The meeting place was shrouded in shadows, a long-forgotten storage hall beneath Vale's industrial sector—one where whispers echoed louder than footsteps and secrets could hang in the air like smoke. Thick curtains blocked out all trace of the outside world, and a single hanging light buzzed dimly above the center of the room, casting more gloom than illumination.
In that haze, four chairs sat arranged around a round table, each occupied by a figure who commanded a piece of Vale's criminal empire.
Three of them were already there.
Don Galdoro reclined in his seat, puffing on not one but two cigars clenched between his thick fingers. His rotund frame was packed into a finely tailored pinstripe suit, and a well-worn fedora shadowed his sharp, calculating eyes. The dark beard across his chin was neatly trimmed, his fingers heavy with rings that clicked quietly when he tapped them against his drink.
"My dear dust distributor, Torchwick," he said, his voice rolling like syrup over gravel. "Sit~sit. It's always a pleasure to have you around."
Roman Torchwick stepped into the light with the sort of casual arrogance that only someone truly dangerous—or dangerously lucky—could wear like a coat.
"Of course, Don Galdoro. How could I refuse the boss of the Salvanni Family?" Roman said with a tip of his hat. His trademark cane clicked rhythmically with each step as he moved to the empty chair.
From across the table, a soft voice spoke with edge beneath its calm.
"So the thief is here. Isn't it about time for us to meet the person who gathered all of us?"
She was known only as Lady Shia—a Faunus with nightshade-blue hair and matching fox ears. Her face remained veiled, but her presence radiated elegance, precision, and silent threat. Her robes were sleek and ceremonial, worn by the leader of a Faunus syndicate that spanned from the ports of Vale to the darker corners of Mistral.
Roman placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded. "You wound me, my lady. I'm punctual! Mostly."
Before another word passed between them, the fourth voice entered the fray.
A metallic thrum accompanied the low, mechanical growl of Vex Stahl.
"Now that Torchwick is here," he said, his voice like a rusted saw dragged across metal, "it's only a matter of time before they arrive."
Vex's frame was more machine than man, his limbs forged from dark chrome, his face hidden behind a helmet with glowing blue optics. The leader of Vale's underground tech-trafficking ring, Vex was known for ruthless efficiency and terrifying upgrades—both for himself and his soldiers.
The four waited.
The room grew heavier by the second.
Then, footsteps.
Precise. Deliberate. Feminine.
From behind the curtain, a woman stepped into the light.
She moved with the grace of a serpent and the certainty of a queen. Her golden eyes cut through the dim like daggers. A black and crimson outfit hugged her form like battle armor and formal wear in equal parts.
Cinder Fall.
"I thank you all for coming," she said, each word wrapped in velvet and steel.
Even Galdoro stopped puffing his cigars.
Lady Shia tilted her head slightly in curiosity.
Vex's optics whirred and focused.
Torchwick simply grinned and leaned back.
"Well now," he murmured, "the plot thickens."
She said no names. No affiliations. Only what was necessary.
"There is a shift coming to this city. A storm that will reshape everything from the gutters to the palaces. You are here because you will be part of that change. Each of you has power. But power alone does not guarantee survival. Or success."
"And what does?" Galdoro asked, squinting through the smoke.
"Vision," Cinder replied, a flame licking the edge of her voice. "And obedience."
No one spoke after that.
Not because they were afraid.
But because deep down, each of them sensed it—
Something much bigger had just begun.
Far above the chaos to come, among the lofty towers of Beacon Academy, the air was still.
Professor Ozpin stood at the window of his office, cradling a mug of steaming coffee between both hands. His gaze drifted over the horizon where Vale glittered beneath the setting sun, the last rays of light touching glass towers and casting long shadows across the streets below.
He felt it.
A pressure.
An unease that had no form but whispered nonetheless.
The elevator behind him chimed.
The doors opened, and Glynda Goodwitch entered, clipboard in hand, heels clicking smartly on the polished stone floor. She approached with practiced poise, eyes studying the man at the window.
"You've been up here for quite some time," she noted. "Is something wrong?"
Ozpin didn't turn. His voice came quiet, pensive.
"…Nothing concrete."
"But?"
He finally looked toward her, the light reflecting off his glasses. His expression remained calm, but behind it was a depth of thought few ever saw.
"I fear the winds are shifting. Something is coming, Glynda."
Glynda frowned. "You believe it's tied to the recent thefts?"
Ozpin's fingers tightened around his mug slightly.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps something greater. A change… not so favored for us."
She stood silently beside him, both of them watching as the last light of day dipped below the horizon.
"Should I alert the others?"
Ozpin shook his head gently. "Not yet. We don't act on shadows. Not until we know what shape they take."
"As you wish." Glynda turned back toward the elevator. "Still, I'll have the teams on standby."
"Thank you."
The doors closed behind her.
Ozpin stood alone again, the twilight deepening outside.
He took a sip of his coffee.
Still warm. Still familiar.
But something in the world had turned.
And it had only just begun to show its face.
A/N: Hello and welcome to my story this is the end of chapter 2. Hope you enjoyed the building up of the setting, and atmosphere. As you've probobly noticed this is a retelling of the rwby story using different elements to build up the world and the story. For all those who have found this story I hope you are able to enjoy this as much as possible. I will continue to try my best to build up these new characters and continue developing the OG guys from the RWBY series. Thank you for picking this up! <3