The light of the new day crawled in through the wide glass windows of Beacon Academy, a soft golden glow illuminating the towering halls. The low hum of chatter and footsteps echoed as students began to stir, some still yawning, others already brimming with energy.
Among them, Cala Ad Lance moved without a word, her long strides steady, her presence quiet but firm. The clank of her boots against the polished floor stood out in the early morning calm. Dressed in her usual gear—leather pants, crop top, and her heavy bag slung over one shoulder with her lance strapped across her back—she looked like she was already halfway prepared for war.
Cala made her way to the cafeteria, expression as unreadable as ever. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast: eggs, toast, sausages, and something sweet—pancakes, maybe. A strange but comforting normalcy in contrast to the tension that brewed quietly beneath the surface. After all, initiation was just hours away.
As she neared the cafeteria doors, a sudden blur zipped past her with a whoosh of air and an all-too-familiar "nya~" echoing faintly.
"Again with the vents," Cala muttered flatly, casting a glance upward just in time to see the tail end of a black figure slip into the grated ceiling. She didn't need to look twice. Golden eyes. The cat faunus girl. Clearly unbothered by rules, ceilings, or gravity.
Inside the cafeteria, chaos was already underway.
"Who stole the gods-damned fish again!?" bellowed a burly chef from behind the serving counter, brandishing a ladle like it was a deadly weapon. "Seven—no, ten! Ten of 'em! Gone! Gutted clean and not even a damn scale left!"
Students looked up briefly, half amused, half indifferent. It was too early for this. Except for one or two who snorted into their cereal.
Cala didn't react. She stepped around the outburst, grabbed a tray, collected her food with efficient motions, and found a far-off table near the window where no one sat. She eased down slowly, letting the shield bag clunk softly against the bench beside her, then took a measured bite of toast. Quiet, still, and watchful.
From her corner, she spotted a few familiar faces across the room.
There was that loud one again, the girl with wild orange hair and a hammer almost as big as herself—Nora, she recalled. Sitting beside the calm, sharp-eyed boy with black hair and a pink streak, Ren. They had been in the hall last night, same as her, same as the others. Nora's energy hadn't diminished even slightly.
"Mmmphf! Right! What was I thinking?" Nora said, mid-chew, her plate piled high with food. "But still, I hope we end up on the same team together!" She slurped down the last of her pancake like a vacuum. "Ooooohhh! We should come up with some sort of plan to make sure we end up on the same team together! What if we bribe the headmaster?! No, that won't work. He has the school."
Ren didn't respond at first, just slowly chewed his rice with the slow, silent regret of someone who knew this would only escalate.
Cala blinked, not at all surprised. At this point, she was more surprised if Nora wasn't saying something ridiculous. Still, despite herself, she found the normalcy of it... grounding. Not comforting, exactly, but something like it. A rhythm in the madness.
She glanced across the room again. There was that redhead—the tall, poised one. Pyrrha Nikos, if she recalled the name from whispered conversations and buzzed excitement. The girl was a walking billboard of skill and fame, calmly sipping her tea as if she weren't being watched by at least four other students nearby.
Elsewhere, the younger ones, the sisters perhaps—blonde and red—were also seated. The blonde girl with the confident grin (Yang, if Cala remembered correctly that night) laughed as her sister redhooded nervously fiddled with her silverware, clearly still a little too jittery to eat much.
Cala sipped her juice, looking out the window, the weight of the coming day pressing on her shoulders but not slowing her down. Her demeanor never changed. Focused. Still. Stoic. She was used to this—waiting before the storm.
Just as the murmurs of conversation began to dull, a sharp voice rang through the cafeteria, crisp and authoritative.
"All students, please prepare for initiation," Glynda's voice echoed through the speakers mounted high along the walls. "You have one hour to gather your equipment and assemble at the cliffs. Do not be late."
That was enough to jolt a few sluggish students into action.
Cala stood, grabbed her shield-bag, and slung it across her shoulder once more. She paused only briefly, catching the gleam of golden eyes watching from the vents again before they vanished from sight.
With a quiet exhale through her nose, she muttered, "Weird cat."
And then she left, walking with purpose, alone as always.
The air in the locker room buzzed with the frantic energy of students preparing for the initiation. The clinking of armor, the rustling of clothing, and the sharp sound of boots on metal floors echoed through the narrow hallway. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, thick and tangible, as students readied themselves for what was sure to be a life-changing test.
Jaune Arc, ever the mess of nerves and clumsiness, was no exception. His eyes darted back and forth, nervously checking over his gear, his armor, his sword. Nothing felt quite right. His weapon was still a little too heavy in his hands, the straps of his armor too loose, his shield too cumbersome. But he tried to shake off the jitters. This was it. This was what he'd trained for.
As he fumbled with his equipment, a voice broke through the chaos.
"So, Pyrrha," Weiss Schnee said, her voice light but edged with an air of sophistication, "have you given any thought to whose team you'd like to be on? I'm sure everyone must be eager to unite with such a strong, well-known individual such as yourself!"
Jaune's gaze flickered up just in time to see Weiss—arms crossed, chin held high, looking almost regal in the way she carried herself—speak with Pyrrha Nikos, the celebrated champion of Mistral. Pyrrha, in contrast, was the very picture of calm, her expression serene as she carefully adjusted her armor. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of green, seemed to hold a quiet confidence.
Pyrrha paused for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly in thought as she glanced at Weiss. "Hmm... I'm not quite sure. I was planning on letting the chips fall where they may."
Weiss raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. Her lips curved into a thin smile, and Jaune could almost see the gears turning in her mind. "Well... I was thinking maybe we could be on a team together," Weiss suggested, her tone hopeful yet slightly calculating.
Pyrrha's smile remained as warm as ever. "Well, that sounds grand!"
Weiss' eyes glimmered with something close to excitement as she clutched her locker a little tighter, her thoughts running wild. "Great!"
But in Weiss' mind, the scene shifted. Her gaze became intense as her thoughts took on a life of their own, and in an instant, her image warped into something much more... deliciously dramatic.
The background around her seemed to fade away, replaced by a vast, swirling thundercloud. She stood tall in her mind's eye, her posture regal, her eyes sharp with the glint of ambition. In this fantasy world, she was no longer just Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. No, in this version, she and Pyrrha were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.
The smartest girl in class combined with the strongest girl in class! she thought to herself, her manic grin widening. Together we will be unstoppable! I can see it now! We'll be popular! We'll be celebrities! We'll get perfect grades! Nothing can come between us now!
She let out an inner laugh of glee, imagining the triumph in their future.
But just as her thoughts were about to spiral into full-blown villainy, a loud, disembodied voice broke through her fantasy.
"You know what else is great? Me. Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you."
Jaune, ever the optimist and ever the oblivious, had suddenly appeared between Weiss and Pyrrha, looking a little out of breath and beaming as if he hadn't just interrupted a crucial moment. He stretched his hand toward Pyrrha, the awkwardness of his gesture almost endearing.
Weiss narrowed her eyes, irritated by the intrusion. "You again?" she muttered, her irritation flaring.
Pyrrha, however, let out a small laugh, her voice a soft contrast to the tension in the room. "Nice to meet you, Jaune!" she said, her smile genuine, though she seemed a bit puzzled by his enthusiasm.
Just then, there was a sudden rustling behind Jaune, and without warning, a familiar voice made its presence known.
"Hello, Weiss," said a cool, calm voice, as if casually joining the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jaune jumped, spinning around in a flurry of surprise. "AAAAH!?" he shouted, eyes wide as he whirled, his heart racing for a moment before realizing who it was.
Sese Lenya stood there, looking as pristine as ever. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back like liquid gold, and her fair skin seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights. Her red eyes, sharp and predatory, met Weiss' gaze with the kind of familiarity that implied a long history.
Weiss, although slightly startled, quickly recovered. "Oh, hey, Sese," she greeted her smoothly, as though this was just another day in the life of Beacon Academy.
Pyrrha looked between them curiously. "You knew her?" she asked, her tone gently inquisitive.
Weiss didn't hesitate for even a second, and without breaking her stride, she launched into her explanation, her voice smooth and calculated. "Yes, she is..." she paused just for the tiniest moment, then continued, the words coming rapidly and perfectly, "...Sese Lenya Ban Von Fitzgerald Livingstone Cunningham Dragoncrest Chatterton Abercrombie Duskhollow Frostbloom Belsonavenolairequintaple the X."
Sese, in contrast, merely smiled politely, her posture flawless. "Sese is fine, of course," she said, her voice calm and welcoming, though her eyes still held a certain sharpness to them. She was every bit the picture of elegance, and something about the way she carried herself made it obvious that she was used to people falling into line.
Weiss, nodding with a small but proud smile, confirmed, "We grew up together."
Pyrrha's green eyes flickered between the two, noticing how similar they seemed—both exuded an air of sophistication and wealth, a kind of untouchable class that radiated off them.
"I can see that," Pyrrha said, a quiet understanding settling over her.
Jaune, on the other hand, seemed utterly lost in the sea of names and titles. He tilted his head, brow furrowed. "...What?" he asked, completely confused by the long, drawn-out title that had been dropped on him so casually.
Sese let out a small, soft laugh, her voice laced with politeness. "It's alright. It's a lot to say," she said, though she didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, she appeared rather used to it.
Jaune blinked rapidly, trying to process everything. "I... I feel like they're going to buy the whole Beacon..." he muttered, almost to himself, as the reality of it all began to sink in. He glanced at Weiss and Sese, both standing in the same proximity, and couldn't help but feel that the presence of these two at Beacon was going to change the atmosphere entirely.
It was an odd moment, one that didn't quite sit right with Jaune. He wasn't sure what to make of them yet. But one thing was clear: both Weiss and Sese carried themselves with an air of authority—something that demanded attention.
The locker room remained alive with chatter, movement, and the sound of metal-on-metal as combat gear was checked and rechecked. Footsteps echoed against the walls, punctuated by the occasional laugh, mutter, or sharp bark of a zipper being pulled too hard. Amidst all this, Nora Valkyrie's voice cut clear through the noise, animated and bouncing with energy as usual.
"I know! We'll have some sort of signal! Like a distress signal!" she declared, eyes wide with inspiration. Then she gasped, striking a dramatic pose with her hand flaring out to the side. "A secret signal so we can find each other in the forest! Can you imitate a sloth?"
Ren stood nearby, calm as ever, hands at work sliding his weapons back into the concealed sheaths along his sleeves. His expression was unreadable, and he took a moment before replying with his usual quiet patience, "Nora?"
"Yes, Ren?" she chirped, looking over at him with gleaming eyes.
"I don't think sloths make a lot of noise."
Nora paused, her lips pursing in thought as she processed this. "That's why it's perfect!" she suddenly beamed. "No one will suspect we're working together!"
Ren couldn't help the faint smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. With a soft click, his weapons were secured. "Come on, Nora. Let's go."
As he turned to walk, Nora skipped after him, humming under her breath before leaning in mischievously. "Not 'together-together'..." she added in a teasing singsong voice, then giggled to herself.
She wasn't watching where she was going and collided lightly into another figure, giving a surprised hop. "Whoa—sorry!"
The other girl blinked, having been standing very still, perhaps even dozing upright for a moment before the bump stirred her.
Kumiko Xen turned, her long black hair pinned up in a high, long brown pony tail, some loose strands brushing her face. Her outfit looked like it belonged on an ancient battlefield: a finely-embroidered qipao with brown and white layers, over which polished armor plates were secured to her shoulders and arms. Her waist was bound with a dark sash, and resting against her locker was a long, sleek spear—not collapsible, not mechanical, but pristine and traditional in every sense.
Kumiko rubbed her eye lazily. "Oops. Sorry. Just kinda... dozed off."
Nora's hands flew up in apology, but her grin remained. "Oh! It's okaaayy~! I didn't see you there. And—is that a spear?"
"Yeah," Kumiko replied with a shrug, barely looking at it. "Just a spear."
Ren, curious, leaned a bit closer, looking the weapon over. "Are you... using an actual spear?"
"Yup," Kumiko said, this time offering a small grin. "Hey, I'm good with it. Other stuff? Pfft—nah. I just stick with the basics."
Nora tilted her head, clearly fascinated. "Neat! You don't see that much anymore."
"Yeah. I get that a lot." Kumiko yawned as she turned back to her locker, fingers quickly unfastening some of the buckles across her side. "Anyway, take care."
"Bye!" Nora waved energetically.
Kumiko gave a lazy wave back, still half-yawning, and resumed digging through her locker with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this more times than she cared to admit. The way she moved—confident and unhurried—seemed to say she didn't feel the same urgency as the rest of the students around her. Whether that was because of confidence or exhaustion was anyone's guess.
As Nora and Ren continued on down the row, she leaned close to him again. "Huh. Never seen that a lot these days."
"Maybe she's a traditionalist," Ren offered, glancing back briefly at the girl as she began methodically strapping her gear into place.
The two passed by another familiar pair—Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long—without missing a beat. Ruby was mid-rant, arms flailing excitedly about some modification she'd made to Crescent Rose, while Yang just laughed and shook her head, amused at her little sister's boundless energy. The contrast between their dynamic and Nora and Ren's was sharp, but somehow, it all worked within the strange chaos of the locker room.
Above all the noise, the school-wide speakers suddenly crackled to life.
"Attention students," came Glynda Goodwitch's sharp, clipped voice. "Initiation will begin in one hour. Please report to the locker rooms and prepare to move out."
Ren's gaze flicked to the ceiling, then back down. "One hour."
Nora nodded with mock seriousness, puffing out her chest. "Operation Sloth is a go."
Ren didn't reply—but the faint smile stayed on his face a little longer than usual.
Ren stepped out of the locker room with his usual calm demeanor, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. His strides were steady, purposeful, as if he had already mentally prepared for the trials ahead. Nora, on the other hand, skipped behind him, her energy impossible to contain. She bounced from one foot to the other, humming a tune under her breath as she followed Ren out of the room, her arms flailing in exaggerated gestures that no doubt mirrored her excitement.
As they made their way down the hall, they passed Ruby and Yang, who were both busy at their lockers, checking their gear. Ruby looked up briefly, watching the two before turning back to Yang with a curious frown.
"Wonder what those two are so worked up about?" Ruby asked, her voice laced with amusement.
Yang raised an eyebrow, looking over at the pair as they continued on their way. "Oh, who knows? So, you seem awfully chipper this morning!"
Ruby grinned widely, her energy matching her sister's. "Yep! No more awkward small talk or 'getting-to-know-you' stuff. Today, I get to let my sweetheart do the talking." She placed a hand gently on Crescent Rose, her weapon, and sighed happily as she admired the scythe.
Yang chuckled, adjusting the straps on her gloves. "Well, remember, Ruby, you're not the only one going through initiation. If you wanna grow up, you're gonna have to meet new people and learn to work together."
Ruby crossed her arms and huffed, rolling her eyes as if the words she just heard were the most exasperating thing in the world. "You sound like Dad!" she groaned, shoving Crescent Rose into her locker with a bit more force than necessary.
"Okay, first of all: What does meeting new people have to do with fighting?" Ruby continued, frowning. "And secondly: I don't need people to help me grow up! I drink milk!"
Yang raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "But what about when we form teams?"
Ruby froze at that, her eyes wide with sudden uncertainty. She turned away from Yang, muttering under her breath, "Um, I don't know, I... I'll just be on your team or something..."
Yang tilted her head, her golden hair cascading over her shoulder as she moved closer to her sister, stroking it with a fond smile. "Maybe you should try being on someone else's team?"
Ruby's heart skipped a beat at her sister's suggestion. Her eyes shot back to Yang, wide with disbelief. "My dear sister Yang, are you implying that you do not wish to be on the same team as me?" she asked dramatically, her tone full of exaggerated hurt.
Yang blinked, startled at Ruby's response. She chuckled and raised her hands in mock surrender. "What? No! Of course I do! I just thought... I don't know, maybe it would help you... break out of your shell!"
Ruby recoiled, her hands flying up as she shook her head in protest. "What the—?! I don't need to 'break out of my shell'! That's absolutely—"
Before she could finish her sentence, a shadow fell over them, cutting off Ruby's words. Both sisters turned in unison, looking up to see the source of the dark presence looming over them. Standing there, with an air of quiet authority, was a woman whose mere presence seemed to dwarf the space around her.
The woman was tall—no, she was massive. Her muscular frame was imposing, a testament to her strength, and her eyes, sharp and focused, looked down at the two sisters with a stern gaze. The most striking feature, however, was her bright orange hair, which cascaded down her back in waves, contrasting with the dark leather jacket and black cargo pants she wore. Heavy-duty boots thudded softly against the floor as she came to a stop, arms crossed with calm patience.
Ruby and Yang froze. Ruby's eyes widened, and she stepped back instinctively. Yang's body tensed, her posture straightening as she tried to gauge the woman's demeanor. The air around them seemed to grow heavier as the woman's gaze lingered on them.
"My locker is blocked by you," the woman said, her voice deep and calm, but with an edge that demanded attention.
Ruby immediately scrambled, her face turning red with embarrassment. "Oh! Oh, sorry! Sorry!" she stammered, stepping aside quickly. Her hands moved in an exaggerated motion as if to help guide the woman, even though she knew it was unnecessary.
Yang followed suit, her movements swift as she stepped out of the way, casting a cautious glance at the towering figure. She could feel the intimidation rolling off the woman like a physical presence, and it wasn't lost on her how effortlessly she had commanded the space with just a glance.
Without another word, the woman stepped forward and began rummaging through her locker with efficient, practiced motions. From within, she retrieved her gear—a thick, cannon-tipped lance and a massive shield, each piece gleaming faintly in the light. Her casual outfit stood in sharp contrast to the sheer weight and scale of the equipment, yet she handled it all like second nature.
Ruby couldn't help but watch, her curiosity overtaking her nerves. There was something compelling about the way the woman moved—calm, deliberate, and unfazed.
Yang, her curiosity piqued, leaned in a little closer to Ruby. "What's her deal?" she whispered, watching as the woman continued to unpack and prepare herself. "She's got that 'don't mess with me' vibe."
Ruby shrugged, still a little stunned by the woman's sheer presence. "I don't know, but she definitely looks like she can handle herself."
Yang tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the woman's form. "Yeah, but... do you think she's here to make friends?"
Ruby chuckled softly, shaking her head as she let her gaze linger. "Doesn't seem like it."
Yang folded her arms, a smirk forming. "Bet she could punch a Deathstalker in the face and walk away without a scratch."
"Yang!" Ruby hissed, trying to suppress a laugh. "Don't let her hear you!"
"I'm just saying," Yang continued, nudging Ruby playfully, "if Beacon had a walking tank, that's her."
Ruby blinked. "Wait... is that her armor? That huge shield thing? I thought that was part of the wall."
"She brought that and a lance the size of a lamppost? Who is she, the final boss?"
"I don't know, but I'm not fighting her," Ruby said with a firm nod. "Nope. I value my bones."
Yang whistled low under her breath. "Serious expression, giant weapons, doesn't blink when people stare? She's either super disciplined... or has zero time for nonsense."
The two sisters exchanged a glance, the tension in the air still thick as they both stood back, giving the woman her space. There was something about her, something that made Ruby both intrigued and slightly apprehensive. Maybe they would end up on different teams—or maybe not. But either way, the orange-haired woman was clearly someone not to be underestimated.
Yang glanced sideways, her golden hair catching the dim locker-room light as she whispered, "Do you think she's like... twenty?"
"Don't say that out loud," Ruby hissed, her cheeks flushing as she balanced Crescent Rose against her shoulder.
"She looks like she bench-presses Beowolves for fun," Yang continued, voice low but brimming with awe.
"Yang!" Ruby snapped, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards despite herself.
"Okay, okay—just saying... she could crush me."
Their whispered banter was swallowed by the sharp clang of a locker door shutting. Both sisters froze as Cala Ad Lance stepped back from her own locker. Her heavy armor plates glinted faintly, and the air seemed to shift around her—tense, charged, as if every molecule acknowledged her presence. Without sparing them even a sideways glance, she turned and strode away, each footfall thudding off the floor like a drumbeat, disappearing into the milling crowd of students.
Ruby let out a slow exhale, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Wow... she's like, a real warrior." Her voice was small, awed, as if she were talking about a legend come to life rather than a fellow first-year.
Yang tilted her head, folding her arms and studying the spot where Cala had stood. "Think she drinks milk too?"
Ruby punched her lightly on the arm, more affectionate than angry. "You're ridiculous."
Meanwhile, somewhere above them in the rafters, the cat Faunus sleepily snored in the vents, oblivious to the stir she'd caused the night before. Her golden eyes remained closed, and her tail curled neatly against the cool metal.
At the same moment, on the opposite side of the room, another group of students paused in their own preparations. Weiss Schnee, her silver eyes narrowed with curiosity, stood beside her old friend Sese Lenya—whose full name always seemed to hang in the air like a grand announcement—and the statuesque Pyrrha Nikos. Jaune Arc, still fumbling with the straps of his shield, glanced up to see Cala's towering form filling the space between lockers. His jaw dropped so far he might have swallowed Crescent Rose reassembled.
None of them spoke at first. The sight of a seven-foot-tall woman, muscles rippling beneath leather and steel, reaching easily into her locker demanded silence. Cala Ad Lance didn't hesitate: she methodically unpacked her gear, the only sound the soft clink of metal as she set items aside. Then she reached in and pulled out her weapon—a lance that seemed more sculpture than tool.
The shaft was thick as a tree trunk, covered in intricate medieval engravings that wound around its length like ancient runes. It rose nearly eight feet from the floor, its base flaring into a broad, conical mass the size of three men standing shoulder to shoulder, before tapering to an impossibly sharp tip. The sheer scale of it was intimidating; even in her relaxed posture, she seemed ready to lift it with one hand.
Weiss's voice finally broke the hush. "Is that... legal?" she asked, lips parted in disbelief.
Jaune staggered backward, nearly colliding with Pyrrha. "That's... that's bigger than me," he stammered, wide-eyed.
Sese merely smiled, tilting her head. "could say bigger people do favor larger weapons," she murmured in that soft, aristocratic lilt.
Pyrrha's brow rose. "I've never seen a lance like that."
Weiss folded her arms, visibly unsettled. "It's not just the weapon. Did you see the shield? I thought she was carrying part of a wall."
Jaune, still flustered, muttered, "She could use me as the weapon. Just grab my legs and start swinging."
Pyrrha gave a small laugh, though her gaze remained analytical. "She's definitely trained. That kind of equipment isn't for show."
Sese's sapphire eyes sparkled with amusement. "Nor is she. That woman walks like she's already won a dozen wars."
Weiss huffed softly. "She better be on our side during initiation."
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the spot where Cala had vanished. "I'm starting to think we're not in high school anymore..."
Before they could speculate further, Cala's finger brushed a concealed button near the base of the spear. There was a low click, almost like a sigh against metal. Instantly, the massive lance began to shift—segments sliding and spinning in a smooth, mechanical dance. The conical base retracted into a cluster of rotating chambers, each clicking into place around a central axis. The once-streamlined shaft thickened with new plating, and a trigger assembly slid out from beneath the engravings.
In moments, the elegant lance had transformed into a colossal cannon—its barrel formed from nine revolving chambers, each sized for explosive rounds the diameter of small boulders. The metal gleamed with the promise of power. Cala ran a hand along its length, inspecting the mechanism with a practiced eye. "Hm... good condition," she said, voice flat but satisfied.
A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.
Yang's hand flew to her mouth. "That can't be a real gun..."
Ruby's eyes were impossibly wide. "It's like a tank cannon..."
Jaune swallowed hard, knuckles whitening around his shield strap. "I... I didn't even know shift weapons could do that."
Weiss took a cautious step forward, curiosity warring with caution. "It's like nine cannons in one..."
Pyrrha's expression turned thoughtful, admiration flickering in her eyes. "Remarkable craftsmanship."
Sese merely folded her arms, her quiet smile widening. "Practical... and devastating."
Ruby leaned in closer to Yang, her voice a hushed whisper. "Do you think she built that herself? That's not standard issue..."
Yang shook her head slowly, still wide-eyed. "Ruby, if she did, I think we just met the engineer of our nightmares."
Ruby added, "I mean... that thing could flatten a Nevermore."
Yang muttered, "It could flatten a building."
Weiss's arms dropped slightly as she took a step closer. "That level of engineering isn't just rare—it's borderline forbidden in most academies."
Jaune's voice cracked. "Do you think we'll be graded on whether we survive the initiation?"
Pyrrha glanced sideways at him, trying to reassure. "It's not about matching power—it's about knowing your strengths. And staying very clear of hers."
Sese's expression softened with a mix of pride and calculation. "Such elegance in brutality... a weapon of war hidden in art. She's more than muscle—she's precision."
Weiss blinked. "Are you impressed?"
Sese tilted her head, blonde hair catching the light. "Deeply."
But Cala Ad Lance remained focused on her weapon, not on the stunned faces around her. With a single, fluid motion, she swung the massive cannon onto her shoulder, the mechanism whirring softly as it locked into firing position.
And then she walked away, each step carrying the weight of inevitability, leaving behind a circle of mouths dropping open and hearts pounding in awe.
Ruby's eyes practically sparkled as she pressed closer to the lockers, fingers fiddling with the handle of Crescent Rose. "Did you see that? Did you see how that whole lance just—shifted into that cannon? Like, clean transformation, no lag, no catch. That's craftsmanship. Whoever built that knew exactly what they were doing."
Yang chuckled under her breath, resting her hip against her locker and watching her sister geek out. "Kinda makes you look small in comparison, huh?"
"I don't even mind," Ruby admitted, still watching Cala out of the corner of her eye. "It's like seeing a relic walk in from an older time. That thing isn't a weapon. It's a statement."
Meanwhile, Cala Ad Lance remained at her locker, utterly unmoved by the quiet murmurings and glances around her. She continued rummaging with the same calm efficiency, her fingers brushing past rows of neatly stored ammunition canisters, maintenance tools, and what looked suspiciously like spare armor plates. Then, with a short grunt of exertion, she reached in and hauled out something massive—another piece of gear that instantly stole everyone's attention.
A shield.
But not just any shield.
It was a full-body, thick-plated monstrosity of metal—five inches thick by anyone's guess, solid from edge to edge, with bold angular ridges carved into its surface. It clanged heavily against the floor as she set it down with both hands, revealing its sheer size. The rectangular slab of protection towered just under her own imposing height, easily four meters across at the widest point. Thick reinforcement bars crisscrossed the back where her hands slid into the grip mounts, locking into the hidden arm slots like a gauntlet attaching to a walking fortress.
Ruby audibly gasped.
Yang, too, blinked in disbelief. "Okay, seeing clearly now, yeah that's no sheild. That's a wall, that's definitely a wall."
"She could cover a whole hallway with that thing," Ruby whispered, leaning forward again.
"She could cover a gate under siege," Yang muttered.
The clatter of the shield had drawn more attention. Even across the room, the high-pitched sound of Weiss's gasp could be heard. She turned from a conversation mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.
"Who in their right mind would carry that into battle?" Weiss asked, baffled.
Pyrrha was quieter, eyes narrowed in consideration. "That's not just for defense," she said. "That thing could plow through enemies like a battering ram."
Jaune—still tying the same stubborn strap on his chest armor—stared openly, lips parting as Cala began checking the latches on the inside of the shield, adjusting the mechanisms with a small tool she'd taken from her belt.
"That... that shield is thicker than my self-esteem," he mumbled.
Sese's voice floated beside him, ever calm, ever elegant. "Armor like that hasn't been used commonly in decades. Most modern Huntsmen prefer mobility over protection."
"And she's got both," Pyrrha noted, as Cala next pulled out a solid metal container and began attaching pieces of her armor.
The plating was as utilitarian as it was fearsome—thick slabs of reinforced alloy clamped tightly over her limbs, chest, and back. There were no elegant trims, no polished chrome edges, only raw function and the dull gleam of battle-worn steel. A full cuirass slid over her already-muscled frame, fitting seamlessly with the gauntlets she snapped into place. The greaves clinked into locking joints with practiced motions, and the whole ensemble formed a brutal silhouette—massive, immovable, yet balanced like a fortress on two legs.
It was a rare sight. Huntsmen these days relied on speed, agility, range—mobility was the modern currency of survival. But Cala looked like she'd stepped out of a different age. She wore her armor like it was second skin. Heavy. Imposing. Absolutely indomitable.
"I didn't think anyone still did full-body armor," Yang said, half under her breath.
Ruby was almost drooling. "She's like... a juggernaut. Like a real-life boss fight."
"Maybe she's got some insane strength-based Semblance?" Jaune wondered aloud, before backpedaling slightly. "I mean... that or she's just, you know, really determined."
"I doubt that's just strength alone," Pyrrha added, eyes narrowing. "She moves too smoothly for that weight. That's something else. Something trained."
The clank of armor buckles finally stopped as Cala turned slightly to retrieve her helmet from the upper shelf. She didn't speak, didn't acknowledge the eyes on her. She merely snapped the last buckle into place with a single, deliberate motion, slung the massive cannon over her shoulder with one arm, and hefted the mountain of a shield with the other. No strain showed on her face. If anything, she looked... comfortable.
And then, as she turned to leave the locker room, her expression remained the same: unreadable, unread, stoic.
She never noticed—or perhaps simply never cared—that every eye followed her as she walked past.
Cala's movements were fluid, controlled, and completely devoid of any unnecessary showmanship. As she walked through the locker room with her shield firmly gripped in one hand, and the enormous cannon resting on her shoulder, it was hard not to feel a sense of weighty presence in her wake. She wasn't just another student—she was a living monument to strength. Every step she took, each clank of her armor hitting the floor, echoed throughout the room, each thud resonating like a challenge to anyone who dared to doubt her.
It was when she reached the hallway that things became even more... formidable.
With a slow, almost effortless motion, Cala reached for the handle of the cannon's grip. Her gloved fingers curled around the trigger. Without breaking stride, she pressed a button near the base of the barrel. The change was instantaneous.
The entire cannon mechanism seemed to fold into itself, clicking and shifting with a series of mechanical whirrs and snaps. The oversized barrels retracted, and in the blink of an eye, the enormous weapon was transformed once again into the massive, heavy lance. It extended forward with the kind of grace that defied its imposing size. A sleek, sharp point gleamed as the lance reassembled, rising tall, like the spire of an ancient fortress.
The action was so fluid, so efficient, that Cala made it look like the most natural thing in the world—like she had done it a hundred times before, and perhaps she had. The change from cannon to lance was seamless, yet it had the effect of shaking the atmosphere around her, like she was lifting the weight of an entire battle with her every step.
The students in the hallway couldn't help but watch in awe, their eyes widening as they observed the transformation. Even those who had previously seemed indifferent or distracted—like Nora and Ren, who had been chatting their way towards the initiation area—immediately slowed their pace, taking a step back to let the walking fortress pass.
Nora, the ever-energetic ball of curiosity, stopped mid-sentence as she watched Cala move by. Her wide, curious eyes followed the shifting weapon. "Did... did she just turn a cannon into a lance?"
Ren, typically the more composed of the two, stopped walking as well. His usual calm demeanor wavered just a fraction, and even he couldn't help but blink in disbelief. "I think we just saw a walking siege engine."
Neither of them moved for a moment, just letting the sight of Cala pass them by as if she were some unstoppable force of nature. Even the bustling students around them seemed to part instinctively, clearing a path in her wake as if the very presence of her power demanded it.
Cala didn't notice. She never did.
Her armor-clad feet echoed heavily with each step, and the air around her seemed to grow denser, like the world was bracing itself for something monumental. Her posture remained rigid, but her gait was calculated and efficient—each movement deliberate, like she was marching toward a purpose that no one else could comprehend just yet.
As she continued down the hallway, the students—including Nora and Ren—didn't resume their steps immediately. They simply stared as the massive figure passed them, her lance now nearly as tall as she was, with its wide shaft gleaming menacingly under the fluorescent lights. The length of the weapon made it seem even more imposing, and the sheer size of her shield—still resting heavily over her back—only further amplified her already intimidating silhouette.
"I feel like we're not supposed to be this close to her," Nora muttered quietly, almost to herself, but loud enough for Ren to hear.
Ren nodded, his expression serious for once. "your probably right. She could flatten us without breaking a sweat."
As Cala's form continued to grow smaller in the distance, the sound of her footsteps slowly faded into the background noise of the locker room, but the lingering feeling of power was palpable. The students who had been around her felt something shift. It wasn't just the loud, intimidating armor she wore or the massive weapon she wielded—it was something intangible. Something that left an impression on the room. It was as if the very air had gotten heavier when she'd walked through it.
Weiss, Pyrrha, and Jaune, who had been standing together by the lockers, exchanged uncertain looks. They were used to strong individuals, to impressive feats of combat prowess, but Cala? She was something else entirely.
Weiss was the first to break the silence. "What is she?"
Pyrrha was a little quieter in her response, her eyes still lingering on the spot where Cala had just walked. "Someone who doesn't need to say a word to command respect."
Jaune scratched the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him. "I... I think I just learned I'm out of my league here. I'm not sure I could even carry that shield, let alone fight with it."
Weiss rolled her eyes at him, but there was no denying that even she was taken aback by the sheer presence of the woman. It wasn't just about strength—it was about purpose. It was about someone who had walked through trials that most could only dream of, and came out as something... indomitable.
And as Cala's figure disappeared around a corner, the echoes of her footsteps slowly fading, the reality of the initiation suddenly felt a little more daunting. No one could ignore the force that had just passed them. She was an enigma—one whose presence demanded both awe and a healthy amount of fear.
Nora, finally moving again, gave Ren a light punch in the shoulder. "Well, looks like the competition's a little tougher than I thought."
Ren simply nodded, his gaze still lingering on the empty hallway. "I think it's safe to say we're not going to want to mess with her during the initiation."
Nora smirked and bounced back into her usual energetic stance, ready to keep moving forward. "I don't know. I'm still up for the challenge. Let's just hope we don't have to fight her first."
But even she couldn't hide the wariness in her voice. After all, when it came to someone like Cala Ad Lance, the only thing more dangerous than her size and strength was the absolute certainty that she knew it.
Somewhere above, hidden in the shadowed crawlways of Beacon's old duct system, the sound of gentle snoring persisted. A soft, rhythmic noise barely audible beneath the metallic groans of the vent shafts. Curled like a lazy feline in a patch of dusty warmth was a girl, limbs splayed comfortably, a single golden eye barely peeking open before drifting closed again. It was calm up there. No noise, no pressure, just the soft hum of the school waking up below.
Meanwhile, on the main floor, among the bustle of last-minute checks and prepping gear, Cala Ad Lance stood alone—unchanging, unmoved. Her full armor caught the overhead light, polished but practical, etched with subtle battle wear from her previous years in lesser-known academies. She looked like a sentinel from an older era, a misplaced warrior who had wandered into a world of scythes that folded into rifles and swords that turned into grenade launchers.
Then came a voice—soft, lilting, polite, but chipper.
"Hey! You're quite heavy duty! You can carry all that?"
Cala turned, helm in the crook of her arm, looking down slightly. The girl who had spoken was dressed in elegant, old-fashioned qipao or Cheongsam-styled armor, light yet composed with grace and tradition. Her long black hair was tied neatly behind her, and her hands rested easily against her sides. She had an air of discipline, but also a warm ease that contrasted against Cala's imposing presence.
"Yes," Cala answered simply. Her voice was low, steady. She wasn't used to idle talk, but the question wasn't mocking—it felt honest. "You're the woman that sleeps beside me."
"Your the one that doesn't talk much"
"..."
"..."
The girl offered a small smile and extended her hand. "Kumiko Xen."
Cala stared at the hand for a moment before reaching out with her own. The shake was firm, though brief.
"Cala Ad Lance."
Kumiko's grin widened slightly. "That's a strong name," she commented. "Fitting."
Cala didn't respond right away. Compliments, casual or not, weren't her comfort zone. Still, she gave a faint nod, her eyes scanning down to make sure the thick wrappings on the shaft of her lance were properly secured. She always checked twice. Her gear wasn't flashy—her armor didn't transform, and her weapons were built to last, not to impress—but it all functioned like part of her body. And it had to.
"You're rare," Kumiko added, glancing at the gleaming full-body shield and the sheer size of the lance. "No one wears armor like that anymore. Kinda like the old war stories."
Cala's lips twitched—just the faintest movement, almost a smile. "Knights didn't get tired of winning." She then looks at her and her gear, saying, "Yours isn't that common either..."
Kumiko let out a laugh. It was a bright, unbothered sound that echoed lightly in the corridor. "Fair enough."
Then the voice of Professor Goodwitch echoed through the intercoms, clear and authoritative.
"Three minutes until initiation. All students must proceed immediately to the locker room staging area."
The message brought renewed hustle to the hallway. Students zipped up gear bags, checked scrolls, tightened belts, and made hurried goodbyes or exchanged excited chatter.
Kumiko gave Cala a nod. "See you there then."
"Mhm," Cala replied, already turning back to finish tightening the final strap on her gauntlet. She was methodical. Every buckle, every strap had to sit perfectly. No loose points. She adjusted the wrappings on her lance's grip, ensuring the fabric wouldn't slide under pressure. There would be no room for error once the initiation began.
Kumiko lingered just a moment longer before turning away, her traditional spear held at her side like a ceremony piece rather than a weapon, her steps light and poised as she joined the growing crowd heading for the locker staging area.
Cala didn't rush. She didn't need to. Her pace remained steady, measured. Just like everything else about her. She had prepared for this—not just today, but for years. And when the drop came, she'd be ready to hit the ground like a battering ram.
In the vents above, the cat faunus gave a small snort and turned over in her sleep. The buzz of the crowd below didn't reach her yet. But soon enough, everyone—sleepy thieves, chatterbox hammer girls, rich heiresses, and fortress warriors alike—would be falling from the sky, straight into the proving ground.
And there, none of them would be able to hide.