{Seriously? Bit of a leap, isn't it? You haven't even had time to mess around with your new powers. You can't use alchemy on me -- but you want to experiment with your Devil Fruit?}
"Yeah, yeah -- big leap. Mind giving me a quick alchemy tutorial? Just enough to move stuff around. Low cost, I'm guessing. As for the fruit… I'm thinking speed. That's the priority."
{You don't need a tutorial for the basics. That part's instinctive. The real challenge is transmutation -- advanced shaping. What matters is visualization and intent. As for the fruit… you sound like you already have an idea.}
"Well, yeah. It's like picking up a controller for a game you haven't played in years. Or relearning how to ride a bike. Feels like the knowledge was always there -- just rusty. I can piece something together."
{Then feel free to take the plunge when you're ready. Literally. Jump off my hand and you'll appear near Summer Rose. One more thing -- expect to move between worlds. Fate Breaker guarantees it. Your body will adjust the longer you stay in each one.}
"…I think I get what you're saying, but just to be sure -- caveman explanation."
{…Ooga booga. You go Naruto land. Stay long time. Get ninja juice. Use ninja juice. Big weeb you. Learn chakra ball first.}
"I didn't mean actual caveman terms."
{You asked.}
"…Yeah. Fair."
Mateo paced a small circle across the entity's palm, flexing his fingers as he experimented with his new Logia. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar--air responding to intent. Miniature tornadoes spun up in his hands, and with a bit of focus he even managed a brief, Iron Man–style hover before gravity reclaimed him.
Finally, he formed two larger vortexes along his back, wing-like in shape. They did nothing for actual flight, but the constant rush of wind pushed him forward, granting a noticeable burst of speed.
Mateo grinned. "Oh yeah, it's all coming together. Damn it--" He sighed. "I can't even do my Kronk impression anymore."
{You'll get it back in time. Or with a little practice. Honestly? You could be a hell of a puppeteer—use the wind to throw your voice~}
"Or," Mateo said thoughtfully, "and hear me out--I use it exclusively to mess with random people." He nodded to himself. "Thank you for the idea. Probably gonna be Qrow. Or Yang. They both seem very fun to mess with."
Already planning future crimes, Mateo strolled to the edge of the colossal hand and peered down into the endless void below. "Any, uh… any ritual or mumbo jumbo I need to do?"
{Do a flip!}
Mateo snorted. "Of course."
Meanwhile at Destination Fucked.
Summer Rose had learned, over years of Huntsman work, to recognize the difference between a fight you could still win and one you survived only by refusing to die.
This was neither.
Her halberd came back to guard on instinct, blade humming faintly with Aura as she turned in a slow circle. The clearing was choked with Grimm--Beowolves and Creeps mostly, lesser things, but there were too many. They paced just beyond striking distance, claws scraping dirt, red eyes fixed on her like a held breath.
They weren't attacking. That was the worst part.
Summer's lungs burned. Aura flared and flickered under her skin, thinner than she liked, slower to respond. She'd already taken hits that would have killed a normal person—gashes along her side, one arm numb from the shoulder down. She rolled her wrist, trying to coax feeling back into it.
Still standing, she told herself. That counts for something.
A slow clap echoed through the trees.
"Well well well," a voice drawled, lazy and pleased, as if he'd stumbled into a dinner party rather than an execution. "You Huntsmen are always so dramatic when you realize the board's already been flipped."
Summer didn't turn immediately. She didn't need to.
Tyrian Callows stepped out from between the Grimm like he'd always belonged there, scorpion stinger swaying behind him, smile carved wide and reverent. His eyes never left her.
"Mistress Salem's been very curious about you," he continued, tilting his head. "Strong. Persistent. So very hard to kill." He sniffed the air theatrically. "And you smell like hope. That's my favorite."
Her grip tightened.
"So this is how you do it?" Summer said calmly, buying time she didn't have. "Letting the Grimm do your work?"
Tyrian laughed, high and sharp. "Oh no, no, no. I adore the personal touch." His gaze flicked to the Grimm, and they shifted, tightening the ring. "But she wants you intact. For now." The circle closed another step. Twenty feet.
Summer adjusted her stance, weight settling into her heels, weapon angling forward. Solo mission. No backup. No extraction. Exactly how it always ended up. A familiar, almost comforting certainty settled in her chest.
Everlight, her Semblance answered softly, brightening despite the odds. Not fear. Not panic. Resolve.
"If you're taking me," she said quietly, eyes locked on Tyrian, "you're earning it."
The Grimm began to move and then paused. A faint voice rode in on a strange new wind. "Mine mine mine mine mine--"
Summer's eyes flicked to Tyrian. Tyrian, in turn, looked at her. A silent question passed between the only two humans present.
This one of yours?
Neither of them answered, already scanning the clearing as the chain of mines grew louder, closer, wrong.
Then they saw it.
A dreadlocked boy fell from the sky with all the energy of a feral chipmunk.
"MINE!"
He clapped just before impact--hands slamming into the earth as pale blue electricity and pressurized winds cracked outward. Stone shattered in a bowl-shaped ring around Summer and the stranger, the shockwave knocking Grimm back on their haunches.
"YOINK!"
No posturing. No grandstanding. The boy scooped Summer into a firefighter's carry and launched southeast, away from Salem's territory, leaving only broken ground and confused monsters behind. Tyrian caught one last glimpse of Summer's face before they became a speck in the Distance.
Utter confusion.
He blinked.
"…What?"
---
Tree trunks blurred into vertical smears as the boy hit the forest floor at a dead sprint, boots hammering earth hard enough that Summer felt every impact through his shoulder. Wind screamed -- not the freefall howl of the sky, but something tighter, channeled, blasting past her face in violent pulses. Gale force winds.
Her instincts recalibrated instantly.
She twisted, driving an elbow toward his ribs. It didn't land. Not because he blocked it--because her strike hit compressed air, dense enough to resist but fluid enough to slip past. The wind reformed immediately, his grip never loosening.
"…What," she breathed.
She tried a knee next, angling for the hip. Same result. Her motion slowed, redirected, weighted, like she was moving through thick water. "You interfered with my mission." she said sharply.
"Yeah!" he puffed, vaulting a fallen log without breaking stride. "Sorry! Wanted you intact!"
That sounded… worse. She craned her neck, eyes scanning the terrain whipping past beneath them. Roots, rocks, uneven ground--he should have tripped by now. Anyone should have. He didn't.
Wind flared behind his legs with every step, explosive bursts shoving him forward, correcting balance, eating impact. Too precise for panic. Too efficient for luck. Her fingers twitched toward where her weapon should have been. Gone. Of course it was. "You're not with her," Summer said, more statement than question.
"Nope!"
"And you're definitely not one of Ozpin's."
He hesitated half a beat, just long enough for her to notice. "…I think I saw him in a commercial. Once? Maybe?"
She exhaled through her nose. "Great," she muttered. "I get abducted, and it's by a mystery kid with wind powers and no operational briefing."
"Hey, I prefer the term surprise temporary adoption!" he protested lightly, skidding around a boulder as the wind yanked them sideways and back on course, "And I had a plan."
She raised a brow. "Did it include asking?"
"…At a later date."
Despite herself, she assessed him properly now. Not hurting her. Running away from Salem's territory at full speed. Choosing terrain that broke line of sight. No hesitation, no cruelty. Just urgency. If he let go right now, she wasn't sure she could immediately re-engage him. "…You're strong," she said quietly.
"Wind's strong," he corrected. "I'm just stubborn."
She stopped struggling. Not because she couldn't fight, but because fighting now would be stupid. She tilted her head back slightly, watching the canopy race overhead. "…You better not drop me."
He grinned, feral and unapologetic. "No Promises~"
---
Tyrian landed in a crouch, weapon digging into fractured stone as the Grimm recoiled and began to disperse. He straightened slowly, laughter bubbling up from his chest.
"Ohhh, that was fun," he breathed. "Did you feel it? The wind, the audacity-"
A Seer Grimm drifted to a stop a few paces away from him, its large orb-like eye swiveling, focusing, cataloging. Tyrian tilted his head, amused, hands still sticky with drying blood.
Tyrian dropped to one knee instantly, grin still plastered on his face.
"My Queen," he said smoothly. "Mission status: incomplete. Target extraction was interrupted by an unknown actor. Male. Young. Wind based semblance. High mobility. Unidentified combat method."
Salem listened in silence.
"He did not engage," Tyrian continued, tone almost reverent. "He Stole her. Removed her from the field like an inconvenience. I can pursue if you wish."
A pause. Salem's voice came level, unhurried. "No."
Tyrian blinked. "No, my Queen?"
"This individual," Salem said, "was not accounted for in any report, projection, or historical pattern." Not a failure of foresight. A failure of information. "I do not issue commands blindly," she continued. "And I will not waste assets chasing a factor I do not yet understand."
Tyrian's smile widened, eyes gleaming. "Oh… so we're learning."
"We are observing," Salem corrected. "There is a difference." The Grimm had fully withdrawn now, melting back into the darkness. "End the mission," she ordered. "Return. Report everything you observed -- the wind, the impact, describe the thief in detail."
"Yes, my Queen," Tyrian replied, rising. "May I say… I hope I meet him again."
---
Mateo finally slowed what felt like 20 minutes later and gently placed the woman down from his shoulders. Backing away slow with his hands in the air. "WOO! Good run, real good run. Definitely a new PB." Cardio is cardio and Mateo was surprised that his new body didn't mind it as much as his old one would.
Summer on the other hand was giving him a look somewhere between disappointed mother and drill sergeant about to cook a private. "You left my weapon." Her mission can basically be written off as a failure, Her weapon is gone, she's been somewhat kidnapped... And her hair may very well be 'wind-swept' for the rest of her life.
"On purpose, for multiple reasons. Reason number 1. I didn't want you to stab me." He didn't actually leave it behind. He did pocket that thing and stick it into his ring. "Number 2, If you still had it you could continue your mission. Which is a bad idea, because it's a trap."
"And just how do you know that?" She gave a glare that could melt steel and stop children from stealing snacks. Definitely the weirdest interrogation Mateo has been a part of... It also kind of stuttered his bullshitting flow.
"I read it in a fortune cookie?" He gave a sheepish smile and cleared his throat. "Alright, before you punch me in the face."
"Not where I was aiming."
"Noted, and, Ow? Anyway. I wasn't the only one keeping tabs on you. Underground network was tracking your progress and reporting it… somewhere. Different drops. Different routes. Which is what tipped me off. I'm guessing to that guy or their boss. I followed, because who the fuck tries to kill a lone Huntress? I figured you're either rich as hell, or very important to certain people." He was getting in the rhythm, connecting small believable lies with bigger truths.
"So, what are you? Bandit with a heart? Criminal with a bottom line?"
"Homeless." Mateo acted like the emotional gut punch wasn't intentional. "Kind of a, do what you can to survive situation. Sometimes I steal a bucket and busk on the streets, other times you play lookout for certain deals of a criminal nature or deliver messages that can't be traced over phones. Whatever tips best, really."
"Phones?"
"Scrolls, whatever, you know what I meant."