Beacon Academy Library
The library is unusually lively for a quiet afternoon.
At one table, Team RWBY is deeply invested in a board game-Ruby arguing over rules, Yang teasing relentlessly, Weiss insisting on order, and Blake watching the chaos with quiet amusement.
At another table, Jaune and Frost flip through comic books, whispering reactions to each panel. Not far from them, Nora sleeps with her head resting on Ren's shoulder while he calmly reads a textbook, entirely unbothered.
A little further away, Erik and Pyrrha sit together in comfortable silence.
Pyrrha is absorbed in a romance novel, her expression soft and unguarded. Every so often, a small smile tugs at her lips, as if she's stumbled upon a line she especially likes. Erik notices-he always does-but doesn't comment.
Instead, his attention is focused on the stack of books in front of him.
Fairy tales.
The Girl in the Tower.
The Tales of the Two Brothers.
The Gift of the Moon.
And several others-some with identical titles, but clearly different editions.
Pyrrha's curiosity eventually wins.
She lowers her book slightly and glances at the pile.
"Erik," she asks gently, "do you like fairy tales?"
He doesn't look up right away.
"No," he says calmly. "I'm collecting them for something else."
She smiles. "That's very mysterious of you."
Closing her book, she shifts in her seat, fully turning toward him.
"So," she continues, "are you going to tell me what you plan to do with all of these?"
"I'm trying to find the truth of our world."
Pyrrha look at him with confusion. "The truth of our world?"
Erik pauses mid-page. He closes The Girl in the Tower slowly and finally looks at her.
"Pyrrha," he asks instead, "what's the first thing that comes to mind when you look at these stories?"
She considers the titles for a moment, eyes scanning the worn covers.
"...Magic," she says. "Fairy tales."
He nods. "Exactly. Magic-something that exists completely outside the system of our world."
She tilts her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it," Erik says. "When we talk about legends tied to specific kingdoms or cultures, they usually adapt their myths to things that make sense in their time. Semblances. Aura. Exceptional skill."
He taps one of the books lightly.
"But these stories don't do that. They talk about magic as if it were normal. Natural. Not an exception."
Pyrrha frowns slightly, thinking. "So... where do you think they come from?"
"I don't know," Erik admits. "That's the problem. I've tried tracing their origins. Different regions. Different eras. Different authors."
He shakes his head. "There's no clear source."
She hesitates. "And that leads you to...?"
Erik exhales softly.
"It leads me to a hypothesis," he says. "What if our world is only what's left of an older one? A world where magic wasn't a myth-where it was as common as Aura and Semblance are now."
Pyrrha studies his face carefully.
"Erik," she says slowly, "don't you think that's a bit far-fetched?"
He lets out a quiet laugh. "I did. For a long time."
Then his expression grows more serious.
"Until I ran into two things that made it harder to ignore."
"Two things?"
He nods.
"The moon," he says. "It's shattered. And to this day, no one can explain how or why-except in fairy tales."
He picks up The Gift of the Moon and holds it out to her.
"This book doesn't give real answers," he adds. "But it treats the event like a turning point. Like something broke-and the world changed with it."
Pyrrha's fingers brush the cover as she takes the book from him.
"And the second thing?" she asks quietly.
Erik lowers his voice.
"Do you know the story of the Four Maidens?"
She nods immediately. "Yes. My mother loved that story."
He meets her eyes.
"What if I told you it isn't just a story?"
Pyrrha freezes.
Her grip tightens on the book as she searches his face-and finds no trace of a joke.
Erik glances around them, making sure no one is paying attention.
"A few years ago," he says softly, "I was lucky enough to meet one of them. The Fall Maiden."
Pyrrha's breath catches.
"I sparred with her," Erik continues. "And just like the legend says... the power was real. It can overwhelm most of the people in this world, only few can match them."
For a moment, Pyrrha can't speak.
"That's when I started questioning my theory again," Erik says. "If the Maidens are real... then what else is?"
He leans back slightly, lowering his voice even further.
"What if all these stories come from the same source? What if fairy tales aren't fantasy-but fragments? Pieces of the truth that survived when everything else didn't?"
Silence settles between them.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
Heavy.
After a long moment, Erik speaks again.
"Pyrrha," he says quietly, "I need you to promise me something."
She looks up.
"Don't tell anyone about this," he says. "Not yet."
He pauses.
"This world..."
"...is far stranger than we've been led to believe."
Pyrrha doesn't answer right away.
But she doesn't look away, either.
Silence lingers between them longer than either of them expects.
Around them, the library continues as if nothing has changed. Dice clatter softly from Team RWBY's table. Ruby argues about rules again. Someone laughs. Pages turn.
The world keeps moving.
Pyrrha finally exhales.
She doesn't look frightened.
She looks... thoughtful.
"If what you're saying is true," she begins slowly, "then fairy tales aren't meant to comfort people."
Erik watches her closely.
"They're warnings," she finishes.
He nods once. "Or reminders."
Pyrrha lowers her gaze to the book still in her hands. Her thumb traces the edge of the cover absentmindedly.
"All my life," she says quietly, "people told me stories like these. About heroes. About power being rewarded. About destiny choosing the right person."
Her grip tightens slightly.
"But none of them ever talk about what happens after."
Erik doesn't interrupt.
She looks up at him again. "If the Maidens are real... and if magic once belonged to everyone..."
Her voice trails off.
"...then maybe being 'chosen' was never a blessing."
That lands harder than anything Erik has said.
He leans back slightly, lowering his voice. "That's the part that worries me."
Pyrrha studies his face. "You've thought about this for a while, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"And you still chose to tell me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Erik hesitates-just for a fraction of a second.
"Because," he says quietly, "if any of this reaches you someday... I don't want it to be a surprise."
Something shifts in her expression.
Not fear.
Trust.
She closes the book and gently slides it back onto the stack.
"Thank you," she says.
"For trusting me," she adds.
Erik nods. "You're the only one I could."
For a moment, neither of them speaks again.
Then-
A soft tap echoes nearby.
Both of them look up.
Professor Ozpin stands a few shelves away, cane resting lightly against the floor. His expression is calm, as always-but his eyes linger on the stack of fairy tales between Erik and Pyrrha just a second longer than necessary.
"Good afternoon," Ozpin says pleasantly. "Studying legends, Mr. Lioren?"
Erik answers without hesitation. "Comparative literature."
Ozpin smiles. "Ah. A fascinating subject."
His gaze shifts to Pyrrha.
"Miss Nikos. I trust your studies are going well?"
"Yes, Professor," she replies smoothly.
Ozpin inclines his head. "Excellent."
For a brief moment-so brief it might be imagined-his eyes return to Erik.
"As they say," Ozpin continues lightly, "stories often reveal more about the present than the past."
With that, he turns and walks away, footsteps fading between the shelves.
Neither Erik nor Pyrrha speaks until he's gone.
"...He knows," Pyrrha murmurs.
Erik exhales quietly. "He suspects."
She looks at him. "Does that worry you?"
"No," Erik says after a moment. "It confirms something."
"What?"
"That we're asking the right questions."
Pyrrha leans back in her chair, eyes drifting upward toward the high library ceiling.
"For the first time," she says softly, "I'm not sure I like the answers."
Erik reaches across the table-not to take her hand, but simply to rest his fingers against hers.
"You don't have to decide anything now," he says. "None of this is urgent."
She turns her hand slightly, intertwining their fingers.
"...Good," she replies. "Because I think this is the kind of truth that changes people."
He doesn't disagree.
And somewhere deep in the shelves of Beacon Academy, old stories sit quietly-waiting for the day they are no longer called fairy tales.
To Be Continued...