The seams were frayed.

A rosy-cheeked little girl focused intently on her doll, making playful noises as she moved it across the floor of a large cabin. She paid no attention to the places where it had started to come apart, until finally, it caught on a splinter of wood. Out spewed its cotton filling, and with it, her overflow of tears.

“What is it, Ruby?” her father asked, rushing over to her from across the room, eyes wild with concern. “Don’t worry, daddy’s here. What happened?”

One look at the doll was more than enough explanation. Its hollowed-out exterior lay on the cabin floor, nearly unrecognizable now.

“Oh.”

Taiyang Xiao Long scooped his daughter up, holding her close. “Don’t cry. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Summer's not here to sew it up anymore.

He carried Ruby over to his desk and sat her on the floor next to him, returning to his work. There were papers to grade. Her playtime would have to wait. Immediately met with wails of protest, he stalked across the room to grab the destroyed doll, hiding it in another room out of view.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, raising a hand to shush her. “I’ll make it good as new for you once I’m done here. Uncle Qrow will be here soon to take you into town for a bit.”

Scrutinizing him with her cherubic, yet surprisingly aware face, the girl deemed his words sufficient and quieted down. Out of view of Ruby, Taiyang rubbed his temples and sighed, his chest heaving as he attempted to expel all of his stress and painful solitude in one breath. He dared to inhale again, irritating the gradually increasing throb of pain lodged in his throat. Allowing himself one moment of weakness, he put it away, deep in the depths of his mind. Ruby could never see him cry. Her father was all she had now.

Wiping his eyes, Tai reached for the next student’s test paper and snatched up his trusty pen. His eyes glazed over as he traced its fractured handle. The thing was falling apart. Still, nothing else would do. After all, it once belonged to her. He wrote on, sprinkling each page with note after note. Then came that fateful knock at the door which promised him at least half an hour of relief from duty. No matter the depths of his love, caring for Ruby alone was a struggle unrivaled by even the strongest Grimm horde.

* * *

“Over here!” Yang shouted through the densely packed trees, not caring if they heard her, too. They would be dust soon.

Several of her tribemates came bursting through the bushes from either side. They stood with her, facing down a large Ursa, their guns at the ready.

“Surround it,” commanded her mother’s voice from somewhere in the distance. A few more members of the tribe appeared, encircling the enemy.

First, there was only the sound of something moving in the branches above. Then Yang saw her. Raven sat poised on one knee, her monstrous mask donned. She was perched at the top of the tree directly behind their prey. Had she flown up there? Usually Yang didn’t miss things like that. Maybe she was having an off day.

The Ursa snarled, looking from one direction to the other, debating which of its foes was the greatest threat. Amused by its ignorance, Yang chuckled while she brandished her tantō. She slid one leg backward, leaving a deep track in the dirt. The creature’s oil-black skin and skeletal plating gleamed in the warm sunlight. Rearing back, it crouched. Apparently, it had finally made its choice regarding whom to sink its large, jagged teeth into.

“How many?” Raven asked.

“Two more!”

Darting forward as she fed the vital piece of tactical information to her mother, Yang dove to the side opposite the Ursa’s ferocious slash, checking its blind spot with her short sword. When it followed up with a second swipe, she was already ducking to shred its nearest leg. The monster roared in a twisted mixture of fury and agony, unable to prevent a jaw-first crash landing.

“Fire!” Yang ordered, backflipping aside before several rounds of gunfire erased the incapacitated Grimm from existence.

“Nice work, Princess,” said one of the tribesmen, raising a fist in triumph.

Giving him a nod of acknowledgement, Yang cracked her neck, then moved on to arm and leg stretches. She needed to stay nimble until every target was eliminated. He approached, pointing a gun in the direction of a rustling noise. Something beyond the treeline was fast closing in.

“Do you have the shot, Shay?” Yang asked, rising to support him if needed. Hearing his grunt of confirmation, she glanced toward the spot where Raven was: rather, where she used to be.

A single, loud pop rang out. Yang turned around just in time to see a plume of black miasma evaporating into the air. Shay wasn’t the sharpest knife in the set, but she hadn’t seen him miss a shot in all of her 17 years. Now was no different.

In a clearing up ahead, Raven dashed onto the scene and cleaved the third Ursa in two.

“That’s all of them,” said another tribe member.

Yang wiped the sweat from her forehead and smiled. Being the tribe leader’s daughter left her with big shoes to fill, but it was small victories like these that made everything worthwhile.

“All in a day’s work,” she said, running to meet up with her mother. Raven headed in the group’s direction, a blank expression on her face.

“You’ve grown, Yang,” she noted when they were within earshot of one another. Yang fell into step beside her, sheathing her tantō.

“Thank you,” Yang replied, holding back the urge to smile. Success was expected in the Branwen Tribe, not celebrated.

“How much did we find?” Raven asked the tribe members, her unwavering gaze falling on Shay.

“Enough for three days, if we ration,” he admitted, looking at the ground. “Apologies, ma’am.”

Raven clicked her tongue and stalked away, standing alone in silence. Yang considered joining her, but thought better of it when her mother drummed her fingers across her sheath. That was never a good sign. Several tense moments later, she shook her head.

“It’s not enough, but we’ll manage.” An audible collective sigh escaped from the other tribe members, with the exclusion of Yang. “How far ‘till the next village?”

“At least a day, ma’am,” a woman responded, resting the head of her axe in the dirt.

“Then we spend the night here, take time to rest, and press on tomorrow. Make sure you make the most of this time, because there won’t be any more breaks until we reach somewhere with fresh water.”

“Ma’am!” the group shouted, saluting in unison.

They walked back to the temporary encampment in silence. The sky was blanketed in darkness by the time they returned, and stars danced like defiant sparks of hope against the blackness of night. Yang looked from one nailed-down tent to another, wondering how much longer they would have to live like this. Always on the move, and taking from others in order to survive. The faces of the terrified villagers she’d seen only minutes beforehand flashed through her mind. Men, women, and children alike fled from the flood of Grimm she and her tribe steadily pushed their way. Grimacing, Yang forced the intrusive thoughts away. There was no time for softness. In her mother’s words, the weak died, and the strong lived. Those were, and would always be, the rules.

“Yang,” Raven said without turning around, “with me.”

She peeled off from the main procession without waiting for a response. Yang slipped past the others and walked briskly toward the largest tent, positioned at the center of their camp. The place she called home. It may not have had a solid foundation, like the homes of the many villages they raided, but it belonged to her. To mother. To the tribe. No outsiders could take it from them - not if they were strong.

“Help me undo this, please,” Raven said, casting aside her mask and nodding toward one of her shoulder pads.

Yang stepped farther into the tent, absently wondering where Miss Vernal was at this time of night. She undid the loops on Raven’s right shoulder pad, and then the next, systematically removing the rest of the blood-red armor pieces. She didn’t assist with this as often as Raven’s right hand, but she was familiar enough that the process went fairly quickly, and without a single word or cautionary glare from her mother. When she was done, she waited by the entrance. Ordinarily, she would go and change out of her gear in the communal tent, but her mother clearly wanted to discuss something.

Silence permeated the tent. Raven busied herself with something hidden behind a paper divider, rifling through her personal belongings. Yang spun her blade to pass the time, nearly dropping it when Raven called her name.

“Yang.”

“Yes, Mom?” Yang asked, watching Raven’s silhouette swaying behind the curtain as she undressed and put on her night clothes.

“Do you care about the Branwen Tribe?”

Yang stood, stunned, for a long moment before stammering out her reply. “O-Of course I do! I’m next in line to lead us, just the way you’ve taught me.”

“Good. Because I’m going to share something very important with you, and I need to know that nothing will change.”

Breathing became a chore for Yang. Every muscle in her body grew tense. Sure, she figured that whatever her mother wanted to say to her must have been important if she bothered to call her in for a private chat, without waiting for her to get out of her gear. Still, this was strange and unusual, even for Raven.

Her mother finally emerged, dressed down to a silk nightgown and black sandals. The gown, too, was something that once belonged to someone in a village they long since left behind. It looked good on her. While Yang wasn’t entirely sure what happened to the woman it used to belong to, the crimson stain on the steps of her home had been enough to convince her that she was no longer around to miss it.

The young princess stood at attention and nodded, ignoring her mounting sense of unease. “You have my word, mom.”

“Good.”

Raven faltered, her expression softening for just an instant, but long enough to give Yang pause. She couldn’t for the life of her remember a time when she’d seen that look on her mother’s face. In fact, she almost disregarded what she saw. She would have, if not for Raven’s next move. Her mother drew into herself, breaking eye contact with Yang, and tossed a small object her way. The golden locket bounced once, landing directly at her feet.

“You are Yang Branwen, Heiress to the Branwen Tribe.”

Raven frowned down at the locket as Yang bent to pick it up.

“But that isn’t all you are.”

Yang forgot how to breathe, eyes fixated on the unfamiliar trinket. Her fingers curiously rubbed the casing, then fumbled at its latch. She gingerly clicked open the mechanism and feasted her eyes on the mysterious locket’s contents.

First, she saw her mother’s smiling face. Another unusual, but slightly less unheard of, phenomenon than the expression she now wore. Beside Raven was a much younger version of Yang. Finally, a third person’s face stared back. A man with bright blond hair, much like her own. If that wasn’t enough, the other side of the locket displayed a fourth person’s face. A girl with a warm smile, and dark hair with streaks of red. Whoever she was, the girl looked to be about her age.

Yang gasped, nearly dropping the photos. “What...what is this?”

“That man, Yang, is your father. His name is Taiyang Xiao Long.”

“And the girl?” Yang choked out, knees trembling as she spoke. She looked up at Raven in disbelief. Her mother refused to lock eyes with her.

“She’s your younger sister, Ruby Rose.”