Work Text:
Chapter One: “Good Hunter..”
Remnant, The Long Hunt
Beasts are not born—they are made. The scourge of the blood twists men into monsters, their minds consumed by madness, their bodies reshaped by hunger. They are not so different from the Grimm, those shadowed creatures of Remnant. Both are the spawn of darkness, bred to hunt, to kill, to destroy.
Grimm and Beasts are mindless tools, drawn by fear and despair, They are the reflection of man’s sins, the corruption that festers within the heart. The blood does not lie—it reveals. And when it reveals too much, man is undone, leaving behind only the beast.
Yharnam thought it could control the blood, harness it for power, for healing. But blood is a cruel master, and the price was paid in fire and ash. The city burned, the beasts contained—for a time. But darkness does not die; it spreads.
All of Yharnam was sealed away, its gates locked to humanity and all through remnant and stuck deep within the West of Vale. Only two had escaped Yharnam, Gehrman, the First Hunter and a single babe whose blood was of pure Yharnam. They left the burning city to a cottage in vale. And Gehrman trained the boy, as there are still beasts to slay.
Remnant is not a sanctuary. It is a battlefield, a place where the darkness takes many forms. And the blood… the blood ties it all together. For in the end, man’s greatest enemy is not the beast outside but the beast within.”
RWBYBORNE
The Hunter’s Workshop lay silent under the pale glow of a moon that never waned. Shadows stretched long across the cobblestone floor, cast by the flickering fire of a dying lantern. Tools of the trade—saws, blades, and bloodstained cloth—were scattered across the room, remnants of countless hunts. Past the workshop was a small cottage, old and in need of repair, a boy stepped out of it. His eyes trailed along his clothing, the Garb of a hunters. He dusts himself off and tightens his gloves and stepped calmly towards the Workshop, and entered, walking past graveyards, etched with names of hunters lost to the war of beasts.
The Hunter stood at the center of the Workshop, his cloak hanging heavy with the weight of old blood. His hands rested on the hilt of his saw cleaver, the weapon worn but sharp.
A chair creaked as Gherman leaned forward. The old man’s gaze bore into the boy he had raised. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of years.
“Your time here is over, boy,” Gherman said. “The hunt calls elsewhere.”
“You believe this school will test me? Test the strength I have gained?” He asks. “Yharnam is where I should return to—“
Gherman shook his head, a weary smile crossing his face. “Yharnam is dead, lad. Its flames died long ago, yet the scourge lives on. The beasts are not bound to that place. They’ve spread, and the hunt must follow. It’s for your own good, killing beasts..”
The Hunter was silent, his head bowed. Gherman’s words hung heavy in the air, and though he wanted to argue, he could not. The Hunter shook his head and left to the front of the workshop, and as if they were waiting, one more figure stood before him, a.. Doll. But she looked, human, familiar.
The Doll stepped forward, her porcelain face expressionless yet kind. Her voice, soft and melodic, broke the silence.
“Good Hunter,” she said, her hands folding over her heart. “You have endured so much. You have given yourself to the hunt, to protect and to destroy. But this… this is a chance to find what was taken from you. Trust in yourself. Trust in others. You are not alone.”
The Hunter lowered himself to one knee, he removed his hat, and extended his hand, she placed her gently on his. Though her touch was cold, it comforted him. He felt a surge of power, his final surge. He rose and bowed, and she did in kind.
“I shall not forget our adage.” He said firmly.
“Farewell, Good Hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world.” The Doll gave her goodbye and the hunter turned and left.
The Hunter stood, his saw cleaver strapped to his back, his bag slung over one shoulder. Outside, a steed awaited—a creature of pale mist and moonlight, its body translucent yet solid enough to bear him.
He did not look back as he mounted the steed. The Workshop grew smaller in the distance, swallowed by the forest’s shadows and the encroaching mist. The moon lingered high above, watching him as he rode toward the unknown.
For the first time in his life, the Hunter felt something unfamiliar—a flicker of uncertainty, a world beyond the blood and the hunt.
And so, the Hunter’s journey began, not with the roar of a beast or the strike of a blade, but with the quiet resolve of a boy stepping out of the past and into the future.
The Hunter, after a long Journey reached beacon though the side forest and approached horseback to the main station, where these oddly flying machines descended with people exiting them. Such inventions were acts of powers beyond his comprehension.
His feet leapt off the ghostly mare as onlookers watched, he checked his saddlebags and saw everything was of collection. A lantern, clothing, his saw cleaver, hunters pistol with an array of silver bullets, even a notebook to log his thoughts, dreams, and progress of the scourge. He ruffled though them, and found something he did not put there. An old claw shaped badge, meant to wrap around the neck. An old hunters badge, The badge was a special privilege for the hunters of the past, and should not be dishonored. It should be left in peace, unless one is truly prepared to assume the will of those gone before. The Hunter removed his mask and hood, letting his slight neck length silver blonde hair aloof in the wind. He placed the badge around his neck, and put his hat back on. He gripped his saddlebags but a voice rang out nearby.
“What are you doing?!”
“Uh, sorry!”
“Sorry?! Do you have any idea of the damage you could have caused? What are you, brain-dead? This is Dust! Dust! Fire, water, lightning, energy!” The Hunter turned to see a Pale, Regal looking girl in all white, not very happy with another girl in Red and Black.
“Are you even listening to me? Is any of this sinking in? What do you have to say for yourself?!” The Snow White woman said, the girl in red, sneezed, and the dust collided into an explosion, causing soot all over her white dress, and she freaks out.
“This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about!” She screamed.,
“I'm really, really sorry!” The girl in red relented.
“Ugh, you complete dolt! What are you even doing here? Aren't you a little young to be attending Beacon?” She scoffed, dusting herself off. And leaving in fumes, the girl sat a bit sad. She fidgeted with Crescent Rose, Her mind wandered, and she sighed deeply.
“That went well…” she muttered to herself.
Suddenly, a voice cut through her thoughts,
“That was, uncomfortable” he says. Ruby looked up, surprised by the sound. There, standing with an almost eerie calm, was a tall figure. His dark coat swayed lightly with the breeze, and his wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his pale face, leaving his eyes as the only visible feature—cold, calculating, yet somehow distant.
“Uh… excuse me?” Ruby asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
The man’s lips barely moved as he spoke again. “She wronged you. But she cannot see it.”
Ruby blinked, not sure whether this person was speaking in riddles or just observing what happened. “You mean Weiss? Yeah… I broke her Dust vial and things kinda blew up after that. My bad…”
“No,” he said, his voice even. “Her reaction was unwarranted.”
“Yeah, well, I guess she’s… kinda like that sometimes…” Ruby muttered, looking down at the broken vial, still processing it all. He offered his hand, and the girl took it and helped her up.
“I’m Ruby, by the way! Ruby Rose, what’s your name?” she said, extending her hand.
He looked at her outstretched hand for a moment, as if unsure of the gesture’s meaning. Eventually, he took it with an almost deliberate coldness, shaking it briefly before releasing it.
“I.. i…I don’t have a name,” he said a bit conflicted, “or.. perhaps it’s forgotten it.”, his gaze drifting towards the nearby trees, as though lost in thought.
Ruby blinked in a bit of shock. “No name? Well… that’s kinda weird, but alright.” She smiled warmly at him. “You can be… (Y/n). You look like a (Y/n).”
He didn’t respond immediately, merely nodding once in acknowledgment, as if Ruby’s suggestion held some form of understanding.
“(Y/n), huh?” Ruby said, giggling a little. “I mean, I think it fits you. Kinda mysterious, cool… a little weird, though.”
(Y/n) looked at her, his face unsure. “Weird, is it?” Ruby shrugged, the smile never leaving her face. “Yeah, but in a good way! You’re definitely not like anyone else I’ve met. But you’re… pretty cool, too.”
“Cool? As in the cold?” He asked, Ruby tilts her head, “You’re.. not from around here, are you?” She smiled, the hunters clothing could tell. “I.. suppose one could make that inference.” He replied, the duo walk to Beacon Academy's giant auditorium, filled with people. Ruby looks over when she hears a voice.
“Ruby! Over here! I saved you a spot!” She yelled, Ruby turned turned to (Y/n).
“Oh! Hey, I-I gotta go! I'll see you after the ceremony!” Ruby ran off, leaving the hunter by himself. He was fine with this, as he’s had long hunts alone. Unfortunately, the worst person decided to speak to him.
“Hey, man! You’re new here, right? I’m Jaune Arc, rookie Hunter! But you can call me Jaune, no need for formalities.” He gave an awkward salute, trying to appear confident.
The Hunter didn’t respond right away, he folded his arms, and slowly turned to Jaune. After a long, heavy pause, he raised an eyebrow. “You… are the one they call a Hunter?” His tone was neutral, but there was an underlying question that made Jaune second-guess himself.
“Uh… yeah? I mean, I’m still learning a lot, but I’m totally up for anything!” Jaune puffed out his chest, trying his best to exude some form of bravado, to impress the oddly imposing (Y/n), who didn’t say anything. The tension could be cut with a knife as jaune awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.
Their “conversation” was ended when Professor Ozpin approaches the microphone upon the stage. readying the microphone, with Glynda beside him. He slowly leaned into the Mic.
“I'll... keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step.” Ozpin left very, interesting advice, before departing. Letting Glynda take the microphone
“You will gather in the ballroom tonight; tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed.” Glynda gave the order and the teenagers begin to shuffle out of the building.
The hunter sat in the corner, in sleepwear, mostly an open Pajama coat. He writes into his journal, his first of many entries, using a journal to press his thoughts into reality, keeping some, sanity.
“Today, I witnessed innocence in its purest form—students with unblemished dreams and hopes untainted by despair. I envy them. I no longer possess such luxury.
The girl named Ruby… idealistic, bright-eyed, I believe she is too eager for the dangers of the hunt. Her optimism is disarming, though perhaps I needed that. When she offered me a name, I accepted without hesitation. I wonder why? Human connection seems, offputting.
This Weiss Schnee is another matter. She is cold and sharp, her sense of pride is obvious but overwhelming, perhaps we cross paths, or blades in the future.
The blond fool, Jaune, tried to befriend me. His bravery borders on idiocy. Still, there’s something admirable in his persistence.
This place, Beacon, is nothing like the Workshop. No dim lanterns, no stench of blood, no haunts in the night. And yet, I feel as if this shall not last.
Tonight, I wonder if I made the right choice in coming here. Still, I cannot deny the flicker of something unfamiliar in my chest—hope. Strange. I thought I had long since abandoned such notions that this scourge should perish..
But for now, I remain vigilant. The old blood runs through my veins, and the hunt must go on.”
— (Y/n).