A Path To Omniscience

At the top of Atlas Academy, within General Ironwood's office, the atmosphere was fairly light. Ironwood sat at his desk, engaged in conversation with an older man standing at the base floor of his office. As always, Winter stood off to the side, her hands clasped behind her back, more sentinel than person.

The man Ironwood was speaking to carried himself with the air of authority.

He was older, with a neatly orange trimmed beard and mustache that contrasted against his dark purple military uniform. A sash adorned with stars stretched across his chest, marking his status. Unlike the standard white attire of the Atlas Military, his uniform set him apart—he was a Major General, the highest rank beneath Ironwood himself.

"They're struggling to understand, General. Not many divisions in Atlas Military history have ever operated under a black budget program. And not only did you create this one without informing practically anyone—myself included—but you won't even grant us access to anything beyond the bare essentials," the old Major General remarked. His tone was firm but not confrontational.

Ironwood responded with a soft chuckle.

"I wasn't aware I needed permission to create a division within my own military, Sion."

Hearing the shift in formality, Sion let out a rough sigh, shaking his head as he absentmindedly stroked his beard with his free hand. His other remained on his cane.

"You know that's not what I meant, James. It's just concerning, that's all. Your reputation outside the Atlas Military is already shaky at best—there's no need to alienate the people within it too. If you could just give me something to settle their worries, I can make sure this dies down before it turns into a problem for both of us."

Ironwood leaned back in his chair, considering the words. He knew Sion had a point. After a brief pause, he gave a measured response.

"Alright. I'll put together a compilation report—something that outlines the division's purpose, at least in broad terms. But the secrecy behind its existence is critical. Make sure they understand that." Sion gave a small nod.

"I can work with that. Now, I-" A sharp ringing cut through the conversation. Both Ironwood and Sion instinctively glanced around before their gazes landed on Winter, who looked just as surprised as they were. Not many people had access to her emergency number during work hours, and even fewer actually used it.

"Excuse me for a moment," Winter said as she retrieved her scroll. Seeing Whitley's name on the screen, she frowned slightly before answering, keeping her voice low.

"Whitley, what is it? You know this number is only for-" She stopped mid-sentence as his hurried voice poured through the speaker.

"Wait, slow down—I can't understand you. What happened?" Her expression hardened as she listened, growing more and more serious with every word.

But the oddities didn't stop there. Not long after Winter's call, the doors to Ironwood's office flew open as a soldier rushed inside.

"This is a private meeting," Sion stated sharply.

The soldier stiffened before quickly offering an Atlesian salute.

"Apologies, sir, but we've just received an influx of reports from all over the Kingdom—multiple sources, all at once! Some of the details conflict, but the core message is the same: an airship in Atlas airspace has been hijacked! It's been identified as the Nebula Noir, and the perpetrators are the White Fang. They've taken hostages." The mention of the White Fang snapped both Ironwood and Sion's attention to full focus.

As the soldier finished his report, Winter ended her call and approached Ironwood. He caught the grave look on her face as she spoke.

"Sir, my younger brother just informed me—my sister is on that airship… along with Asher Frostvale." Ironwood's demeanor shifted instantly. He stood from his desk, his gaze locking onto the soldier.

"How are we just now learning about this? A hijacked airship in our airspace should've been flagged immediately." The soldier swallowed hard.

"We're not sure, sir. For some reason, the emergency signal wasn't detected when it was first triggered. And all communications from the airship have been jammed or scrambled. We only managed to get through just now, which led to the sudden influx of reports—most of them coming from the hostages onboard." Sion exhaled sharply.

"Well, that just raises a whole slew of other questions, doesn't it?" Ironwood couldn't disagree. How in the world was the White Fang blocking an airship's communications inside Atlas airspace? Had they infiltrated their communications network?

Too many questions.

Too many unknowns.

But right now, none of that mattered more than the fact that there was a hijacking underway—and time was already slipping through their fingers.

"Schnee, get in contact with the Special Operatives Unit. I want them on standby and ready for anything," Ironwood ordered. Winter nodded sharply and turned on her heel, striding out of the office without hesitation. She kept her expression composed, but the urgency in her steps betrayed her calm exterior.

With Weiss on that hijacked airship, there was no time to waste.

Ironwood shifted his attention to the soldier. "Get airships in the sky immediately. I want the Nebula Noir's exact location and a full assessment of what's happening onboard. And find out who or what was responsible for jamming our communications—and how it went unnoticed."

"Yes, sir!" The soldier gave a crisp salute before hurrying out.

Ironwood exhaled, turning his gaze to Sion.

"Looks like that report will have to wait." Sion gave a short nod, fingers rhythmically tapping against his cane.

"It's an emergency. I'm sure everyone will understand. Still… the White Fang, pulling something like this in Atlas of all places? Someone has to be helping them." That thought gave Ironwood pause. He brought a hand to his chin, mind already working through the implications.

It wasn't as if he hadn't considered the possibility of spies or saboteurs operating within Atlas. There were always threats, always people working against them for one reason or another. But this? This was different.

Atlas' communications network was one of the most secure, heavily guarded infrastructures in the Kingdom—it had to be, given its connection to the CCTS. So the real question wasn't just who was behind this.

It was how high up the infiltration went.

=====================================•=====================================

Asher's eyes flickered open. The first thing he saw was a ceiling—cracked, worn stone, marred by water damage and mold. It looked old, neglected, barely visible in the soft orange glow that filled the room. Something wet pressed against his forehead, but he barely registered it as he lay still, his mind sluggish.

Then, awareness hit.

He shot upright, the covers sliding off him as his breath came in short, uneven gasps. The damp rag that had been on his forehead tumbled into his lap. His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings.

The room was small and empty.

A crude firepit flickered in the corner, assembled from scrap metal and broken wooden planks—the same kind that were stacked neatly against the wall. A half-broken table leaned against the far side of the room, right next to a heavy metal door—the only way in or out.

Then, the door creaked open.

The sharp scrape of metal against stone sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes locked onto the doorway, wide with fear.

A woman stepped inside.

She looked exhausted—deep bags under her eyes, her long, unkempt brown hair tied into a loose bun with nothing but a string. A thick scarf covered everything below her chin, while a faded jacket and ill-fitting pants draped her frame. The fabric was worn, its color washed out with time.

In her hands, she carried a tray that had a small pan of water and a roll of old bandages.

Asher's body reacted before his mind could process. He scrambled to his feet, pressing himself against the wall, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. His whole body tensed, trembling uncontrollably. Fear burrowed deep into his bones, paralyzing.

The woman froze the moment she saw him.

Her eyes locked onto his.

He tried to speak—his voice barely more than a rasp, weak and uneven. But even as the words struggled to form, he could feel it. His strength was failing him. As if at any moment, he might collapse.

"W- Who are y-"Before Asher could finish, the woman practically threw the tray onto the table and ran at him. His breath caught. Instinct kicked in as he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact, for pain, for something, but that never came. Instead, warmth enveloped him. Arms wrapped tightly around his frame, trembling, but not with fear.

A choked sob reached his ears.

"You're awake! I- I can't believe it... I thought- I was starting to think you would never wake up!" She clung to him, holding on as if he might disappear. Her body shook, but not like his had—with terror. Hers was different. Relief. Overwhelming emotion spilling over.

Asher sucked in a sharp breath, but pain flared deep within him. A dull, aching throb.

"Ugh..." The sound made her recoil instantly, releasing him and stumbling back.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot about your injury—are you okay?" She wiped her face with her sleeve as she spoke, clearing away her tears, though the streaks on her cheeks remained. The room, her clothing, everything about their surroundings felt so dull.

Except for her eyes. Still shimmering from her tears, they seemed impossibly vibrant—complex, layered with emotions that words couldn't capture.

Peridot. That was what they reminded him of.

Asher swallowed.

"Who- who are you?" The question made her freeze. Completely. Her expression stilled, lips twitching ever so slightly before curling into a strained, almost unreal smile.

"What... are you talking about, Jae?" Her voice wavered, fragile, as if saying the words might shatter her.

"It- it's me. Ivery. You know me, right?" His chest tightened. His mouth opened and then closed. He glanced down at himself, confusion creeping in, his breath unsteady.

His hands were rough and calloused. Hands that had known labor, work, struggle. His arms, thin but not weak. Even in their current state, they belonged to someone who was used to working out. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his gaze back to her.

"I... I'm sorry, but I don't." The moment the words left his lips, something inside Ivery broke.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor. It was as if whatever had been keeping her standing—whatever hope had been holding her together—had simply vanished. Her breathing hitched. Quick, shallow gasps. Not wailing, not screaming, just soft, shuddering sobs that carried a sadness deeper than any cry ever could.

Asher stood there, frozen, uncertain. His hands hovered in front of him, as if they might somehow hold the answers. 

So it wasn't a dream. I really do switch bodies when I die. Then… everything I saw was real.

The memories surged back—the image of himself as that young blonde girl, crushed beneath a Grimm's relentless fists, only to awaken as someone new. It all came rushing in at once, but his thoughts fixated on the boy he had met. The one whose name was impossible to speak, incomprehensible in a way that sent chills down his spine.

At that moment, when the boy had extended his hand toward him, that grin felt like a false beacon of light in an endless abyss. Just remembering it sent a sharp pain through Asher's skull. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head with a wince.

"Agh…"

As the pain subsided, his gaze landed on something unexpected—a ring on his finger. In the firelight, he could see it clearly: a green engagement ring. The band was engraved with the words I love you, the design crafted from two intertwining vines forming a heart, with a gem at its center.

His breath hitched as his eyes shifted from his own hand to Ivery's. She had the same ring. A strange weight settled in his stomach.

What happened to the man whose body he now inhabited? Had he died, and Asher simply replaced him? Or… had he died because Asher replaced him? And the blonde girl—she had been alive, unharmed, just moments before he took her place. What about the other man, the one who had seen her get crushed? What had happened to him?

The possibilities twisted his stomach into knots.

Pressing a hand over his mouth, he forced himself to take a slow, steady breath, fighting back the nausea. He had to focus. His attention shifted to Ivery. He wasn't sure what he looked like now, but it wasn't hard to guess who he was supposed to be. This body belonged to Ivery's fiancé.

Whoever he had been, he was gone now.

He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and kneeling beside Ivery. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry... I don't remember. I don't know who I'm supposed to be." At his words, Ivery's crying hitched. Her hands lowered slightly from her face as she looked up at him, searching for something—anything—but found no answer in his expression. She didn't speak. Instead, she simply leaned forward, burying herself against his chest.

The man she had loved was gone, yet the warmth of his presence remained. Asher stiffened at first, uncertain, but slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she let it all out.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that—nor did she seem to notice the passing of time. Only when her sobs quieted and exhaustion dulled the edges of her grief did they finally part, sitting across from each other in the dim glow of the fire.

"I'm sorry… That wasn't how I wanted to act when you finally woke up," Ivery said, now seated cross-legged a short distance away.

"It's fine. I can only imagine how much of a shock it must be to learn that…" Asher paused, choosing his words carefully.

"That your partner has lost their memories." The only sound that followed was the crackling of the fire, its flickering light casting restless shadows across the walls.

"Yeah..." Ivery's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Her gaze lingered on Asher for a moment before she finally asked, "Do you really not remember anything?"

There was hope in her voice—small, fragile—but it faded when he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but no. It… it feels like I've been in a long dream. I know basic things, but who I am, where we are, and who you are… it's all a blur." Ivery lowered her head, her fingers curling slightly in her lap.

"I see." Silence settled over them again, stretching until a low, unmistakable grumble broke through the stillness.

Asher's stomach. Ivery lifted her head, her lips curling into a small, weary smile.

"Oh right, you've been asleep for so long—you're probably starving." She pushed herself to her feet.

"I'll get you something. Just wait here." With that, she turned and made her way to the door. The sound of scraping metal echoed through the room as she pulled it open, then disappeared into the hallway beyond.

Once she was gone, Asher sat there in silence. She was right—his throat felt unbearably dry no matter how much he tried to wet it, and his stomach was painfully empty. Not to mention the weakness that settled into his limbs whenever he tried to move. He hadn't noticed it before, too overwhelmed by emotions and the storm of thoughts in his mind.

Minutes ticked by as he stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker and shift. It was almost hypnotic, pulling him in with its steady, unpredictable dance. Despite that, he wasn't really thinking about anything.

It all still felt unreal.

That's when he heard it.

"Well, look who's sane again. Good to see you're not just babbling like last time." The voice sent a jolt through him—one he recognized instantly. It had seared itself into his mind, and just hearing it made fear grip his chest. His head snapped around toward the source. But there was nothing.

At least, not at first.

His gaze landed on a shadow cast against the wall. But something was off. It was too small to be his own, the angles between him, the fire, and the wall all wrong. And then there was the worst part, it was smiling.

"You- Your-" Asher instinctively shuffled back, moving away from the wall.

"Mori. I already told you my name last time, remember?" The shadow spoke as if this were just a casual conversation, as if its very existence wasn't completely unnatural. Asher swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a few steadying breaths before narrowing his eyes.

"You know who I am... even between bodies?" The shadow of Mori nodded.

"Of course I do. It would be pretty hard to spectate you if I wasn't sure which body you were in. Speaking of which, congratulations—you're officially an adult now." Mori gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Well… technically." Asher glanced down at himself before looking back at the wall.

"If you know who I am, then do you know where I am?" Another nod.

"Of course." Hearing that, Asher tensed, immediately preparing to ask more. But before he could open his mouth, the sound of creaking metal cut through the room. His head snapped toward the doorway. Ivery stepped inside, holding a slightly chipped plate and a plastic cup.

By the time Asher glanced back at the wall—Mori was gone.

"Are you okay?" Ivery asked as she approached, setting the food and water down beside him.

"Hm? Oh… yeah. I think I just lost my bearings for a second."

"I see." She let the moment pass, shifting the conversation back to the meal.

"I tried to pick out something soft, so it should be easier for you to swallow and digest."

Asher looked down at the plate—some kind of oatmeal. It wasn't much, and it certainly didn't look as appetizing as what he was used to eating for breakfast, but right now, his body didn't seem to care.

"Thank you," he said after a brief pause.

"It's fine. Just go ahead and eat." Ivery offered a soft smile, watching him. There was a quiet relief in her eyes, like seeing him there—awake, alive—was enough to put her at ease despite the fact his memories were gone.

Asher picked up the spoon and began eating. As he did, the dream slowly unraveled, fading like the final scenes of a movie.

Then, just as the dream disappeared, reality settled in. A rhythmic beeping filled his ears. His eyelids fluttered open, only to be met with an almost blinding white light. He winced, his eyes adjusting to the sterile brightness.

Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. A ceiling—white, clean, with fluorescent lights properly fixed in place. It was different from before.

He didn't move. He didn't even look around. He just let out a slow, quiet sigh.

Ivery… I nearly forgot about her. How long has it been since I last dreamt of my first few true lives in that hellscape?