(3rd Person POV)
Masoumeh: Farah, can you hear me? It's your twin sister, Masoumeh. Everything is really big here, but I think Dad misses you and Mom...
The group were trying to get some sleep before they set out tomorrow, but sleep did not come easy to the young girl.
She glanced at the empty space next to her, imagining herself in her room back home...
Home.
Well, home was gone now. She used to draw on the walls, something that their mother wasn't very happy about. Now, even if she wanted to, there were no walls that she could color.
Masoumeh: But he's doing a good job protecting me. And we're with a bunch of heroes. They're pretty cool, but one of them kinda acts funny... Actually they all do.
Masoumeh quietly giggled to herself before sighing.
Masoumeh: Do you remember all the flowers in our garden? How each one had a story...
Masoumeh looked back to the empty spot.
Masoumeh: Do you think the flowers miss telling their stories to someone?
Silence fell, as she waited for her sister to answer her. She waited long, closing her eyes and straining her ears, hoping to hear something.
Masoumeh: Well, I can't hear you, so I'm gonna hang up now. I can't wait to see you guys in Vacuo. Love you, and tell Mom I love her, too!
She turned over on her side and closed her eyes.
And another shifted, as the young man lying down stared forward, his mind racing. It never stopped, and why should it? It had served him well long ago, and though he abandoned it for a time, perhaps now it would return.
He stood up from his spot and walked through the trees. He followed the footprints of the one that had left the group.
He soon found himself in a small clearing. The father stood in front of a tree, his head bowed down.
Aasim: Do you know the story of the boy who fought against tyranny?
He stepped closer to the man, now only a few paces from him.
(Y/N): I am no fool.
However, the father ignored him, and carried on.
Aasim: In the shadowed dance between a young boy and the looming government, he wielded cunning as his weapon, finesse as his shield. Through the art of evasion, he played the game of survival, a masterful puppeteer in a world that sought to bind him.
With his final word, Aasim turned to look at (Y/N). His eyes traveled from his face to the clothes he wore.
Aasim: My young friend, you've proven yourself quite adept at slipping through the fingers of authority. Tell me, what motivates one so young to dance on the edge of rebellion?
(Y/N): You're a spymaster.
Aasim let out a snort of amusement.
Aasim: One of the many, yes. Although, do not be concerned. Should the need arise, my skills as a healer are at your disposal.
The two stared at one another, (Y/N)'s expression a scowl, and Aasim's an amused grin.
(Y/N): How convenient it must be to cast aside regrets when you were on the side that thrived under the iron fist. Working against me, against what I stood for, and now, here you are, unburdened and unapologetic.
Aasim: The chessboard of our past holds no pieces of regret. We played our parts in the drama we wove. Heroes, villains – just labels. Now, we play a different game, not as adversaries, but as pragmatists.
YOU ARE READING
Catch Me if You Can (Male Reader x Ruby Rose) RWBY
أدب الهواة(Y/N) had never gone to any combat schools in all of Remnant. So why did Professor Ozpin take such an interest in the boy with no combat training?
