Chapter 2: Metanoia
A few pages after the last entry, the journal picks up again.
After I recovered from the shock that was the Doll, I entered the now-unlocked cabin atop the hill. Inside, I met an aged man in a wheeled chair. The reason for his choice of seating became immediately apparent when I saw his feet – or rather, his foot. His left foot was intact, but his right had been amputated and replaced by a thin wooden peg.
The man introduced himself as Gehrman, and claimed to be 'a friend to you Hunters'. I didn't know quite what that meant, and I still don't think I comprehend it, not fully.
The man told me I had free use of any of the tools in the Hunter's Workshop, then offered something that even now makes me embarrassed and agitated.
He said that I could 'even use the Doll, if I liked'. I know not if he meant what I think he did, but the idea of...using another living thing like that disgusts me. It matters little to me if the Doll is made of ceramics and wood or meat and bone; she speaks and moves and reasons.
She is no object, even if her uncanny appearance makes me dreadfully uncomfortable.
The handwriting of the next journal entry is shaky and thin, but legible.
He was mad. I had to do it. I had to! He turned into a monster! He tried to kill me without provocation! I had to kill him! Didn't I?
…
Mother, Father...forgive me. Your son no longer has clean hands…
Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I
Circa 0 M.F.
(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)
-x-x-x-
When the brilliant, piercing radiance spawned of burning Soul and screaming Unreality faded, the victor was made clear. Ozpin stood hunched, his knuckles stark white against the silver handle of Kaladanda. Bowed but unbroken, the Headmaster of Beacon looked behind him to the remains of the eldritch horror that had been his opponent.
At the last possible second, Ozpin had contorted the barrier of Aura and Magic that had been surrounding him into a thin, sharp blade and wrapped it around Kaladanda's haft, then lashed out at the beam of Arcane energy and the creature who had fired it.
The monster was split in twain from what passed for a crotch all the way to the crown of its head. As he looked on, the two halves of the creature fell to either side and exploded into silver mist.
Ozpin's chest heaved with effort; that technique had exhausted his magic
far more than it would have even a decade ago.
While the majority of his magical power had been divided and gifted to the Maidens of the Seasons a few millennia ago (to say nothing of the further splitting of his reserves to gift the Branwen twins their transformative abilities), what magic remained to him refilled itself from the world's own energies. Rather than him losing more and more of a limited resource, he was reducing the size of the 'container' in which he could store that resource.
Regardless of the metaphysical and mystical particulars, the fact remained that Ozpin had wasted far too much magic in this battle. Years of sitting behind a desk and plotting had caused his mastery of the Artes Magic to dwindle. Why, as he was now, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that some
upstart with delusions of grandeur could get in a clever strike and force him to reincarnate.
This, Ozpin decided, could not stand. Even if it meant that he had to delegate more to his subordinates, he needed to re-familiarize himself with his power. If that meant trusting those close to him with more information than he'd like, then so be it.
His magic was one of the most potent weapons in their arsenal against the ravening hordes that sought to devour them all, and the Black Queen that directed those hordes from her twisted throne.
Even as half a dozen ideas for training sprang to mind, Ozpin straightened with a huff, then strode to the door, grabbing the handle and wrenching it open in a single movement.
Beyond the door was a narrow, nondescript hallway. At the other end, the Headmaster could see a bit of blue light flickering from out of view. Straining his ears to the limit, he picked up two voices; one male, excited and curious, the other female, calm and patient. The man was undoubtedly Bartholomew, but Ozpin could only guess at what sort of sentient, sapient being would dwell in these depths.
As Ozpin crept forward, Kaladanda once more raised in a guarding position, the scent of old parchment and fresh ink wafted by him, as well as a richer and sharper aroma that he couldn't quite place.
Just as the Headmaster got close enough to the room to make out their words, the voices ceased.
After a few tense moments of Ozpin inching forward soundlessly, the female voice called, "There is no purpose attempting to conceal yourself, O' Magus. This close to him, there is nothing obscured from the Eyes of the Lattice. Step forward, that we may treat with you and yours." Ozpin could
hear the capitalization of 'Eyes' simply by the emphasis that the unknown woman had placed upon it.
Ozpin lowered Kaladanda into a less aggressive position at his side, then adjusted his grip in such a fashion that he could still raise it in an instant if the situation required it. With deliberate, measured steps, the Headmaster entered the room.
The first thing that Ozpin noticed upon entering the room were the books. The cozy, office-style room was
filled with a wide variety of books, large and small. The collection was expansive to a degree that veritably dominated the surroundings – whether stacked from the floor or side-by-side on the shelves, every square inch of the room seemed hope to at least a few words.
The second thing he noticed, focussing past the overwhelming literary presence, was Bartholomew. The eccentric Doctor was seated beside a desk, unrestrained and completely relaxed...or, as relaxed as Bartholomew ever was, in any case.
The third thing Ozpin noticed was the human-sized doll sitting at that same desk, staring expectantly at him. As he looked on, the white-haired ceramic woman got to her feet and inclined her head in his direction. "Greetings, Magus. I am Isolde, caretaker of this place, this seat of the Lattice."
Ozpin stared at the artificial woman for a moment, then nodded very slightly, relaxing fractionally upon seeing Bartholomew apparently unharmed, in body at least. Whether his mind was untouched remained to—
"Headmaster! You won't believe all the knowledge that's been gathered here! Firsthand accounts of the events that caused the Moonfall, beings from beyond Remnant; it's as fascinating as it is disturbing!" As he spoke, a shining-eyed Oobleck gesticulated wildly, narrowly avoiding toppling a stack of thick, dusty tomes to his left.
…
'Nevermind,' Ozpin thought wryly,
'his mind is the same as usual.'
Ozpin tapped his cane against the floor and cleared his throat. "While I am pleased to see that no harm has been done to my subordinate, I need to know
why you found it necessary to have him snatched and dragged away." Ozpin narrowed his eyes fractionally. "I don't take kindly to my people being manhandled, you understand?"
Isolde bowed her head. "I must apologize for the discourtesy done to you both." She turned her eyes to Bartholomew. "The little one that grabbed you did so at my behest, if not on my orders." Her ceramic lips twisted into a sad smile. "It's just been so
long since I've talked to one of you humans."
A faint rumbling cut her off, and there was a quiet crunching from the wall beside Isolde. What could only be described as a
bud of crystal, multifaceted and gleaming with unearthly aquamarine light, pushed from the wall, knocking aside several books. As Ozpin looked on, tiny particles of the unknown stone flaked off en masse, swirling into the air and forming a series of shapes that—
Ozpin winced and turned his eyes from the stone, noting that Bartholomew had done the same. Looking at those strange symbols wasn't
painful, but it
was rather uncomfortable, the spiritual equivalent of accidentally staring directly at the sun for a moment or two.
Even though Ozpin's eyes were turned from the scene, his ears were keenly focused on the next words that came from Isolde. "Dearest Cadfan, you know as well as I that, in spite of your lingering spirit within the Lattice, you are stretched thin, both metaphorically and literally. You can't possibly expect to be able to fulfill your self-set duty
and entertain me at the same time. You aren't a full Great One yet, so spacio-temporal manipulation on such a level is beyond you."
There was a rustling of cloth, then the ceramic woman continued speaking. "You may retain your humanity, but it waxes and wanes as time goes on." Isolde sighed. "And do I really need to mention how your humanity has begun to fade, to merge with the greater Lattice? At this rate of decline, you've a couple more centuries at best, and then you'll truly become a Great One, no matter your wishes to the contrary."
Ozpin cleared his throat. While he didn't know
all the particulars of what they'd been discussing, an Idea was taking root in his mind, one both concerning and intriguing.
"So, allow me to see if I understand you correctly. That...
being was one of your subordinates, knew that you were lonely, and when Bartholomew entered these ruins it decided to bring him to you to keep you company." As Isolde's nod, Ozpin continued. "Your subordinate's lack of delicacy and poor communication skills can be discussed later. What I would like to know is why was
I accosted, and prevented from reaching your room?"
Isolde grimaced. "I'm afraid that your possession of Divine sorcery piqued the curiosity of the Lattice, and He wished to compare the Arcane power of the Cosmos side-by-side with the magic of the Brother Gods." Isolde looked reproachfully at the blue-green crystal to her left. "Unfortunately, the Lattice hasn't been fully human for a long while, and thus decided to take the course of action that was quicker and more likely to elicit the result He desired, rather than
be polite and ask."
In spite of its clear solidity, the aquamarine crystal
drooped, reminding Ozpin of nothing so much as a repentant child.
Isolde turned back to Ozpin. "As the Lattice cannot apologize to you directly without exposing you to a cognitohazard, I shall apologize to you in His stead."
"...While I am not usually one to hold a grudge," Ozpin bit out, "and I can certainly understand the value of a trial-by-fire, as it were, I can't say that I'm pleased
in the slightest at his decision." Ozpin sighed; clearly he was more tired from that fight than he'd thought if he was letting his emotions show in such an unproductive manner. "But I'm willing to table that discussion for the time being. I have more important things to ask."
The Headmaster jerked his chin at the crystal. "I presume that
this is that 'Lattice' you kept mentioning, but
what is it?"
Tinkling laughter echoed through the room, Isolde covering her mouth demurely. "My dear Magus. It is
remarkable how close and yet how far you are from the truth."
She laid a dainty, ceramic hand on top of the crystal. "This is but one infinitesimal part of the Lattice's full form. I would offer to show you His core, but I fear that your mind would not take too kindly to the sight. Even a Great One born from a human cannot fully eliminate the risk of viewing its true form." Isolde paused, seemingly considering something. "That said, the magic within you
might afford you some measure of resistance to that effect..."
As the ceramic caretaker mused to herself, Ozpin considered her words. For instance, he could surmise that a 'Great One' was one of the number of Cosmic horrors that the tales had told of.
As for the idea of a cognitohazard...well. The progenitor of the Grimm had been around even longer than he had, and she'd devoted an exhaustive amount of that time to creating better killing machines out of her children. Was it any wonder, then, that she'd managed to stumble on such subtle ways of killing?
Be it the aneurism-inducing visage of a Gorgon or the seizure-causing dirges produced by a pod of Selkies, Ozpin was all too familiar with things that brought death from simple observation.
Indeed, more than a few of his 'lives' had met untimely ends because of such creatures, if only because it took precious time for him and the original owner of the body to become one and the same.
Why the Black Queen didn't simply shape her creations from inception to take those forms was beyond him, but he hoped it was because she
couldn't. If she was just playing a game, toying with mankind all the while holding back an endless tide of seething fangs and roiling darkness…
Then their cause had been lost from the very start.
Ozpin sighed, pushed his melancholy to one side, then fixated upon one thing in particular that she'd said. "What do you mean by 'a Great One born of a human', Miss Isolde?"
The woman cocked her head to one side, white tresses whispering across ceramic skin. "Ah, forgive me…"
Ozpin smiled wanly. He may have encountered eldritch horrors from the dawn of time, but that was no excuse to forego his manners. "Ozpin. Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy of Huntsmen and Huntresses."
At the word 'Huntsmen', the tendril of aquamarine crystal perked up, and Ozpin got the sense that 'the Lattice' was paying a greater deal of attention to him than it had been before.
Isolde nodded, then said, "Well, to answer your question, the Lattice was once a man named Cadfan Lloyd. He was the last Hunter to be trained by Gehrman, The First Hunter. He was inheritor to Gehrman's scythe, along with the swords of Eileen the Crow, Ludwig the Holy Blade, and Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower. I name him Moonslayer, Dreambreaker and Starborn."
By this time, Isolde's voice had hit a fevered, almost fanatical pitch. She appeared to realize this abruptly, her mouth snapping shut with a
click. Her ceramic cheeks flushed red as she coughed into a fist, looking everywhere
but at the other occupants of the room.
Ozpin cleared his throat. "Well. That's quite the array of titles." A glance at Bartholomew told him all he needed to know; the Doctor was practically
rabid with curiosity. After all, they both well knew that a person didn't get titles like that without performing some fairly significant feats.
The only remaining sign of Isolde's embarrassment was the rapidly-fading pink on her face. She waved Ozpin to a chair immediately beside Oobleck's, before sinking smoothly back into her own. Ozpin followed suit, the wood of the chair creaking slightly under his weight.
"So," Ozpin began, planting his cane before him and resting steepled fingers atop it, "now that I have a bit of context as to just
what inhabits this place, I have to ask: what are the Lattice's intentions towards mankind?" Ozpin grimaced. "I know all too well that beings born of humanity do not necessarily retain a fondness for it."
Isolde looked at the Headmaster as though he'd said something incredibly outlandish, before a look of dawning comprehension washed the incredulous expression off her face. "Of course you wouldn't know," she mused, "one can hardly observe the prevention of invasion from outside reality. "
Ozpin arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"To put it simply," she said, "the Lattice embraces the very world with His protection. Great Ones and other beings of Cosmic origin are repelled from this world by His very will."
Isolde smiled, a pleasant, open expression. "Of course, there have been visitors that were friendly, and that showed willingness to learn how to communicate with mankind in a way that isn't harmful. They were turned away, albeit more gently and after an exchange of knowledge, which may as well be the currency of beings that exist betwixt mind and matter. The hostile ones, though…" Isolde's smile now had far more teeth than before, reminding Ozpin of a wolf staring down a particularly succulent cut of meat.
"They were either violently repelled or subsumed altogether."
"You're saying," Ozpin bit out incredulously, "that your Lattice has been repelling all manner of Cosmic horrors for Gods know how long, all without anybody noticing?"
Isolde shook her head. "I'm sure that many people
did notice, at least at first. The Lattice hasn't always been as colossal and experienced as He is now; during the early years, after the various denizens of the Cosmos noticed the death of Flora and the subsequent apotheosis of her successor...well. There were a number of close calls."
Isolde patted the crystalline tendril fondly. "As He is now, though? He may now only be able to do this one thing, but at this he is without peer." The Lattice's appendage wriggled in what appeared to be joy, though Ozpin thought he sensed something...sorrowful?
The Headmaster absently wondered how a tendril of sometimes-solid, sometimes-gelatinous crystal could be so expressive.
'Mmm. A question for another time; can't allow myself to get sidetracked. There is still so much that I need to know about this Lattice and his creatures, to say nothing of his handmaiden, this artificial woman of ceramic.'
Ozpin's thin fingers tapped the side of Kaladanda thoughtfully as a dozens of suggestions, appeals, pleas, and threats were considered and discarded a second. Manipulation came second nature to the man after centuries of dealing with people, however much he found it distasteful.
Knowing as little as he did about these two, though...all he could say for certain was that threatening them would be an exercise in futility. Even if their tale about protecting Remnant from encroachment from the Cosmos was absolute fantasy, both he and they knew that he couldn't afford
not to believe them.
Mankind simply
couldn't fight a war against monsters on two fronts; Hells, to say that they were managing well on
one front would be generous almost to the point of blind optimism. If the Lattice truly
was holding back unknown hordes of Eldritch abominations…
Ozpin shook his head. To say that the outcome of antagonizing the Lattice would be undesirable would be an understatement, which made it all the more imperative that they reach a consensus, and soon. Amber being attacked and having half of her powers, half of her
soul taken...the Black Queen would be making her move soon. He could
feel it.
Ozpin exhaled slowly, feeling now more than ever the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I'll be frank with you, Miss Isolde. Mankind is in a bad way, and if something doesn't change, there's a very real possibility that there won't
be a humanity for the Lattice to safeguard soon. That witch...
Salem...she'll live up to her father's mantle soon enough if she's not stopped."
Ozpin's grip tightened on Kaladanda's haft. "She is the daughter of Ahriman, the Brother of Destruction, and mankind is beset by her slavering army of darkness on all sides." The Headmaster shut his eyes wearily. "I don't know what I could possibly offer you in return, but I
have to ask. Will you help me protect mankind?"
The expression of hopelessness that crossed Isolde's face as he finished speaking caused an almost palpable weight to sink onto his shoulders.
"I am sorry, Headmaster. When I said that the Lattice can only do one thing, I meant it." Isolde gestured to the room around them. "Within his domain, close to one of his four cores, his power is indistinguishable from that of a God. That is how he is able to repel any and all invaders. However…" Isolde wrung her ball-jointed hands. "Power like that comes at a cost. The form the Lattice has taken is completely incapable of meaningful movement outside of a very tight radius of his cores. The rest of him inches through the flesh of this world, shielding it in his crystalline embrace." The small tendril the Lattice had let out seemed to nod.
Isolde sighed. "Truly, I'm sure that Cadfan would positively leap at the opportunity to aid you, to take on a human form once more and lend his skills and Arcana, but...every time we tried, his soul could not tether properly to the form we gave it. The connection just wasn't strong enough."
Upon hearing this, Ozpin cupped his chin. An idea began to form within the depths of his mind. An audacious and absurd idea.
"I may have a suggestion for you…"
-x-x-x-
The chamber they stood in was dimly lit and ominous, a glaring contrast to the cozy study they'd come from.
After Ozpin had explained just what his idea was, Isolde had looked wordlessly to the nub of the Lattice protruding from the wall. After a few moments of communion between the two, Isolde had risen and led them here.
As Ozpin and Oobleck looked on in a mixture of fascination and discomfort, Isolde directed tiny, emaciated men to place chalices in the center of the room in a peculiar pattern.
Three were placed at even distances in a vertical line, while two more were placed to either side of the gap between the lower two. Finally, two exceptionally small containers, barely larger than a cereal bowl, were placed just above the bottom chalice, further in from the two 'wings'.
As the last chalice was set in place, lines of pale light traced between the cups, tracing a symbol on the ground. A long, vertical line with two bent 'wings' to either side, beginning just below the center of the line, then traveling out, turning a sharp 90° angle, then coming back towards the bottom of the line.
The more Ozpin stared at the symbol, the more he felt...
something building within him. Not quite a desire, not quite a thought, just...the very concept of
something was hovering in the back of his mind, but for the life of him he couldn't place it.
He shook his head. There'd be time enough for introspection and questioning later; now was the time for him to do his damnedest to make good on his suggestion or, as the kids would say, 'put his Lien where his mouth is'.
As he looked on, those odd little things (which reminded him uncomfortably of tiny versions of the being he'd faced in that stone arena) placed macabre reagents into the chalices. He saw two different sorts of eyeballs, several chunks of what looked to be coagulated blood, some half-decomposed hands and hair, a rotten spine, and even what appeared to be a few vials of semi-liquified cerebral cortex.
After they were done, Isolde stepped forward, scattering the dust of what she'd referred to as 'the bone of an Old Hunter' into the lines of light, which burned brighter. She followed up this offering by hurling two slimy shapes through the air, where they hung motionless for a frozen moment, just long enough for Ozpin to see what they looked like.
They were...
slugs?
One was deep blue at its core, with translucent, pale green skin covering it. Several antler-like tendrils poked up from what appeared to be its head, and a pallid tail tipped the other end.
Its body was edged in numerous chaotic spikes, also translucent.
The other was far less...
flashy, appearing totally unremarkable; if it weren't for its dull jade coloration and remarkable size, it could've passed for an ordinary slug.
As the moment ended, the pale light flared a brilliant aquamarine, bright enough to rival the Lattice's crystals. Tendrils of Arcane energy snapped up like the lash of a slaver, tore the slugs (which Ozpin would later learn were called 'phantasms') from the air and dragged them into the central chalice.
Finally, Isolde began to sing.
Neither Ozpin nor Oobleck could comprehend the words, but the emotion? The raw, untamed hope and despair in that artificial voice? It would've moved Ozpin to tears if he hadn't been focusing almost all of his attention on the upcoming step; the step that required
his help.
In theory, anyone capable of unlocking an Aura would've been able to do what he was about to do – but in practice? He was quite possibly the only living thing on the planet with any meaningful experience in soul transposition (though James was certainly making...
unsettling progress on the topic from a scientific standpoint), and his unique situation would hopefully allow him to help this strange endeavor succeed.
Kaladanda was cast to one side, barely caught by Oobleck as Ozpin walked slowly forward. Streams of blood arced up from the chalices, the sea-green gleam of the Lattice's crystal glittering within the blood even as other parts burned with unearthly flame, leaving cinders within the fel rivers.
The streams all poured towards the central chalice, in which a sizeable rock of what appeared to be crystallized blood sat, surrounded by more buds of the Lattice's crystal.
As Isolde's voice reached a crescendo, the hairs on the back of Ozpin's neck all stood at attention, and the burning blood, filled with dark cinders and gleaming crystals, began to bubble out of the chalice.
Soon enough, the chalice had dissolved beneath the viscous liquid, and as the blood touched the azure flames of the rune, those flames darkened. In rapid order, the strange sigil was drawn upon the ground in faintly following blood, the chalices and their contents subsumed just as the first had been.
Ozpin stood near the bottom of the sanguine rune, so that the bent 'wings' pointed towards him. In tandem with Isolde reaching the bottom of a decrescendo, the light faded, like embers burning out in the night. After a short pause, Ozpin opened his mouth to question Isolde, before he heard it.
A squelching noise, like someone digging their hand into an open gut wound (and didn't
that bring back all manner of unpleasant memories). Ozpin squinted at the bloody symbol, pushing a miniscule amount of Aura into his eyes to enhance his night vision.
The blood had thickened, becoming an almost pudding-like substance. It was now ripping itself off of the symbol, breaking apart at certain points, and taking familiar shapes. The blood that had become the wings was turning into arms, while part of the vertical line had become a torso. The very tip of the rune nearest him was becoming a head.
As he watched a body made entirely of blood take form, he realized three things at once, all related to one another. Isolde had stopped singing, Bartholomew was gagging and retching behind them both, and the sensation that he'd experienced upon seeing the Lattice's runic communication was back and significantly worse.
As the seconds passed, Ozpin felt a pressure building behind his eyes, and some instinctive part of him was urging him to turn away, that his life was in danger if he kept looking.
But Ozpin had a job to do, and he was going to do it.
In one seamless motion, Ozpin knelt, pressed his fingers to either side of the bloody figure's 'head' where the temples would be on a normal human, and slammed his eyes shut.
Under his breath, he mumbled old words, an ancient compact with one's soul long lost to the present.
Thou, body, art earth,
Thou, mind, art sea,
Thou, spirit, art storm.
With thy pledge, thy contract, thy burden,
Thy soul shalt be sword and bow and shield to mankind!
Rise, Proud Archon of Ahura Mazda.
As his soul reached through the blood and met with the vastness of the Lattice, through the Eyes of the Lattice Ozpin saw Infinity. Infinity and the Lattice took mercy upon him, and forced shut his Eyes before they burnt out his soul.
Ozpin gasped, tumbling back from where he knelt to land prone on his back, his Aura flashing into visibility for a brief moment to prevent him from injuring his head on the cold stone.
As Ozpin pulled himself up to a seated position, his eyes ever-so-slightly wild and his chest heaving, he saw that, where once there'd been a human-shaped mass of blood, there now was a nude male form, its skin so pale as to be almost translucent and hair like freshly fallen snow.
From where he sat, he had a prime view of the man's eyes and mouth flying open in tandem, a joyous howl that grated on his very soul erupting from the vocal cords of the man who could only be Cadfan Lloyd.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
In two very different places, thousands of miles apart, two very different women started from their sleep. Two pairs of eyes fixed on the same shattered moon, and had two very different reactions.
Ruby Rose shrugged, rolled over in her bed, and returned to sleep.
The Immortal Queen Annalise of the Forgotten Kingdom of Cainhurst smiled. Had anyone been around to see it, they would've most likely been simultaneously entranced and terrified.
Alas, her sole living guest in this kingdom, obscured by Paleblood Sorcery and guarded by the phantoms of ages past, was asleep in her quarters.
"Cadfan, Our knight...you'd best not keep Us waiting long…"
AN: Well, this took longer to get out than anticipated, but I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out. As always, profuse thanks to Teninshigen and Slavok for looking over my work and making sure it looks smoother and more...well, more.
Finally, I have a challenge for you all, dear readers (Except Tenin, because he already knows the answer).
There is a particular part of the ritual conducted in this chapter that was inspired by a certain cinematic in a From Software game. Whoever can figure out both what part of the ritual it is and what it is a reference to may ask me a question about the future of the story and receive an answer. However, if the question is spoilery, I'll only tell you some of the answer.
Enjoy!
