Storm of Roses: Male Reader x RWBY

The Next Guardian

Y/n POV

Age 14

The best thing about swords? They never run out of Ammo. Don't get me wrong, guns are handy when you need a quick burst of amazing power, but when it comes to endurance, you always need a blade. 

One thing's for sure, my dad drilled it into my head that endurance was key in everything. You see, he was the last Guardian of the Tempestarii Clan, our clan. But he died in a Grimm attack last year when a Nevermore caused a rockslide during one of their frequent horde attacks. He died saving children from the path of the falling rocks. 

Currently, I am in the middle of the Rite of Choosing. Running along the paths down the mountain to get the Guardian's sword, I saw several others had made it this far. 

Guardians of our Clan weren't chosen because of blood, they were chosen because of merit. The Tempestarii Clan is one of the rare blood lines in Remnant that possessed a hereditary semblance. No matter how far the blood was diluted or mixed with other semblances, the only thing affected was what type of weather you could control and how well you could control it. 

Our history may be long, but to be honest, we have been declining for the last couple of Centuries since our Chieftain had declared that we would no longer interact widely with the rest of Remnant. Here in our remote village, dug into the side of a mountain, things were peaceful except for the Grimm. We really didn't have political strife. The Chieftain's seat was democratically elected once every ten years. But the Guardian was really the only large source of competition and any kind of fighting. 

Speaking of fighting, I came upon two of the older boys fighting. The rules were simple. A race down the mountain for the sword. Combat involved, semblances were fair game, just no weapons. There were no holds barred, and to keep with tradition, all males who ran it must have their chests painted with the Runes of the original Tempestarii Clansmen. Females were at least allowed to wear a shirt. 

The two older boys were someone the worst. Roland and Jackson were the Village bullies, had a couple of the top ten most powerful semblances, and they were 16. Me? I was 14 and I was not near them in the rankings. They saw me and the hungry looks on their faces were all it took. They looked at each other and made a ceasefire to take me out. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on boys, no need to be so hostile. We're all competing against each other."

Roland growled at me.

"That's why we need to be so hostile! It's every man for himself and the best man will win!"

I smirked. My (E/C) eyes must have been twinkling with that mischievous smirk.

"Of course I'll win, boys, who do you think I am?"

Jackson spoke out this time. 

"I think you're a scared little boy riding on the coattails of his father's great name. Roland! Now!"

They both raised their hands and with great focus and anger, they called down lightning bolts upon me. For a few moments there was silence and Roland turned to Jackson panting.

"You...think….we got em?"

Jackson looks around through the steam created by the bolts and doesn't see me.

"I think we might just have…"

I just chuckle. This silences the both of them. 

"You know I am a little boy, but I'm definitely not riding coattails and I won't be the one scared when I'm done with you two! I may not be the most powerful, but one not even near you two on the rankings. After all, ninth and tenth are farther away from second than second is to first."