Two more weeks slipped by, and a semblance of normalcy began to return to the Xiao Long household. Taiyang finally started leaving the house again, spending time at Signal Academy and even meeting old friends. Though his grief still lingered, his efforts to engage with the world gave his children a sense of stability they sorely needed. Mornings were less somber, and evenings occasionally carried the faint echoes of laughter.
Yang, however, remained preoccupied. Her uncle's revelation about her mother, Raven, had planted a seed of curiosity and confusion in her heart. She began asking everyone she met about her mother, though her questions were often met with awkward glances or evasive answers. Taiyang avoided the subject entirely, and Qrow, despite his earlier honesty, deflected her inquiries with gruff half-truths
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One afternoon, as the golden light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, the children played hide-and-seek to pass the time. Ruby's giggles echoed through the halls as she searched for her siblings. Crimson, ever calm and collected, had hidden in the attic. Yang, on the other hand, decided to take refuge in their father's study—a place they were usually discouraged from entering.
The room smelled faintly of old paper and wood polish. Yang's curious eyes scanned the shelves lined with books and trinkets before settling on the desk. Her gaze landed on a slightly ajar drawer. Temptation tugged at her, and she pulled it open, revealing an assortment of papers and photographs.
Among them, two items stood out: a photograph and a map. The first photo showed her father and a woman with jet-black hair and piercing red eyes. Though the woman's expression was stoic, her resemblance to Yang was undeniable.
"Mom," Yang whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.
The second item was a small, aged map. A circle labeled "Home" marked one location, and a path leading north was highlighted. In the margin, the word "Raven" was scrawled in Taiyang's handwriting. Yang's mind raced.
"Dad's been hiding this from me," she thought. To her, it seemed like a clue—a trail that could lead her to her mother.
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The next morning, after Taiyang left for Signal Academy, Yang showed her discovery to Ruby and Crimson in their room. She placed the photograph and map on the bed, her expression brimming with determination.
"I think this can lead us to Mom," Yang said, pointing at the map. "I want to follow it."
Ruby tilted her head, looking at the map with wide eyes. "Mom? You mean Summer? But… that doesn't look like her."
Yang hesitated before replying. "This is my real mom. Uncle Qrow told me about her. Her name is Raven, and she's still out there somewhere."
Ruby frowned in confusion but nodded. Crimson, however, studied the map and photo with a grave expression.
"Yang, we should wait for Dad," he said firmly. "The forest is dangerous. There could be Grimm out there."
"But Dad's never going to tell us anything," Yang protested. "If we wait for him, we'll never find her."
"We don't even know what's out there," Crimson countered. "Look, I get it. You want answers. But this isn't the way. We have to be smart about this."
Yang stared at him for a long moment before sighing and nodding. "Fine. I will wait."
Crimson gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes flickering with relief.
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Later that afternoon, while Ruby and Yang played in the living room, Crimson retreated to the study. His focus was consumed by the challenge of deciphering the written language of this world—a meticulous and demanding endeavor. The desk was cluttered with books and notes he had painstakingly gathered over the past weeks, each one offering fragments of understanding. Immersed in his studies, time slipped by unnoticed.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, painting the walls with a golden hue. Gradually, the house grew quieter, but Crimson remained engrossed, turning page after page. It wasn't until the light outside dimmed completely that he finally looked up, stretching his stiff limbs with a groan. Deciding to check on his sisters, he stepped out of the study.
An eerie silence greeted him.
"Ruby? Yang?" he called, his voice echoing down the empty hallway.
No response.
A sense of unease gripped him as he searched the house, each room turning up empty. His chest tightened with every unanswered call. When he reached the front door, his eyes caught something on the ground: tracks. Wagon tracks, leading into the forest.
Cold dread seeped into his veins as the realization struck.
"No," he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his ears.
He rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the scroll from the counter. Desperately, he tried to contact Taiyang, but the line went unanswered. Each failed attempt only heightened his growing panic.
"Stupid," Crimson hissed, cursing himself. "I should have known she wouldn't wait."
In a flash, he snatched the largest knife from the kitchen. The blade gleamed in the faint light, a crude but necessary weapon. Without wasting another second, he bolted out the door, his feet pounding against the ground as he followed the tracks into the forest.
The trees loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. Crimson's breath came in sharp bursts, the adrenaline propelling him forward. The wagon tracks remained visible, guiding him deeper into the dense woods. A whirlwind of fears tore through his mind. Were the girls alone? Had they encountered Grimm? The thought sent a fresh wave of urgency coursing through him.
His grip on the knife tightened. He had always prided himself on being the calm and rational one, but now, fear and anger churned inside him, boiling over into action. He cursed himself for not acting sooner, for letting his guard down.
After thirty grueling minutes of sprinting, Crimson finally caught sight of the wagon. A small figure—Yang—was dragging it, her form illuminated by the faint moonlight. Relief flickered in his chest for a brief moment before his eyes widened in horror. Ahead of Yang, three pairs of glowing red eyes pierced the darkness. Beowolves.
Yang froze in place as the Grimm crept closer, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring their advantage. Ruby lay sleeping in the wagon, and Yang was too paralyzed by fear to scream. The scene was a predator's dream: prey served on a silver platter.
Crimson's body surged with adrenaline, every fiber of his being screaming to protect them. He pushed himself harder, his pace relentless as he closed the distance. Just as the Beowolves lunged toward Yang, he was only three meters behind the wagon.
His grip tightened on the knife, the wooden handle cracking under the force. Drawing a deep breath, he steadied himself, the world around him fading into singular focus. His voice was low but firm as he whispered the words of his technique: "Moon Breathing, Second Form: Pearl Flower Moongazing."
In the blink of an eye, Crimson's body surged forward, moving with a speed that rivaled the swiftest Huntsmen. His blade carved through the air in three crescent-shaped arcs, precise and deadly. The Beowolves had no time to react; their heads were severed in an instant, their bodies dissolving into smoke as they collapsed.
Crimson landed in front of Yang, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing. The forest fell silent once more, save for the sound of his labored breathing.
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Minutes Earlier
Qrow arrived in front of the Xiao Long household, a slight frown creasing his brow. Tai had called earlier, asking him to check on the kids as he would be away on a training field trip until late tonight. Qrow understood the strain Tai was under—raising three children alone while balancing work was no small feat.
"At least his son's sharp," Qrow thought with a faint chuckle. "Must take after Summer."
He stepped into the house, his casual demeanor intact.
"Kiddos, you shouldn't leave the front door open. What if a Grimm wandered in?" Qrow called out, his voice laced with amusement.
But the silence that greeted him wiped the grin off his face. The house was eerily quiet.
"This isn't funny," he muttered, unease prickling at the edges of his mind. Moving quickly, he began searching room after room, calling out for the children. His concern deepened with every empty space he found.
Pulling out his scroll, he tried to contact Tai. No answer.
"Damn it!" Qrow cursed, his voice sharp with frustration as he stepped outside. He scanned the area, looking for any sign of the kids.
His sharp eyes caught the faint tracks of a wagon leading into the forest. His jaw tightened. "They better not have run into any Grimm," he muttered grimly before transforming into his avian form.
As a crow, he soared above the forest, his keen vision locked onto the trail below. Minutes passed as he flew, dread growing with each beat of his wings. Then, in the distance, he spotted them.
Crimson was running at a speed no ordinary child should be able to reach, his movements unnaturally swift. Further ahead, a small figure—Yang—stood near a red wagon. And in front of her, three pairs of glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness. Beowolves.
Qrow's heart sank. Flapping his wings furiously, he surged forward, desperate to reach them in time.
But then, his sharp eyes caught something that made him falter. Crimson, now mere meters away from the Grimm, moved with a speed and precision that defied belief. The gleam of a blade flashed in the moonlight as the boy dashed forward. In an instant, three crescent slashes cut through the air. The Beowolves dropped to the ground, their heads severed cleanly.
Crimson stood motionless for a heartbeat, his blade still raised, unharmed.
Qrow didn't slow down, his chest tightening with both awe and fear. He landed near them in a rush, transforming back to his human form as his boots hit the ground.
"Kiddos, are you okay?" His voice betrayed the panic he felt.
Yang turned toward him, her pale face streaked with tears. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "Uncle…"
Before Qrow could respond, a harsh cough broke the tense silence.
Crimson dropped to his knees, clutching his chest with one arm, his back still turned to Yang. The sound of his labored breathing filled the air, each cough growing harsher.
"Crimson!" Qrow shouted, dashing toward the boy.
As Qrow approached, he froze in horror. Crimson was coughing up blood, his breaths shallow and ragged. His eyes were bloodshot, with crimson tears streaming down his cheeks. Blood dripped from his nostrils, and his hand, still clutching the knife, was bleeding heavily.
Qrow knelt beside him, his hands trembling as he tried to assess the boy's condition.
Crimson's bloodshot eyes met Qrow's briefly, filled with pain and exhaustion. No words escaped his lips; he didn't have the strength. A moment later, his eyes fluttered shut, and his body collapsed forward.
"Crimson! Stay with me! Crimson!" Qrow's voice cracked with desperation as he caught the boy in his arms, his own heart pounding in fear.