The Beacon cafeteria was a truly impressive space, more akin to a grand hall than a mere dining facility. High vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, supported by massive stone columns that seemed to touch the very heavens. Sunlight streamed through towering, arched windows, bathing the polished stone floors in a warm, golden light that made dust motes dance in the air.
Row upon row of long, sturdy tables stretched across the space, most of them half-empty today. Teams of upper-year students were scattered throughout, huddled in small groups—some quietly eating and studying, others laughing a little too loud, shoving one another playfully, or recounting exaggerated stories with expansive gestures.
Many were likely already out on missions, a common practice at Beacon, which was known for deploying its students against Grimm far more frequently than other academies. This left the vast hall with an almost peaceful, subdued atmosphere.
I sat alone at one of these long tables, several empty chairs forming a comfortable buffer around me. It was a good vantage point for observing without drawing undue attention. The bowl of soup in front of me steamed gently, and I let it cool, content to scan the room idly for any semblances I hadn't already cataloged and copied.
Ah, interesting. That third-year guy over there—the one with the messy, bronze-colored hair poring over a textbook. His semblance... was not needing to eat or drink. How utterly ironic that his plate was already scraped clean. Don't mind if I...
I focused, feeling something subtle shift within my soul, like a tiny, intricate clockwork mechanism clicking precisely into place. Suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty that I required 1% less sustenance than I had just moments before. Not exactly a game-changer in the immediate sense, true, but give it a few years, let it grow and mature a bit, and I could potentially get by on just a single meal a day. More time for training, more time for everything else that mattered. But until then...
The soup was surprisingly flavourful, far better than the nutrient paste masquerading as food back in Atlas. Chunks of tender meat and earthy root vegetables swam in a rich, savory broth that carried subtle hints of herbs I couldn't quite identify, but which were undeniably pleasant. I finished it quickly, then moved on to the rest of my meal—a perfectly cooked chicken breast, seasoned simply but expertly with rosemary and garlic, topped with a generous layer of melted cheese. On the side was a heap of crispy, golden-brown fries. Delicious.
Yes, I'd probably go back for seconds.
I glanced at the large clock mounted high on the wall. 1:20 pm. My next class wasn't until 3. More than enough time.
Oolbeck's class had been... refreshing. Much more free-spirited and less rigid than the intensely structured training I was used to. The comparison, honestly, was almost meaningless. A literal tree possessed more 'free spirit' than the operatives back in Atlas, but then again, they were the ones who genuinely seemed to believe that emotionally neutering people was the key to lowering Grimm attacks.
Either way, I'd had fun, and I'd picked up a few pointers on a new weapon style. I'd even played around with the Schnee girl a bit, though that was more force of habit.
My semblance, after all, was all but dependent on people wanting, or being forced, to fight me. Engaging her– allowing her to think she was stomping me, only to unexpectedly match her skill – was an excellent way to plant a seed in their mind.
The "he was just lucky, I beat him once I can do it again" mentality was a powerful motivator for future confrontations. Complete and utter crushing defeat worked in some cases, but usually only on those whose ambition truly matched their pride.
Anyway, snow-white was decent with her weapon, she certainly had the technical skill drilled into her, but she desperately needed more versatility in her approach.
To be fair, she probably did already possess it, given the sheer chaotic potential of her mashed-together glyph/summoning semblance and the multi-dust revolving chambers on her sword. And yes, no matter how much she insisted on calling it something else, it was a fucking sword. Slashing, thrusting, long, short, fancy or plain, it was still a sword, Miss "Redirection is not just a fancy name for blocking."
I felt a genuine smile, unbidden and unexpected, spread across my face. It had been a while since one appeared when I wasn't actively engaged in combat.
My eyes drifted towards the entrance of the cafeteria. A small group was making their way in, their presence somehow... louder than the others, even from this distance. I felt their gazes sweep across the room, and I distinctly felt them sizing me up, like predators sizing up prey.
At least the girls were.
How wonderfully bold! Back at my previous school, that kind of open assessment would have already led to a fight. I was a firm believer that if your aura levels were ever topped off, you simply weren't fighting enough.
They would learn in time.
"Not having to go to the armory after a combat class is so unfair, don't you think?"
The voice—bright, teasing, and brimming with an almost palpable energy—cut through my thoughts. I looked up, my smile widening slightly.
"Well, it certainly saves on cleaning bills, doesn't it? I imagine scraping dried Grimm guts off your gauntlets can be a real buzzkill."
Five figures stood before me, trays in hand. Three-fourths of Team JNPR and two-fourths of Team RWBY.
The blonde grinned, her vibrant lilac eyes glinting with open mischief. Beside her, snowy looked like she'd rather be anywhere else on the planet, preferably one without cheerful blondes. Nikos offered a polite, serene smile, while the orange-haired girl practically bounced on the balls of her feet, her tray piled impossibly high with enough pancakes to feed my entire home village twice over.
A dignified-looking guy with a serene expression brought up the rear, his face as unreadable as mine when I bothered to maintain the façade.
I gestured to the empty seats around me. "Please, feel free. There's plenty of room."
They slid into the chairs, trays clattering against the polished table surface. The bombshell, Yang, plopped down directly across from me with an evaluating grin that promised trouble. It was expected, though, given her obvious curiosity.
"My name is Drago Geas, as you probably heard," I said, smiling wider as Yang, without missing a beat, stole one of my perfectly cooked fries the moment she was seated. "And I'd like to be friends with all of you."
The orange-haired girl slammed her hands down on the table, sending the syrup bottles rattling precariously. "Heya! I'm Nora Valkyrie, destroyer of pancakes, champion of—!"
"—chaos," the dignified guy finished dryly, gently nudging a stray strawberry back onto his plate. His voice was calm, measured. "I am Lie Ren. It's a pleasure meeting you properly."
The guy had an almost meditative quality about him as he meticulously arranged his meal—a simple plate of noodles, steamed vegetables, and what looked like plain tofu. Nothing about him, triggered any recollection from the fractured, shattered memories that occasionally surfaced in my mind. A minor character, then.
I nodded towards him, and he returned the gesture with a slight inclination of his head.
His Semblance—emotion masking—wasn't flashy, true, but it had its uses against grimm. And Nora? If her Electric Empowerment didn't drain extra aura for its passive effect, she was a walking, talking treasure trove.
Magnet girl inclined her head gracefully, her long crimson ponytail swaying gently against her shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Drago. I'm Pyrrha Nikos. Welcome to Beacon." She spoke softly as she began to elegantly dissect her salad.
Simple. Polite. She appeared friendly enough on the surface, but there was a distinct guardedness behind her striking green eyes, a subtle tension around her mouth that suggested she wasn't as relaxed as she tried to appear.
A brief flash—an animated version of her, a crimson ponytail, a glass arrow sticking from her chest—appeared in my mind's eye, vivid and sharp, but my smile remained undisturbed.
Yang wiggled the stolen fry at me before popping it into her mouth. "My name's Yang, and I think you're pretty cool. You could say I had my fries on you!" She winked. "And this—" She hooked a thumb at Weiss, who stiffened visibly, "—is a sculpture made of ice I drag around. We call her Weiss. She has wheels."
Weiss's furious glare shifted from me to Yang with lethal precision. Her fork bent slightly under the white-knuckled grip of her hand.
"I will end you,"
Yang gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "She talks! Oh, my dust, everyone, the ice sculpture speaks!"
The table erupted into easy, chaotic banter—Nora demanding Ren's strawberries ("You hate fruit!" "I hate wasting fruit, Nora."), Yang gleefully heckling Weiss about her "resting Schnee face," Pyrrha quietly observing it all with an expression of amused detachment that made her seem much older than her years.
I pitched in here and there when directly asked a question, offering brief responses, but most of my attention remained focused on my meal. Few things were as fundamentally important as proper nutrition for optimal recovery and growth, and while my healing semblance could cover any deficits, it drank aura like a thirsty desert.
At some point, Weiss checked her Scroll, her lips thinning in annoyance. "Yang, did Ruby find Blake?"
Yang tapped rapidly on her own Scroll. "Yep. Apparently, she was in Goodwitch's office for some reason." She glanced at me, offering a brief explanation. "Blake's our fourth teammate. Ruby—my little sister—is our team leader. I'm sure you saw her scythe during combat class. She's probably with Blake now."
"Team RWBY without the B and R, got it," I nodded, taking another bite of chicken. "And you guys are missing someone too, right? Team JNPR?"
"Jaune," Pyrrha answered, her voice neutral, perhaps a touch strained. It struck me as odd, especially since I could clearly see the guy at another table across the cafeteria, eating with a group of four other boys who were laughing loudly at something he'd said. Weird guy. Semblance-less too, what a shame.
Yang leaned towards me, her smirk widening as she shamelessly stole yet another one of my fries.
"So, Atlas boy," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though not enough to avoid being heard by the others, "what brings you to Beacon? Too stuffy up there in the clouds for you?"
Suddenly, all eyes at the table turned to me, expectant.
I took a leisurely sip of water, buying myself a moment. "Well, I wanted a change of scenery, mostly. Atlas is... structured. Very structured. Sometimes, perhaps, a bit too much so."
"That's an understatement," Weiss muttered under her breath, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Oh," Nora piped up, her excitement undimmed. "Did you two know each other before Beacon? Is that it?"
"No," Weiss said quickly, "Atlas is significantly larger than people realize... and I was also tutored privately."
Pyrrha spoke up then, her voice gentle and curious. "What was it like training there? I've heard their combat program is quite… rigorous."
"Rigorous is one word for it," I chuckled, setting down my fork. "Militaristic would be another. Everything is strictly by the book, no room for improvisation, very little tolerance for personal style or... individual expression.
I took a deliberate, slow bite of food, letting the implication hang in the air. "What about you all? Been a team long?"
"Since initiation," Ren replied calmly, ever the voice of reason. "So, just two weeks."
"But it feels like forever!" Nora exclaimed, throwing an arm dramatically around his shoulders, nearly sending his meticulous meal arrangement flying. "Ren and I have known each other since we were kids, though! Like, really kids!"
We continued to make idle chatter, the conversation flowing easily. I learned some potentially useful things about Beacon that I promptly shelved for later analysis, but many more were relatively useless facts about my new colleagues. Nora's boundless energy, Ren's quiet patience, Yang's penchant for terrible puns, Pyrrha's surprising depth. None of them, I noted, asked directly about my semblance, even though I could see Nora and Yang practically vibrating with restrained curiosity.
It was considered rather rude in Atlas to pry into someone's semblance without invitation, so perhaps the social norms were similar here.
"Patch is amazing, though," Yang said, leaning back in her chair, a dreamy look in her eyes. "It's not like the cities at all. It's… real. Forests stretching for miles, the air is so clean, you can see the stars so clearly at night. And Signal Academy is nearby, so you grow up knowing how to handle yourself. You can just… run through the woods, feel the wind in your hair, fight a few Beowolves if you want. It's home."
Others added in their own pieces – Weiss mentioning her family estate, Pyrrha describing Sanctum Academy – but Ren and Nora remained mostly silent during this part, their expressions unreadable.
Then Yang turned back to me, that mischievous glint returning to her eyes.
I took a sip of water, preparing myself. "Alright, so," I began, watching their faces, "I was born in a small village. In the Grimmlands."
Nora gasped, genuinely startled, her eyes wide with disbelief. "No way! Like, actual Grimmlands? Not just outside the walls? Like, in it?"
"Yep. Middle of nowhere. Literally in the heart of it." I tore a piece off my bread roll, watching their reactions with mild amusement. "Population: thirty. Huntsmen protecting us: two. Grimm attacks: weekly. Sometimes more."
Pyrrha frowned, her concern evident. "That's… incredibly dangerous, Drago."
"It was awesome," I corrected, a wide, genuine grin splitting my face. "Ever seen a Huntsman punt a Beowolf into the sunset? Because I have. Happened almost every Tuesday."
Yang cackled, slamming her hand on the table again. "Okay, I like this guy."
Weiss, ever the skeptic, narrowed her eyes, her analytical mind clearly whirring. "And how, exactly, did someone from… there… end up at Beacon?"
"YES!" Nora said, practically leaning across the entire table, her eyes wide and shining with unrestrained excitement. "Tell us your story! I want all the juicy details! Were you some kind of child prodigy? A secret agent sent on a top-secret mission? An undercover Atlas specialist sent to spy on us all?"
Ren sighed quietly beside her, a long-suffering sound. "Nora…"
"What? It could happen, Renny!"
I laughed, setting down my utensils completely. How much should I reveal?
Suddenly, a danger-sensing passive semblance tingled lightly at the base of my skull—a familiar, subtle warning. My gaze flicked instinctively towards the entrance of the cafeteria. Two figures in standard Beacon school uniforms were entering, one with a shock of black hair and a bow on her head and the other, smaller, with a cascade of black hair tipped with red.
And alongside them, her expression stern and unyielding, was Professor Glynda Goodwitch, her riding crop held firmly in her hand.
Goodwitch made a beeline directly for our table, her gaze fixed on me.
"Drago Geas," she announced, her voice crisp and authoritative, cutting through the cafeteria's low hum. "Please follow me to the headmaster's office."