ahead."
He looked at her. "Would you want to stay together? When we grow up?"
It was such a simple question that it took her a moment to understand how serious he was.
Then she smiled — small at first, then wider.
"Of course I would."
He held out one hand, pinky extended, with the gravity of someone enacting a sacred contract.
"Promise?"
She linked her little finger with his without hesitation.
"Promise."
They held the gesture for a moment. Then she dropped her hand and looked at him more carefully.
"Where is this coming from, Odyn? You're worrying me."
He looked at the ground. Sighed — a too-old sound for a ten-year-old.
"I've been hearing rumours. About my family." He paused. "We might... have to move soon."
The word landed in Weiss's chest like a cold stone dropped in still water.
"What? Why?"
He turned to look at her — measured, gentle. "I think your father doesn't like us, Weiss. I don't know what we've done, but I think... I think he might really hate us."
"He doesn't hate you," she said immediately. "He's just — he's been stressed about work. It's not about you."
"What if it is, though?" The question was soft. Not accusing — genuinely searching. "What would you do? If he told you that you couldn't see us anymore?"
Weiss went very still.
Then a familiar flame lit itself behind her blue eyes — the same one that surfaced when someone suggested she couldn't do something, or when something unjust presented itself to her and expected to go unchallenged.
"I would tell him he was wrong," she said. Quiet, but absolute. "I would tell him that whatever his reasons are, they are wrong, and that you are my friend, and that it doesn't matter."
Odyn looked at her for a long moment.
Then he smiled — a real one, the kind that went all the way to his orange eyes.
"Thank you," he said. "That makes it easier."
She looked at him, head tilted. "Odyn?"
"Yeah?"
"If you do move..." She looked at her own hands, fingers finding each other. "Promise you won't forget me?"
"It's a deal," he said, without a pause. "And I'll write. As often as I can."
She looked up at him. He was a little taller than her — enough that when she stood, she had to rise onto the very tips of her toes to reach.
She did.
She closed her eyes, and pressed her lips briefly, lightly, to his cheek.
When she lowered herself back to her heels, she was looking away, one finger pressed to her lips — this is our secret, said the gesture — and there was colour high in her cheeks that the winter air alone could not account for.
Odyn did not say anything. He was very glad that his own complexion made it somewhat harder to tell.
He decided, as a matter of discretion and friendship, not to draw attention to either of their faces.
They sat like that for a moment — two children with a small shared secret and the strange, warm, slightly terrifying feeling of something that has not been named yet.
Then Sarai's voice came drifting across the garden, and Khanna's a step behind, and Winter's quieter one behind that, and the afternoon reasserted itself.
Sarai barrelled into her brother with the unstoppable momentum of a six-year-old who has been looking very hard for something she lost.
"Nii-san! Weiss! There you are!"
Odyn caught her automatically, steadying her with both hands, and laughed. "Were you looking for us, sis?"
"Yes!" She looked between them with an expression of profound betrayal. "You just ran away! We were looking everywhere!"
"I'm sorry." His expression softened. He ruffled her hair. "I didn't mean to leave you alone."
Weiss watched them, and something in her chest went quietly tender.
From across the garden, the clear, carrying voice of Hyatan Albanar reached them.
"Odyn. Sarai. Khanna — it's time."
Khanna turned to call back. "Coming!"
She looked at Weiss. "We have to go."
Weiss's smile faltered. "...I know."
"Don't make that face. We'll see each other again — I'm certain of it." Khanna reached back and took Sarai's hand. "Say goodbye to Weiss."
Sarai waved with her whole arm. "Bye-bye, Weiss!"
"Goodbye, Sarai."
They walked ahead. Odyn fell into step behind them — then stopped, because something had caught the hem of his coat.
He looked back.
Weiss's hand was around the fabric, not quite gripping it. She wasn't looking at him. Her bangs had fallen forward, casting a shadow over her eyes.
"Weiss." Gently.
"I know you have to go." Her voice was very small. "I just..." Her shoulders trembled, once. "I'm scared, Odyn. What if it's a long time? What if I don't see you again? I couldn't—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I couldn't bear that."
He turned fully.
And then he put his arms around her.
She went still — surprised, the way you are by warmth you've forgotten you were cold without. Then she breathed out, and the trembling stopped, and she held on.
"That won't happen," he said quietly, into the top of her silver hair. "I don't know when — but we will see each other again. I give you my word."
"Promise," she said. It wasn't quite a question.
"Promise."
They held on for another moment. Then, slowly, they let go.
He looked at her face — her blue eyes, still too bright at the corners — and made sure she was looking at him before he stepped back.
"Until next time, princess."
He waved, turned, and walked toward his family.
Weiss stood on the path and watched him go. When he was gone, she looked down at her hand — still feeling, faintly, the warmth of where his arms had been.
Winter's shadow fell softly over her.
"Miss him already?"
"...Yes," Weiss said quietly.
"I thought as much." Winter looked toward the gate, where the Albanar carriage was pulling out of sight. "He really does mean quite a lot to you, doesn't he."
Weiss looked up at her older sister — proud, and sure, and not quite managing to hide how much the question cost her to answer.
"Of course he does. He's my best friend."
Winter smiled. The fond, slightly aching kind.
"Right," she said. "Of course."
She held out her hand. Weiss took it. They walked back to the manor together.
What none of the Schnees knew — what Weiss could not have known, standing in the winter garden with warmth still fading from her palm — was that this visit by the Albanar family would be the last time she saw Odyn for many long years.
A tragedy was already making its way toward the Schnee household, quiet as snow and far less gentle. What would follow would later be spoken of in hushed voices — the great shift in the Schnee family's fortune, and the long shadow it cast over everything it touched.
But that is a story for another chapter.
— To Be Continued —
Next Time: Chapter 2 — Tragedy and Separation; Death in the Family.
Hey guys! I hope you all enjoyed this 1st chapter of the AU version of Flame and Crimson. I plan to make 2 other AU versions: One with Yang as the main girl, and one with Blake as the main love interest. The overall plots of the stories will be similar, just with some differences between them such as character pairings and events that take the dark elves that appear in this story will be the same. However, there may or may not be any main characters that are saiyans this time: we'll see lol. Here's a list of other characters who will be appearing in the story this time around: [question marks beside the character's name are ones that are maybe or maybe nots]
Roy Albanar
Khanna Branwen
Hailfire Caldern
Baron Caldern
Flare Kitsune
Note Nightcrow?
Beat Blackwing?
Giblet Zenkai?
Shallot Zenkai?
Jinjer Reinhardt?
Scarlett Reinhardt?
Yang Xiaolong
Ruby Rose
Blake Belladonna
Sybyrh Arkham
Tarro Koizumi?
Daikon Koizumi?
Sarai Albanar
Those are the possible main characters, now for potential pairings:
Roy x Ruby
Baron x Yang
Giblet x Flare?
Shallot x Blake?
Note x Yatsuhashi?
Beat x Velvet?
Jinjer x Sun?
Scarlett x Mercury?
Tarro x Sybyrh?
Daikon x Coco/Velvet?
Sarai x Neptune/Jaune/Sun?
The main pairing is obviously Odyn x Weiss this time around, so that won't change. Sarai is the outlier because i'm planning on taking her character in a different direction this time. I guess before we go I can throw one more poll out there for you guys:
Who should Sarai fall for this time?
A. Oscar Pine (Volume 5)
B. Cardin Winchester (Reformed/ Good Guy)
C. Yatsuhashi Daichi
D. Neptune Vasilias
E. Mercury Black(Hero Route)
F. Tarro Koizumi?
G. Daikon Koizumi?
H. Giblet Zenkai/ Shallot Zenkai?
I. Other male Character (write in suggestion)
Leave a comment or review based on how the story is so far. Maybe what I should change from the other story this time around? Make sure to vote as I am curious as to what you guys think.
Oh and here are the opening and ending themes for this story:
Opening theme:
Opening theme: Alive by ReoNa
Visuals: Just use your own imagination and replace the characters with the ones in this story. Or.. Leave a comment on what you can think of for the opening visuals that fit with the tone of this story.
Ending:
Ending theme: Reincarnated as a Sword ED 1
Visuals: Use your imagination or leave a comment detailing what visuals could fit with this story.
Anyways that's all for now!
Next Time: Chapter 2: Tragedy and Separation; Death in the Family.