The wind howled through the snow-covered peaks of Atlas. The city's towers and buildings glowed under the fragmented light of the moon, their windows shining brightly through the falling snow.
In General Ironwood's office on the top floor of Atlas Academy, there was a silence as a woman stood near the window. She wore a black cloak with her hood down, revealing her wolf ears, as she read a report in her hands.
It was Evelyn, a wolf faunus. Now eighteen, she appeared harmless and slim due to her cloak hiding her appearance, but if you were to fight her, you would lose instantly.
A long black cloak draped over her slim frame, its edges brushing against her polished boots, as she was behind Ironwood's empty chair. Her silver hair flowed out to her back, glowing faintly blue under the moonlight. Her Faunus ears twitched at the distant hum of airships and bullheads making transport.
She held a stack of papers in her gloved hands, reports filled with names and accusations. Noble families, SDC executives, and corrupted scientists. Traitors, all of them. She knew the cost of unveiling the truth in a corrupt kingdom like Atlas was.
Evelyn had endured a difficult life since birth, witnessing her family's suffering and the pain of losing them in front of her.
Behind her, the office door hissed open.
Ironwood entered the room, his expression calm, but he appeared tired from all the meetings he had attended with the council. With the Academy starting soon for the fall semester, he needed to prepare for a speech to the incoming first-year students.
He looked up to see Evelyn studying the documents he had received that morning. He didn't speak right away; instead, he simply watched her. After all, she was the Winter Maiden of Atlas, a role she had taken on after Fria passed away unexpectedly in her sleep. It was a tragic situation, but ultimately an inevitable one.
Frost coiled faintly around the floor beneath her boots, a thin film of ice crawling along the white floor steps. Evelyn hadn't noticed. Or perhaps she had, and simply didn't care. The glow in her pale blue eyes glowed then dimmed slightly as she stared at the last name on the list. Her thumb hovered over the signature line.
Another SDC director. Another man was responsible for the deaths of more Faunus children.
She let out a slow breath, watching the way it misted in front of her lips as if the room were below freezing. Too many children have died, and too many innocent Faunus lives have been taken from their families.
Ironwood stepped forward to the white steps leading to his desk as he saw the papers titled "Accusations of Working Abuse." His face, normally so unreadable, softened with something that might have been pity or guilt, maybe both.
"Evelyn."
Her ears twitched again as she heard his voice from behind her.
She didn't turn around.
"Is this all of them?" she asked, her voice distant while trying not to crumble the papers.
Ironwood didn't look at her; instead, he stood next to her and gazed out at the city through the glass. "For now. We're still cross-referencing the Council's logs with what SDC executives and the Director have done. But it's... extensive."
"I told you before," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "They don't care who dies. Faunus, human, soldier, civilian. They'll let Mantle freeze to keep the lights on in Atlas."
Ironwood said nothing.
Evelyn slowly lowered the papers, her black gloved fingers trembling before she clenched them. A flicker of blue light surged down her arm and into the reports; then frost spread in seconds, crawling over every page until the stack was frozen solid.
Then she dropped it to the floor, causing the frozen reports to clatter as the ice spread. Evelyn didn't move. Her shoulders were tense, her breathing shallow and quiet. Behind her, the frost hadn't stopped; it continued to travel along the marble floor, etching veins of blue ice toward the desk like a spreading infection.
Ironwood turned and watched it reach his desk.
He didn't flinch.
"Is this justice?" Evelyn asked softly, her voice cracked with sorrow and disdain. "Is... letting them live with their wealth and names and power, knowing exactly what they've done… justice?"
Ironwood took another step forward, slower this time. "It's not justice. Not yet. But it's a start to getting them in custody for their crimes."
A bitter smile tugged at her lips, fragile, broken, and gone in a second. "A start," she repeated, as if the word itself had lost all meaning. "Tell that to the children sleeping in broken homes. Or the ones who don't sleep at all, because they're afraid to get beaten just because their faunus."
"While nobles like them live in comfort..." Evelyn's voice trembled, every word venomous word she wanted to say, held back by sheer force of will. "The people of Mantle are suffering. Faunus children are suffering... starving... freezing."
Her eyes stayed fixed on the moonlit city below, its towers showing the news. "I can't even save many of my people… not the ones that matter most. Not the ones who died before I had power."
She turned then, just slightly, her face eyes flickered with blue light that now pulsed faintly from her eyes, holding back her magic. Her silver hair swayed as she faced Ironwood with hollow eyes that had seen the same result every time.
"And this... this is all we've got?" she asked bitterly, gesturing to the frozen stack of papers that were pieces on the floor. "Accusations?"
Her voice started to become angry, and this time she didn't hide it.
"No verdict. No trials. Just carefully written reports that'll be swept under the rug if the Council decides they're 'bad optics' coming from a bunch of humans like them." Evelyn said venomously with a hint of hatred.
The frost had reached the legs of Ironwood's desk now. Thin, delicate sheets of ice snaked along the floor. Evelyn took a shaky breath, her breath visible even in the warmth of the room. Her aura flared faintly in rage as wind began to pick up around her; she could feel her magic within.
"I've begged," she whispered, her gaze falling to the frozen document pieces. "I've begged for help. For food to be delivered. For heating. For safety patrols in the alleys. And every time I was told, 'soon.' Or worse, 'be patient.'"
She shut her eyes.
"They're dying, General." Evelyn said sorrowfully.
"I know," Ironwood said softly, his voice barely a whisper.
"No!" she snapped, her voice shaking slightly. "You say you know, but what have you done? You're a part of the council, aren't you? Do something, anything! I'm begging you! I'm starting to question your position at this point. Do you even remember their names?"
Ironwood didn't respond right away. His eyes lingered on the pieces of the reports that were turned to ice and broken; the names and crimes are now everywhere, much like those of the Atlas nobles and the Schnee Dust Company. The silence between them continued, with a history of promises made, broken, or delayed into irrelevance.
"I remember every name," he said at last, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion. "Don't mistake inaction for indifference."
Evelyn's eyes snapped open. "Then what is it?" she demanded, stepping forward as her magic flared again, the wind circling her like a storm held barely in check. "Because to the people out there, our people, it feels like betrayal."
Her voice trembled, her body shaking with fury. "You said I'd be protected. That I'd be free. Those favors I asked for, those three things they'd matter."
"They do matter," Ironwood insisted, facing her now, his blue eyes staring at her pale blue eyes. "But I can't make a single decision without the Council—"
"The Council is corrupt!" She screamed, and the windows of the office started to crack violently with a burst of raw Maiden power. A blast of wind exploded as Ironwood managed to stay standing. "You know it. I know it. You've seen what they've done to Mantle. They're letting it rot!"
A pause. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breath. The fire in her voice had faded, but her eyes still burned with the cold, glacial fury of someone who'd seen too much.
"Jacques Schnee killed my parents with greed," she whispered, almost to herself. "And he killed my grandmother by overworking her. And now the council is killing every Faunus child the same way by doing nothing."
Ironwood remained silent for a long time, the crack in the windows behind Evelyn reflecting a sliver of her power. The cracked lines across the glass, threatening to break and shatter, just like her heart.
He could see the wreaking storm within her. Not just her magic. Her grief. Her fury. Her helplessness in the matter was that she had no control at all.
"I know what Jacques did," he said finally. His voice was firmer now, the voice of a general, though it carried regret beneath every syllable. "And I will see him face the consequences. But not if you lose control now."
Evelyn's fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms through the gloves. "Control?" she repeated. "You talk to me about control, General? I had to control myself every night while freezing in the slums of Mantle. I had to control myself when guards kicked over soup bowls and laughed as they called us 'filthy animals' or even 'Disgusting slaves.' I had to control myself every single day so I wouldn't snap and let this—"
She raised her hand, causing frost to surge up the walls. Ice formed on the steel walls, casting a cold coating as the temperature in the room dropped. The ceiling lights flickered.
"—consume me. Because if I don't control it, the world sees a monster. Not a girl. Not a protector. Not a Maiden. Just another 'dangerous Faunus.'" Evelyn finished.
Ironwood didn't back away. He stood firm, arms crossed behind his back. "You're not a monster."
"Tell them that," she said sharply, pointing her finger toward the Kingdom of Atlas. "Inform the Council, the media, and the soldiers who look at me as if I'm one wrong move away from becoming a terrorist, just like the White Fang are turning into."
Ironwood's jaw tightened at the mention of the White Fang. His silence lingered for a beat too long.
Evelyn noticed. Of course she did; why wouldn't she? After all, she had seen these kinds of things from awful people, even the corrupted.
She scoffed bitterly. "There it is again," she murmured. "You don't say anything, but I see it. I feel it. That same suspicion… That fear. You see the power in me, and it terrifies you."
"That's not true," he replied quietly.
"You don't trust me." Her voice was steady now, not cold, but hollow. "You never have. You treat me like a loaded weapon you're too afraid to put down, but too scared to let go of."
Ironwood didn't deny it.
That silence… it said more than any answer could.
Evelyn laughed quietly, and it wasn't joy, it was despair cracking through her voice like ice beneath those who have passed. She turned away from him, shoulders trembling under her cloak.
"I died in that mine with them," she whispered. "I just kept walking after it collapsed… but the real Evelyn died that day. The one who dreamed of being with her family. The one who still believed Atlas could be better. All that's left now is the Winter Maiden…"
Her hand rose, fingers spread, as she touched the cracked glass. Looking at her reflection in the shattered surface, she saw her own glowing eyes staring back at her. The broken glass revealed her true appearance, one that was cracking like the glass she was touching and soon to shatter, like the emptiness of the graves where she had buried her family.
"…and she's tired, General. So tired."
Ironwood looked at her with something he didn't show often.
sorrow.
"You're not alone, Evelyn," he said quietly.
She turned to him and gave him a fake smile.
"Yes, I am." Evelyn said, her eyes closed while smiling.
Her voice was barely above a whisper now. "No one else would understand what it's like. To be chosen… not because you were strong, or kind, or brave. But because fate couldn't find anyone else. Because it just happened to be."
She put her head toward the window, her breath fogging the glass.
"They call me The Winter Maiden like it's some kind of honor… but all I've ever done since that day is lose. Lost people. Lost faith in humanity. Lost pieces of myself in the snow."
The broken moon hung heavily in the sky, distant and broken. It mirrored her own feelings of being broken and far away.
Ironwood stood behind her, but didn't reach out. He knew better. There was no comfort to offer her that wouldn't sound like another empty promise.
"Evelyn…" he said.
But she was already turned around and ignored him.
As she passed him, she purposely bumped her shoulder against him, but she didn't look back.
"You still need me, don't you?" she asked, her voice sounding hollow. "The kingdom always needs its Maiden."
He looked at her then, not as a soldier, not as a general, but as a man watching a girl slipping away.
"…Yes...I'll do what I can to support you." he said finally.
Evelyn nodded, not looking at Ironwood.
"I will play the chess game of war against the Grimm Queen Salem that the Headmaster of Beacon Academy told me about after you informing him that Atlas has found a New Winter Maiden due to an unexpected passing. I will take on the role of a pawn, as it has always been."
The frost on the floor and walls started to fade as she slowly walked toward the door. Her cloak trailed behind her like a shadow, the weight of the world still clinging to her slim frame.
As she passed through the doorway, she paused—just once.
Her hand hovered on the edge of the doorway, fingers tightening around the frame as if anchoring herself to the moment.
"…But pawns don't stay pawns forever," she said quietly, almost too soft for even Ironwood to hear. "They reach the end of the board. And then they change. But if I die before this is over," her voice was steady, resolute, "don't let it be for nothing."
The door slid shut behind her with a mechanical hiss, leaving the General alone in the room, the walls and glass still scarred by the evidence of her power. Her presence lingered like a winter breeze that had happened.
Ironwood stood there for a long time.
He looked once more at the frozen pieces of paper on the floor, their pieces reflected what Atlas was like, broken shards of trust. Then his eyes drifted to the cracked glass window and the view beyond, a kingdom gleaming in lights and technology, but rotting beneath the surface.