Winter sat stiffly in the back seat of the car with her gaze fixed on the streets of Atlas as they passed by in a blur of gleaming steel and snow-dusted walkways.
The City of Heaven, known for its cold efficiency and unrelenting precision, was today uncharacteristically festive. Banners hung from towering lampposts while their deep blues and silvers fluttered proudly in the crisp air, and storefronts were adorned with twinkling lights.
Tomorrow would be the forty-first anniversary of the Sky Island being lifted.
The Himmels König Festival was upon them. it was a celebration that painted the city in a rare coat of warmth. Wreaths of evergreen and frost-touched holly framed doorways, and the air was filled with the faint hum of cheerful carols in an odd and almost jarring contrast to Atlas' usual stoic demeanor.
Winter couldn't decide if the decorations were charming or if they felt out of place. Atlas was a supposed to be a city of discipline, not revelry, and seeing it swathed in holiday cheer only served to highlight the disconnect between its polished surface and the cracks she knew lay beneath in Mantle. The banners could wave, the lights could twinkle, but the rot within the military, and within Atlas itself, remained.
Her jaw tightened at the thought. Two weeks ago, she had been forced on a constant series of investigations that led her to be away from the manor, her parents (yes, even Him), and, most importantly, her brother.
She'd told their father that she wouldn't be available for some time, citing military obligations, and she hadn't been lying. She simply hadn't expected for it to take so long. Between leading teams, poring over reports, and interrogating suspects, Winter had barely slept. To her shame, and reluctant and private pride, she'd rooted out more traitors than anyone expected.
It wasn't just one or two disillusioned soldiers as she had initially thought. Entire pockets of sentimentality and misguided loyalty had festered within Atlas' ranks. People who whispered of White Fang ideals, sympathized with Faunus grievances, or simply hated the Schnee name enough to look the other direction. A couple of broken fingers usually managed to turn their faces into the right direction.
Well, the first two weren't whispering anymore. Winter and her teams had seen to that. The bastards who dared to even think about harming Whitley were dealt with swiftly. And for those still breathing? They were in the hands of the Bureau of Inquiry: a kinder name than it deserved. Those unlucky enough to be caught would soon wish they hadn't been conceived.
She glanced at her reflection in the car window; her face was calm and neutral as she had been taught by her father years ago. Inside, the familiar sting of disappointment simmered, one she couldn't entirely ignore. To think Atlas' military, the pride of the kingdom, had been so compromised made her stomach churn.
When she'd presented the findings to General Ironwood, his reaction had been… unexpected. He'd seemed surprised, though whether that was real genuine reaction or simply for show for the other generals, Winter couldn't tell. The evidence had been solid, too solid to dismiss. He hadn't argued, hadn't pushed back, just nodded and ordered her to proceed.
And yet, the way he'd handled it gnawed at her. He should've known. He was supposed to know. Seeing the cracks in his seemingly unshakable leadership made her respect for him falter, if only slightly.
No. That wasn't the real reason. Lying to herself was unbecoming. The truth, as much as she hated to admit it, was far simpler and far uglier.
She was still angry that Ironwood had betrayed her trust. Even if it was not with malice or ill intent, but with a cold practicality that cut deeper than anything else could. He had handed her over to her father sop readily and without hesitation. 'A calculated move', even justified she could admit, but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She had been used as a currency to trade with her Father.
Winter frowned, her gloved fingers tightening in her lap. If she was being honest, the fault was hers as much as his. She'd placed him on a pedestal and tried to elevate him to a status he hadn't asked for, all to humor her own arrogance.
She had admired Ironwood, maybe too much. In doing so, she'd attempted to make him fill a role he was never meant to take. She had looked at him as a father figure, someone who could offer the stability and strength she had always craved.
He wasn't the infallible hero she once thought he was, and Winter couldn't afford to make that mistake again.
'Daddy issues'. The term echoed in her mind, painfully degrading and fittingly immature.
She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. How childish she'd been, clinging to some fantasy of what she thought she needed. She was a grown woman, a Specialist in the proud military of Atlas, and yet here she was, dissecting her own shortcomings like a naive girl who had been let down by her hero.
"To think that at your age, you'd still be using terms like 'good' and 'evil.' How... quaint." Those were her father's words the day she returned.
Immature and childish, she thought bitterly. But perhaps that was what she deserved.
For at that moment, Winter began to doubt why she'd joined the military in the first place. She knew, of course. The truth sat at the back of her mind, patient and unyielding, waiting for moments like these to resurface.
She hadn't joined out of duty, or patriotism, or some noble desire to serve Atlas. No, she had run away. Too terrified and too weak to stand against her father in any meaningful way, Winter had chosen the easiest path. Leaving home and enlisting in the military had felt like freedom then—like she was making a choice for herself.
Freedom in the military.
What a joke that had been. It would have been funny if it wasn't so pathetically sad.
She'd convinced herself, for years, that she'd done it for her own sake. That it was about carving out her own identity, finding purpose beyond the confines of the Schnee name. But in the quiet moments of the past months, like now, she couldn't ignore the truth: she had done it to spite her father.
Was this what Jacques Schnee had envisioned for her?
She exhaled sharply, dismissing the thought.
"Of course not," she muttered, straightening her cuffs. "He'd have probably preferred me wrapped in taffeta, attending some gala as a glorified family crest."
The corner of her mouth twitched into a near-smile, quickly suppressed. Winter Schnee did not smile at jokes about Jacques. That way lay madness.
Still, as she glanced at the clock, she found herself wondering if she'd gone too far in the opposite direction. Her life was duty. Mission first. She was an Atlas huntress, a leader, and an emblem of what her family could have been.
In the end, it seemed she knew little about her father or herself. Every choice she made, every reason she gave for her actions, fell apart when she thought about it too much. The harder she looked, the less certain she became about anything.
"Bye. Love you."
Her father's voice repeated in her mind as sudden and uninvited like it had been in the past two weeks. It had been over the phone, casual and unhurried. There was no trap to the words, no hesitation, no awkwardness. He didn't stumble over them, didn't whisper them like he was unsure or ashamed.
He had said it like it was natural. As if it was something she had always known as if she had heard it from him a hundred times before. Like he assumed she would expect it and didn't need it explained.
'Did he always love us, or did he decide to start when we left?' The same annoying little girl wondered in the back of her head. Winter noticed that she had been appearing a lot more in recent weeks.
Winter closed her eyes and pressed her gloved fingers lightly against her cheek, trying to push down the faint burn creeping up from within. It wasn't just shame or guilt—though there was plenty of that. It was something deeper, something she didn't want to name.
She didn't remember how she had responded to him that day. Had she said it back? She wasn't sure. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she hadn't. And yet, in hindsight, it didn't matter.
"We've arrived, young lady," the chauffeur announced pulling Winter from her thoughts. Winter stared out the car window, watching as the towering gates of Schnee Manor passed by.
The man, older now than she remembered but still carrying himself with the same elegance, didn't look back at her. His words were respectful, but there was a warmth to them and a familiarity she wasn't sure she deserved. How many times had he driven her in her younger years? Too many to count.
"Thank you, Eisen," she said softly, gentler than usual as she acknowledged the man who had, in many ways, been a small but constant presence throughout her childhood.
This time, he turned to her, his weathered face breaking into a kind almost grandfatherly smile. "Of course, young lady. I'm happy you decided to call me this time."
Winter hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. She had called for him, specifically, hadn't she? Somehow, the vehicles of the military no longer seemed comfortable. Their rigid interiors and sharp angles now felt too confining and too impersonal.
"I suppose I needed a change of pace," she admitted, stepping out of the car as the chill of the Atlas air greeted her. She straightened her coat and cast a quick glance back at Eisen, who gave her a knowing nod.
Winter marched toward the entrance of Schnee Manor, her heels clicking against the cold stone steps. She nodded to the two guards stationed at the door, who straightened and greeted her politely.
""Good morning, Miss Schnee,"" they said in unison. Winter gave a brief nod in return.
As she entered the grand hall, a handful of maids and servants moved quickly to attend to her, but Winter gave them only a simple nod. She didn't need their formalities today.
One of the maids, a familiar face from her childhood, stepped forward. The woman had worked here for years, and Winter remembered her well. Her name was Helga. 'Short, practical, and with a work ethic that had earned her a permanent place in the manor' Helga.
"Helga," Winter said, not unkindly.
"Good evening, Miss Winter," Helga responded stiffly but warm in a way that suggested she knew Winter far too well to stand on ceremony.
"Where is Father?" Winter's gaze moved around the entrance hall expecting him to appear at any moment. She had sent him a message to let him know that she will be coming.
And as much as she wanted to rush straight to see the results of her brother's training, there was much to be discussed with her father first.
Helga hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting toward the wing of the manor. "He's with Madame in the Übungshalle, my lady," she replied carefully.
Winter's brow furrowed. The two of them were spending a considerable amount of time together. "With Mother? For what purpose?" What exactly was her father planning?
Helga looked uneasy, shifting her feet slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "I'm not exactly sure, my lady... Perhaps it's best to see for yourself."
Winter held her gaze for a moment, trying to read the maid's expression. But she said nothing, only gave a single nod before turning toward the hallway that led to the training hall.
She moved through the manor's long corridors, which were all too familiar, nodding to the servants she passed without a word. At the end of the hall, she turned left and made her way to the large wooden doors of the Übungshalle.
She reached for the handle and paused. The voices from inside were faint, but she could hear the unmistakable sound of her father's deep voice, mixed with the softer tone of her mother's.
Were they arguing?
Taking a steadying breath, Winter pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to nearly trip over something on the floor. A moment later, a loud, screeching howl of a wolf made her jump.
Winter blinked, looking down to see a massive black wolf whining and thrashing next to the door, clearly upset. She felt her foot land awkwardly on its tail. "Ah, sorry," she muttered reflexively, stepping back.
The wolf shot her a glare that could only be described as judgmental, before retreating a few steps. A wolf? No, that was way too big to be a wolf. This thing was the size of a horse, with fur so dark it almost looked like it absorbed the light around it.
From the other side of the room, she heard a booming bark of laughter. Another giant wolf, white in color and just as massive laughing at its twin's misery. It also had its massive head in her mother's arms.
Her mother was dressed in a tracksuit with her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was arguing with her father, who stood several meters away with a huge knife in his hand, next to a lineup of tied livestock.
"..."
"You really did lose your mind, didn't you?" her mother asked Jacques,"Or is this your mid-life crisis?"
"I'm telling you, there must be a correct order, damn it!" Jacques yelled back, pointing with his knife at the livestock next to him. "Also, let go of my damn dog!"
"Not until you change its damn name!" Her mother yelled back.
"I'll name my damn pet whatever fucking name I want, woman!"
She stared, blinking a few times to process the bizarre scene in front of her.
With a sigh, Winter cleared her throat. "Father... Mother... What exactly is going on here?"
Her mother, as if she hadn't been in the middle of a heated argument, turned and smiled at Winter. "Winter! Good morning!" She waved at her. The dog waved, too.
"Ah, Winter, my little breeze and the apple of my eye! You came at just the right time!" Jacques called out, waving with the knife in his hand. "Cheeki Breeki over there is being really unhelpful. Can you pin down the animals so I can slit their throats real quick?"
Winter was taken aback by her father's blunt request. Her eyes went to the rabbit, pig, sheep, and cow lounging in the corner, then back to Jacques, who was still holding the knife with a slightly manic glint in his eyes. For a moment, she couldn't tell if he was serious or just winding her up.
"Father, I'm not—" she started, but he waved her off with a broad gleeful grin.
"Come on, Winter, it's just a quick one! You can handle a few pets, right? I'm sure you've dealt with worse in the military." Jacques leaned in, completely undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm. "Besides, it'll be a good workout for you." He yelled the last part, looking at Willow. "Some people could afford to lose some pounds!"
Her mother harrumphed and flipped him off.
"Why?" Winter asked lamely.
"Because I'm feeling festive today, and this is my way of apologizing to the servants," Jacques said, his tone suddenly turning serious.
"Why would you apologize to the servants?" Winter asked again, confused. Why did every conversation with her father feel like a chore?
"I... snapped at them," Jacques replied, almost sheepishly. "I threatened to use the turrets on them because they unknowingly hurt my feelings." He sighed. "I know it was an overreaction. Now I'm planning to apologize."
"You... threatened to use them as target practice!? And now you're planning to slaughter these animals to show them that you regret it?" Winter asked slowly, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Father, you can't just kill things as a way to make amends. That's—"
"Festive, isn't it? I'm basically inventing Thanksgiving in this place," Jacques interrupted, still grinning wildly. "I mean, it's all in the spirit of the Himmel König Festival! A little bloodshed, a little feasting, everyone will be happy!" He gestured widely with the knife, nearly slashing it through the air.
Winter sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't think it works like that, Father."
Jacques waved her off, clearly not listening. "Nonsense! What's the harm in a little celebration? Just a small offering, really, and then everyone gets to eat! A little gift from me, to show them I'm not some monstrous, rage-driven tyrant."
"But you are a monstrous, rage-driven tyrant," Winter said flatly. Why was he lying to himself.
"No need to get cheeky with me, little breeze," Jacques chided. Then; leaning even closer with an exaggerated whisper. "Now, about that order for sacrifices... you know, just out of curiosity, say you were dealing with a possibly Eldritch God or a diety that likes to pluck people from across realities. Is there a particular order for offering sacrifices to please, I don't know, whoever it is you're trying to appease? Would you have to slaughter the smaller animals first, or do I start from heavy to light? Do I have to... offer bread and wine, too?"
Winter looked at him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
She tilted her head.
She tried to speak again. She failed.
It was hard to know where to even begin with that question.
She glanced over at her mother, silently pleading for support or an explanation. Willow, still lounging casually with one of the giant wolves curled up against her, shook her head with a resigned look. Raising her left hand, she twirled her index finger in small circles near her temple. He's lost it, the gesture said plainly.
Winter almost nodded in agreement. Almost. But then, something in Jacques' eyes caught her attention. Beneath the manic grin and ridiculous questions, there was a peculiar intensity like a man who wasn't just making a scene but genuinely convinced he was onto something. Her irritation faltered, replaced by a creeping suspicion.
... Could it be?
And then it hit her.
She straightened slightly and her eyes narrowed as she studied him. A message. Of course. He wasn't just being ridiculous for the sake of it; there was a reason for this bizarre display. There had to be. Jacques was eccentric, but he wasn't crazy.
Winter's thoughts spiraled further, her military training and detective experience urging her to find the hidden strategy in this act. He was trying to tell her something.
Her mind raced. Sacrifices, Eldritch Gods, livestock arranged in a specific order. It was all too theatrical to be a coincidence. What could he possibly be trying to convey?
Maybe the animals represented people? Or perhaps departments within the company? The order of their importance? A hierarchy? Was this some elaborate metaphor for an internal restructuring? Or was it political? an indictment of Atlas' rigid military efficiency?
No.
That didn't feel right. Jacques wasn't one for subtle critiques. If he had a bone to pick with Atlas or the military, he'd shout it loud enough for the Council to hear. Winter looked to the animals, then back to Jacques.
Livestock. in other words, common animal. Commoners?!
She froze. Could this be about people form Mantle? Groups, even? She replayed his words in her mind, trying to connect the dots.
The cow. The sheep. The pig. The rabbit. Was it… was it the traits they symbolized?
Or was this a comment on leadership? Sacrifice? Or... alliances? Rogue alliances?! Her mind drifted to her recent assignments and the whispers she'd heard in military circles.
Luckily, her father seemed willing not throw her another clue
"You know, all these animals making me feel like a Disney princess," Jacques muttered. He shook his head. "Nah, I'm more of a Robin Hood. He was the one with the Deer and shit, and the merry men..happy hunters?"
"!"
It all clicked.
Robin Hood... Robyn Hood... Robyn Hill!
The Happy Huntresses had been a recurring topic of late with their bold and needless defiance against the Schnee Dust Company and the military order they saw as 'oppressive'. Her father had no love for them, of course, but he was shrewd enough to see their influence growing.
The rabbit caught her eye again, its ears twitching nervously. Timidity, she mused. Then the pig—gluttony. It had to be Hill, and her gluttony for more power. Winter had already harbored doubts about the rogue Huntress, especially after realizing why her father went to such great lengths to avoid their operations being scrutinized by lie detectors. And what was Hill's Semblance? Lie detector!
The cow was strength. What did cows eat? Greens...green grass...Green leaves! Joanna Greenleaf! And the sheep with meekness. A bit on the nose, unless… it wasn't about Hill's Sheep Faunus ally but rather…
Winter's eyes widened. Her gaze darted to the wolf her mother was currently coddling. It lounged contentedly, a cruel glint in its eyes as it cruelly and sneakily laughed at its twin ..!A wolf in sheep's clothing!
No doubt about it, the sheep was for May Marigold, the pariah of the Marigolds, the famed Atlesian noble house, with the resources and cunning to infiltrate! That meant Fiona Thyme. Thyme is eaten by rabbits… but only reluctantly!
Winter turned every detail and every connection all over in her head
The Happy Huntresses were in a reluctant alliance with the White Fang!!?
"Winter, are you even listening?" Jacques booped her nose.
"It doesn't matter the order, Father," Winter replied. Smacking his hand away. Without hesitation, she reached out and plucked the knife from his grip. "What matters is that all their blood will spill."
"W-Winter!" her mother exclaimed with concern. She rushed over to look at her, arms waving uncertainly. "y-you okay?"
"Never been better, mother."
Jacques, however, said nothing. His eyes locked onto Winter's, and he studied her in silence with the same expression of his. She met his gaze with unwavering resolve and gave a single nod. I understand.
A wide grin broke across his face, lighting it up with something between pride and delight. He let out a booming laugh. His hands reached up to cup the sides of her head as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
"You... you really are something else," Jacques declared, his voice warm and full of admiration. "You're the only one who really gets me, Winter!"
Winter didn't flinch or recoil under his hands. For the first time, hearing how much she was like her father didn't spark any irritation or unease. It felt... fitting. Natural. Of course, she would understand his message so easily; she had always been the one who could.
She might not have Weiss's musical and artistic talent or Whitley's keen grasp of economics, but at the end of the day, Winter held something neither of them could claim.
Winter was the first heir of Jacques Schnee.
She had inherited something far more dangerous and darker than either of her siblings ever would.
For now, though, she played along, letting the corner of her lips curl into a faint smile. If this was the game he wanted to play, she would match him move for move.
And speaking of her siblings,...
"Where is Whitley?" Winter asked her mother.
Willow looked slightly uneasy before responding. "He's in his room. Ohma is assisting him with his... rehearsal of formal choreography for tonight." She smiled faintly, though there was a hint of awkwardness in it. "At least, that's what he told me, or rather, what he shouted at me before demanding I not show my face and leave him alone."
Winter winced.
Her expression softened just a little. "But your father seems to think it's progress, that he's addressing me directly, even if it's to tell me off."
"This too is a part of the healing process." Jacques nodded and affirmed. "Indeed. Atlas wasn't built in a day," he said sagely. "Heh, a good saying I do say so."
Winter, despite herself, reluctantly admitted it was a good proverb. She made a mental note to find an opportunity to use it later if only to test its effectiveness.
"It's also good that he's preparing for tomorrow night's gala," Jacques continued, his tone shifting to something almost proud. "It is, after all, his debut to the world."
"Debut? "Winter's eyes widened in surprise. " Is it really okay for him to leave the house in these circumstances? Is it not too early?"
Jacques shook his head while exuding an air of unshakable confidence. "That's precisely why. The world needs to see that the Schnee family is still unshaken, unbreakable, and unrivalled as ever." he declared, emphasizing his point by resting a hand on Willow's shoulder.
To Winter's surprise, while her mother looked slightly uncomfortable, she didn't brush him off. "That's why we're all going as a family!" Jacques declared with a grin.
Winter's brows shot up, practically disappearing into her hairline. She turned to her mother, disbelief clear in her voice. "You're going too, Mother? Are you sure?"
How many years has it been since her mother attended a public event? To return to that den of snakes so suddenly...
Willow broke her gaze, and her fingers tightened slightly around of her clothes. "I know It's been... a while," she admitted a bit evasively. "But... I think that I need to. I don't really want to hide anymore."
Jacques, ever the opportunist supporter, chimed in with a grin. "Exactly why it's the perfect time for her to rejoin society. The world will see the Schnee family at its finest: strong, proud, and utterly united.
Winter barely managed to suppress the incredulous laugh threatening to escape her. United? That was a stretch. "And you think Mother will be comfortable with this sudden... reintroduction?"
Willow raised her hand slightly, cutting her daughter off. "I've already agreed, Winter," she said, her tone softer but resolute. "Your father and I are in agreement. This is... necessary."
Winter blinked. "Necessary?"
Jacques stepped in before Willow could answer, his eyes glowing as his Aura flared once more. "Yes. The Atlasian Broadcasting Company's gala is an opportunity, and an indirect statement. And as Schnees, we never miss an opportunity to remind the world who we are."
Winter gulped despite herself. The display of Aura just now...it was somehow even more potent than it was two weeks ago before she left. This was of course another message.
He wasn't just preparing for a gala; he was orchestrating something.
"Make sure to wear your best outfit, little breeze," Jacques repeated, his voice carrying an almost ominous undertone. "Tomorrow night will be a night to remember."
As usual, when tomorrow night came, it became clear once more.
Her father never lies.
The lowly animals learned something valuable that night.
The Schnee are not to be fucked with.