Vambasta drank like she was trying to drown a memory.
Not a sad one.
A good one.
The comfort of the hunt.
The clean simplicity of teeth and running and knowing exactly who you were in the dark.
Her den—no, her house—was too big for one wolf. Too quiet. Too soft around the edges. The kind of place you built when you ran a town and needed people to believe you were civilized.
She hated it.
She tipped her cup back again.
The liquor burned.
It didn’t fix anything.
The front door banged open.
Laughter spilled in.
Raska first, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with the leftover thrill of bullying someone who couldn’t bite back.
Kiva followed, still giggling.
Nessa brought up the rear, smiling like she’d kept a secret in her teeth.
Vambasta didn’t smile.
Her ears twitched.
Her gaze swept them.
Then sharpened.
“Where’s Vemi.”
The pack froze like they’d been caught stealing.
Raska blinked. “She was here a minute ago.”
Kiva shrugged, too casual. “Probably went to sniff around. You know how she is.”
Vambasta’s lip curled.
“Find her.”
The words weren’t loud.
They didn’t need to be.
Nessa’s smile faltered. “Boss, she—”
Vambasta set her cup down.
Hard.
The table jumped.
“Find her,” she repeated, and this time the growl underneath it made their fur lift.
The pack scattered.
Vambasta strode out into the night, the liquor in her blood turning into heat.
She didn’t like surprises.
Not in her town.
Not with her sister.
Vemi slipped through the back door of the inn like a ghost.
No laughter.
No swagger.
Just quiet steps and lowered ears.
The front room was still loud with late-night drinkers, but the kitchen smelled like soap and old grease, and that was better. That was safe.
She took off her cloak.
Hung it neatly.
Then went to the counter where the night girl was yawning over a rag.
“Go home,” Vemi said softly. “I’ve got it.”
The girl stared. “You sure? It’s late.”
Vemi nodded.
The girl didn’t argue.
People didn’t argue with Vemi.
Not because she was scary.
Because she looked like she was always one bad moment away from breaking.
Vemi waited until the door shut.
Then she started cleaning.
Wiping tables.
Sweeping.
Stacking cups.
Busy hands.
Quiet mind.
Except it wasn’t quiet.
Not really.
Because upstairs, behind a locked door, there was blood.
And magic.
And something in her chest that kept pulling her toward it like a hook.
Downstairs, Lenora moved like she’d never stopped being on watch.
Sphinx padded beside her, silent.
Riven sat at the corner table where they’d left her.
Still too still.
Still smiling at the wrong times.
Lewd was gone.
Vespera was gone.
The air felt thinner without them.
Lenora didn’t like that.
She sat across from Riven.
No greeting.
Just eyes.
“Talk,” Lenora said.
Riven blinked.
Then nodded like she’d been waiting for permission to exist.
“Okay,” she said.
Lenora’s voice stayed flat. “Why do you want friends.”
Riven’s smile twitched.
She looked down at her hands.
Her fingers flexed like she was remembering what they were for.
“I wandered,” she said. “Long time.”
Lenora didn’t blink.
“You said that.”
Riven nodded. “Centuries.”
Sphinx’s tail flicked once.
Riven’s gaze snapped to it.
Then away.
“I ate,” Riven said, voice careful. “When hungry.”
Lenora’s fingers tightened on the table edge.
“And now you’re trying something new,” Lenora said.
Riven’s smile returned, small. “Yes.”
Lenora leaned forward.
“Why.”
Riven’s eyes flicked toward the stairs.
Toward the room where Derpy lay.
“Magic,” she admitted.
Lenora’s ears twitched. “That’s not an answer.”
Riven’s head tilted.
Then, slowly, like she was assembling a sentence from stolen pieces:
“When I am alone,” she said, “I become simple.”
Lenora’s eyes narrowed.
Riven continued.
“Hungry. Sleepy. Walking.”
Her smile dimmed.
“I don’t want simple,” she said.
Lenora didn’t move.
Riven’s voice got quieter.
“I had artifact,” she said. “Show where calamity books are.”
Lenora’s gaze sharpened.
Riven swallowed.
“Stolen,” she added.
Lenora’s voice went low. “By who.”
Riven’s eyes unfocused, searching memory.
“Heavy guy,” she said. “Huge weapon. Like—door.”
Lenora’s jaw tightened.
“Elf. On broom,” Riven added.
Lenora’s stare didn’t change.
“Knight,” Riven finished. “Blue armor.”
Lenora’s fingers went still.
“And you think friends will help you get it back,” Lenora said.
Riven nodded.
“Allies,” she corrected quickly. “Friends.”
Lenora exhaled through her nose.
“Rule two,” she said. “You don’t use my people as bait.”
Riven’s smile faltered.
Then she nodded anyway.
“Okay,” she said. “No bait.”
Lenora watched her for a long moment.
Then, quietly:
“If you lie to me, I’ll cut you apart and see what’s inside.”
Riven’s eyes widened.
Her expression settled.
Not happy.
Relieved.
A rule.
A boundary.
Something she could understand.
“Okay,” she said again. “No lie.”
Vemi approached the table like she was walking into a storm.
She held a small pouch of gold in both hands.
Her ears were down.
Her eyes didn’t look at Lenora at first.
Then she forced herself to.
“I’m sorry,” Vemi said.
Lenora’s gaze flicked to the pouch.
“What’s that.”
Vemi held it out.
“The money,” she said. “They took it. They shouldn’t have.”
Lenora didn’t reach for it.
Vemi’s hands shook.
“They’re loud,” Vemi whispered. “And they think it’s funny.”
Her throat bobbed.
“It’s not funny,” she added.
Lenora studied her.
Then she took the pouch.
Not like a victory.
Like a fact.
“Thank you,” Lenora said.
Vemi’s eyes widened like she’d never heard gratitude before.
She nodded quickly.
Then her gaze flicked toward the stairs.
She sniffed.
And her face tightened.
“Is he—” she started.
Lenora’s voice cut in. “No. Don’t even think it.”
Vemi flinched.
Lenora didn’t soften.
“You don’t go upstairs,” Lenora said. “Not tonight.”
Vemi swallowed. “Okay.”
She backed away.
Quiet.
Obedient.
But her eyes stayed on the stairs like her body didn’t believe her mouth.
Upstairs, Derpy floated in a place that wasn’t a room.
It wasn’t a dream either.
It was the space behind his eyes.
The place where Celica waited.
She sat close—too close—like she belonged there.
Like she owned the air.
Her fingers traced the bracelets on his wrists with a familiarity that made his skin crawl.
“What did you do,” Derpy asked.
His voice sounded wrong in here.
Too small.
Celica’s expression softened.
“I gave you more power,” she said, like it was a gift and not a price.
Derpy’s stomach twisted.
“How.”
Celica leaned in.
Her lips brushed his ear.
“You’ll see when you wake up,” she whispered. “Just remember.”
Derpy pulled back. “Remember what.”
Celica’s eyes glittered.
“If you can think of the weapons,” she said, tapping the bracelets, “they can make them.”
Derpy blinked.
Celica’s mouth curved.
“Those two weapons I made,” she added, voice almost playful, “were from your world.”
Derpy’s throat went dry.
RWBY. Of course.
“So I can—”
“Conjure something else,” Celica finished for him. “Anything you’ve seen. Anything you can picture.”
Derpy’s mind flickered.
A thousand blades.
A thousand guns.
A thousand ways to hurt.
He turned his head.
And saw it.
Behind Celica.
Behind himself.
A shape.
His shape.
But wrong.
Grinning.
Eyes too bright.
A laugh caught in its throat like it was waiting for permission to spill.
Derpy shuddered.
“I don’t want people to see that part of me,” he whispered.
Celica’s mouth didn’t flatten.
“That part will show eventually,” she said.
Her voice softened.
Not kind.
Possessive.
“And sooner than you think,” she added. “Partner.”
The word hit like a chain.
Derpy tried to speak.
Tried to pull away.
But the world tilted.
The inn smell rushed back.
Blood.
Wood.
Smoke.
His lungs seized.
His eyes snapped open.
And the first thing he felt was the hum of the bracelets on his wrists—alive, eager—like they’d been waiting for him to wake up and give them a name.