RvBY 3: Back at the Ranch

“I don’t like it,” Glynda Goodwitch said once more, looking directly at where the portal had been mere hours ago.

Ozpin didn’t like it either, but he didn’t need to say anything for Glynda to know it. He had sent teams RWBY and JNPR, arguably the most capable teams in Beacon Academy, to investigate the portal to see if it was a disturbance or potential threat. They should have checked in a while ago, and upon personal investigation, there was no trace of the young aspirant Huntsmen and Huntresses to be found anywhere.

He had checked with campus security and every activated recording device in the area, and nothing had turned up. He had told all the professors to mention nothing of this, and in order to dissuade any suspicions, RWBY and JNPR’s statuses had been switched to “On Assignment.”

Now it was up to him and the professors to find out what had happened to their students.

“There must be something that’s escaped our notice,” Ozpin determined. “Something that we haven’t taken into account. A missing variable.”

“I can call the authorities, have them run some scans,” Glynda replied, “but it may take some time.”

Ozpin stood up a little straighter; Time. He glanced at his cane, and sighed.

Glynda took one look at him, and immediately knew what he was thinking.

“No,” she said firmly. “You remember what happened last time you did that.”

“And it saved lives,” Ozpin answered, “regardless of the cost.”

Glynda’s hand shot out and clasped his; “You almost died last time. I can’t, won’t let you do this again.”

“Those students could be in danger, Glynda,” Ozpin replied. “And I swore on my life that I would keep each and every one of them safe. If I can’t rescue eight of them, then I have failed.”

He popped the top of his cane, where inlaid was a small clock, with twelve different gemstones in places of the twelve hours. The single hand inside it did not move.

“I will do this,” he reaffirmed, “and if I fail, you will be headmaster. Those children need our help, and this is the only way.”

Glynda sighed. “Stubborn as always.” She stepped back, and leveled her wand. “I’ll cast a sustainment spell, but I don’t know how long it will last.”

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Ozpin said, albeit only half-believing; depending on how long ago RWBY and JNPR had disappeared, searching through time to find them could take a toll on him, one from which he might not recover.

He locked eyes with Glynda, and nodded.

She waved her wand, and glyphs appeared on and around Ozpin, shifting through color and form. He felt his strength soar, and then, knowing he had no time to waste, pressed the clock into the cane.

Around Ozpin, everything began to slow down; the birds flying overhead, the tolling of the bells from Beacon Tower, the whispering of the winds. It all slowed down to the point where it all stood still.

Headmaster Ozpin now stood outside of time.

The strain of his power beginning to manifest in his body, he began to rotate the clock under his thumb, as though he were turning it backwards, and everything around him began to occur backwards; birds flew in reverse, the bells reverse-tolled, and Opzin watched his past self and Glynda walk away from the edge of the forest. Starting to become short of breath, Ozpin panted as he watched the hours fly back even more; the sun began to set in the east, the normal sounds of the day sounded off in reverse, until Ozpin saw his quarry; Teams JNPR and RWBY, standing before the portal he had sent them to investigate that same morning.

He watched them become consumed by the portal when tendrils of energy suddenly shot out and pulled them inside of it, then paused midway through.

This was the key moment in the mystery of his students’ disappearance.

Ozpin looked around, observing every minute detail in his surroundings; around the area, there appeared to be now persons observing from a distance, no one conjuring the portal itself, or any Grimm. He looked at Beacon, and saw no one was in the towers. He looked up to the sky--

--and Ozpin gasped in shock at what he was seeing.

The moon of Remnant was whole. It was not fragmented as it had been all the years of Remnant’s history. What’s more, it was glowing, with one concentrated beam creating the portal.

“What are you up to?” Ozpin muttered, sweating fiercely as the flow of the space-time continuum pulled at his very essence.

Unite, a multi tonal voice replied from the aether. Ozpin’s eyes widened as he realized he knew who the voice belonged to, and what it meant for the near future of Remnant.

At last, his strength beginning to wane, he rotated the clock under his thumb, bringing time forward to the point when he had entered the timestream, and once he had emerged, in his proper placement in time, he gasped and collapsed on the ground.

“Opzin!” Glynda cried, rushing to his side immediately.

He groaned, feeling sore and feeling all over; Ozpin found it almost impossible to think, his mind was so sore.

“I’ll get a doctor,” Glynda said, turning to call out for help, but Ozpin grabbed her hand.

“No,” he rasped. “I can…” Ozpin stopped, too short of breath to continue.

“I’m getting a doctor,” Glynda reiterated determinedly, and laid Ozpin out on the green.

Listening for the hurried steps of emergency responders and the campus doctor, Ozpin looked at the moon overhead, in its present, broken state.

“What are you up to?” he murmured again, before lapsing into unconsciousness.

*

“So you’re saying you think Lopez has been able to communicate in English all these years?” Simmons asked Blake skeptically.

“From what you’ve all told me,” she replied, “the only reason you don’t understand him is because his vocabulator is hardwired for another language. That doesn’t change the language he’s been programmed to think in. He should be able to write in your language just fine.”

“Preposterous!” Sarge exclaimed. “If he’d been able to do that, he’d have done it by now!”

“Siempre me haces hacer todo el trabajo por aquí. ¿Por qué diablos tendría tiempo de escribir lo que pienso?” Lopez replied.

“Well, let’s give it a trial run,” Blake answered evenly. She turned to her teammates; “Ruby, get me some paper, Yang, a pen, Weiss…” Blake paused, realizing she didn’t need anything further. “Just be ready to help if needs be.”

Ruby and Yang ran off to fetch what Blake had requested, and Weiss turned to look at the Reds. “So you never even tried to fix him?”

The Reds looked at their boots rather sheepishly. “Truth be told,” Sarge said, “we’re not very good with fixin’ things. We usually only make things worse.”

“‘Usually’ being a rather generous alternative,” Simmons added. “Only time we did some good it was completely on accident.”

“And what was that?” Weiss replied, inquisitively.

“We killed a psychotic super-soldier who’d been possessed by a power-hungry A.I.,” Grif answered simply. “It was pretty awesome.”

“How did you do it?” Blake asked.

“We tied him to a Warthog and sent it off the edge of a glacier.”

Weiss and Blake were silent.

“It almost didn’t work,” Simmons added. “Grif almost died when the Meta tried to take him down with him!”

“Wouldn’t have necessarily been a loss,” Sarge muttered.

“We’ve got the things Blake!” Ruby called, dashing back into the main hall with some paper, Yang following shortly behind. The sisters laid out the stuff before Lopez, and looked at him expectantly.

“Go ahead Lopez,” Blake said encouragingly.

Lopez picked up the pen and put the tip on the paper, and began to write.

In English.

Blake read the text aloud as Lopez wrote it: “I can’t believe this works! It’s relieving to finally convey how I really feel so that you guys will be able to understand. On that subject, you guys are a bunch of--” Blake blushed. “Lopez! I’m not going to read that out loud!”

Lopez shrugged and wrote a little more. “Worth a shot,” Blake read.

“Well, it looks like we’re finally penetrating the language barrier!” Donut exclaimed gleefully. “Looks like the solution wasn’t that hard after all!”

“DONUT!” Simmons shrieked.

*

“So,” Carolina was saying, “how do you think they’re doing?”

“I think they’re doing okay,” Washington replied. “Last I checked, nothing’s exploded, nobody’s died or is severely injured, and the kids are adjusting well. But I can’t help but shake the feeling something’s really wrong.”

“We’re Freelancers, Wash,” Carolina replied, chuckling slightly. “To us, there’s always something wrong.”

“I know,” Wash replied, “but I just can’t shake the feeling that these kids are part of something big. And we’ve just been thrown into the mix of it.”

“Well,” Carolina said simply. “If something is going to happen, then we’ll be ready. For their sakes, and ours.”

The two Freelancers looked out on the canyon once more, listening to the quiet (and unquiet) of the Reds and Blues with their young visitors. Yes, Carolina thought. We’ll be ready.