Chapter Text
A Prince’s Tribulation
Castle Lightower, Haden Province; Kingdom of Vale
June 13th, 80 AGW
“It was there in the time of our forefathers that House Lleu helped forge this great Kingdom.” Lord Gwynfor Lleu announced in an authoritative voice which echoed through the halls of Castle Lightower, once home to what was the largest settlement in Vale, now a dilapidated fortress home to only a few dozen people. He is an elderly man; tall and gaunt, possessing chalk white hair with pale blue eyes as well as a stern demeanor. Despite his advanced age, the patriarch of House Lleu still appeared as a man in his late forties thanks to his expertise as an Aura-user. As befitting a noble, he wore an elegantly designed sky blue frock over a white button vest shirt with matching dress pants and shoes. “For nearly seven hundred years, the Lleu family have served this great Kingdom when the need called for it.” His eyes moved toward a painting of his own father, Dairé Lleu, a former chamberlain of Vale’s royal court during the Great War. He was an accomplished statesmen, having fended off incursions from Mantle and Mistral before the famed battle of Shade. “But alas, that fool Emmanuel VII commanded all the nobles to give up everything after the Great War; their power, lands and fortune, all for the sake of the people.” His words dripped with venom. “And now you must bear the burden of carrying on our name, Albus.” He turned to his grandson. “Make us proud.”
“Yes, Grandfather.” Responded the young man kneeling before him, his eyes ever looking to the ground. “I shall do everything in my power to ensure we are returned to our rightful place.” It’s what he was trained for all his life, to reclaim the House’s stolen glory.
“Rise, Albus.” Gwynfor commanded. The young man stood up. Albus was a fair-skinned youth, possessing short, slicked back platinum blonde hair along with a pair of dazzling violet eyes. As the son of an illustrious lineage, he sported an electric blue topcoat over a navy blazer adorn with pale golden accents as well as white dress pants, gloves, and shoes. “Tonight, you will prove your mettle in the courtyard.”
The young heir nodded as he stepped out, watching as the shattered moon and stars loomed over him as though the gods themselves were spectators. Surrounding Albus were a large battalion of mechanical soldiers, their armor black as night. The lights in their visor glowed a deep red as they approached him. These were AK-100s, relics of the Faunus Revolution, now in service to their family. All of them were armed with state-of-the-weaponry imported from Atlas. On their ebon chassis was the insignia of House Lleu; a golden four-pointed star. He took out his personal weapon, a gear-shifted baton-rifle which called Tribune from the back of his coat.
The Knights assembled into a V formation as they fired a barrage of bullets at Albus who dodged and rolled toward a broken stone wall, taking cover from behind. Fortunately enough, he managed to not get hit. “You really got your money’s worth, didn’t you?” Albus muttered, storing a clip into Tribune as he rose up, firing a carefully-crafted bullet filled with explosive combustion Dust at some of the androids that marched toward the would-be student. Their cores were ruptured from the impact, exploding into pieces in the process. Those that weren’t shot down began to get into a melee stance, unsheathing blades from their firearms. Albus gave the AK-100s the same courtesy, shifting Tribune into a six-foot long baton. He carefully assessed the situation, knowing that these androids still held a numerical advantage. He threw a jar of filtered Dust in their direction, releasing a heavy cloud of fog upon reaching impact.
“Good,” Gwynfor watched from a safe distance, standing atop the parapet as he took a sip of his wine. He held a great deal of pride on teaching Albus on the fine art of Dust-crafting;to mix certain properties into new elements. “But that is not enough to achieve victory.”
As if hearing his grandfather’s words, Albus quickly got into a ready stance, shifting Tribune into its melee form. It transformed into a long baton, with the butt of his gun serving as a sort of hammer for bludgeoning damage. While hardly elegant, it proved effective as Albus laid out precise strikes on the robots, bringing them down in rapid succession by targeting the joints. With quick blows, the Knights fell apart one by one. They all fell, leaving behind their broken husks on the ground.
The patriarch of House Lleu curled his lips into a cocky grin. “Seems you studied well, boy.” He brought out a small remote from his coat. “But let’s see how well you’ll stand against the great enemies of Man!” With a press of a button, the sound of a portcullis being lifted could be heard. From out of the dark stepped forth a savage pack of Beowolves, fangs bared with malicious intent toward the young man before them.
One of the Grimm lunged at Albus, each swinging a claw at him. He was sent flying until he hit a nearby wall. His Aura, the power of his soul given form, flickered a pale golden hue as the Beowulf pinned him there by his wrists. As the fight went on, Gwynfor looked at the scouter, analyzing his grandson’s Aura Level. It went from his usual 307 to 289. “Disappointing,” He muttered under his breath. “Here I thought you’d be smart enough to dodge.” The old aristocrat shook his head, taking another sip of his wine.
Albus managed to kick the Beowulf with enough force to leave a crack in its mask. The lycanthropic Grimm grabbed at its own head in pain, giving the young man time to take advantage as he swung Tribune at his opponent’s head, leaving it dazed as he shifted his weapon back into its rifle form before blowing the creature’s head off with a single blast. Just as its body slowly dissolved, the rest of the Grimm surrounded him on all sides, all ready to tear the young hunter apart, limb from bloody limb.
“Will you stand as a true prince,” Gwynfor asked silently. “Become the stuff of legend like our ancestors, or will you fall and have our name be left to history?”
Albus took a few steps back, assessing the current situation. There were currently eight Beowolves; two of each positioned themselves around in a semi-circle, leaving the young hunter back against the wall. It would seem that I am outnumbered, He pulled out a shard of Lightning Dust for this certain occasion. But thankfully, not unmatched. Squeezing the yellow crystal with all his might, Albus absorbed the elemental energy stored within into his body. He was careful not use his Semblance since it always came with a high cost of his own Aura, the situation calls for it. Electricity coursed through his body, enabling Albus to move at greater speeds. With this newfound enhancement, he carefully dodged their attacks while shooting at them at a 930-degree angle with combustion Dust rounds. As the Grimm were sent flying, suffering heavy wounds from the explosive impact of Tribune’s blasts, Albus immediately shifted it into baton mode and got to work on finishing off the black creatures one at a time. Using the same strikes he used on the AK-100s, the young lordling made quick work of them, shattering their bones with inhuman accuracy. And if they dared to try slashing at Albus whenever the Grimm got too close for his liking, he simply shot them point-blank in the face. Thus, all eight Grimm lie dead on the ground, the only evidence of their wretched existence being the bleach white bone masks which fell as their bodies dissolved into nothingness.
Gwynfor clapped his hands in jest. “Good, good!” The aristocrat looked on in astonishment of his grandson’s combative skills. “We’ll make a Huntsman out of you yet.”
Whether Albus heard or not was no consequence. The enemy still lingered even if the pack was wiped out, and he had a trial to complete. From out of nowhere came a huge missile came flying toward him. Albus dodged thanks to the earlier enhancement from the Dust he used, but sadly his Aura was depleting at a rapid pace. Knew I shouldn’t have used Confiscate, but time was of the essence. A boisterous laugh could be heard echoing throughout the courtyard. “Oh I don’t think so, Lord Gwynfor.” A voice spoke out from the smoke, low and guttural. “It’s time you face your final test, whelp.”
Albus turned to face his new opponent. It was his tutor; the head of House Lleu’s security, Duncan Halleck. He was tall and dark, possessing salt-and-pepper hair that cut perfectly short along with finely trimmed facial hair, grey eyes and a lean, muscular build fit for a former soldier of Atlas. In addition to his physique and stern demeanor, he wore an umber coat with pale golden accents over a dark gray military-styled uniform. Slung over his shoulders was his signature weapon; Behemoth’s Bane. It was an enormous rocket-launcher/zweihander hybrid that felled over a hundred Grimm in his youth. Now here he was, aiming directly at his student. “You may fare well against mere toys and beasts.” He stepped toward Albus, humbly giving him a slight bow as a sign of respect. “But can you test your mettle against another Huntsman if need be?”
”I know I can,” the young lordling answered, readying himself with Tribune in rifle mode.
“Then let’s see, shall we?” Duncan took a three steps back before firing a missile straight at Albus. The younger Huntsman threw down a jar of Earth Dust, erecting an enormous wall of stone to shield himself from the blast. “Impressive,” Duncan stroked his beard before launching himself in the air, Behemoth’s Bane transformed into zwihander mode. “But not enough!” He swung his blade into the wall, cleaving it in twain.
Albus ran up the wall and struck Duncan in the stomach with the butt of his rifle. Despite all his strength, whatever was left, it was enough. The senior Huntsman stood strong, pushing his student down with a powerful kick. Lying flat on his back, Albus felt his Aura is due to break at any moment. Watching Duncan drop from the broken wall in a double flip with his zweihander raised in a horizontal direction, he quickly rolled away being cut in half.
“Can’t run forever, boy!” The old warrior unleashed a flurry of slashes at his young student. “You’ll need to do better than that!”
Albus was forced to dodge his master’s attacks; one strike or stab being enough to completely break his Aura. Without it, he would be helpless in battle as a newborn calf. I must win! He blocked Duncan‘s sword with Tribune in baton form. Their weapons were crossed in a fierce struggle with the wielders in a deadly dance where one tries to push the other down to no avail. I’m not strong enough. As a result of using his Semblance, he was left virtually powerless, nearly falling to his knees. His eyes moved to his grandfather watching on in judgement from above.
“A king always stands tall,” Gwynfor chided him. “A commoner lies on his knees.”
He’s right, Albus admitted internally. A king must always stand tall. He thought of his ancestors, many of whom were renowned statesmen and tacticians. They would never allow themselves to be defeated like this. Seeing that his opponent was left open, Albus had let go of rifle, performing a quick whirl around Duncan before delivering a swift kick to his ribs. This caused the veteran Huntsman to let out a low groan as he unwittingly dropped Behemoth’s Bane from his hands. A loud clanging sound could be heard as it fell upon the ground. Albus then kicked up Tribune, catching it in mid-air before he swung his baton-rifle at Duncan’s face.
The veteran Huntsman felt himself disoriented before Albus stepped back as he shot him down. Each bullet fired wore down his Aura until it flickered a tawny hue. Clever boy. He must have found the means to have us on an even playing field. Being reinvigorated by his students strategic plan, Duncan did a quick somersault before grabbing his weapon, aiming it directly at Albus with a wild look on his face. “Come then,” He goaded him. “I got one last round in me, and it’s got your name on it!”
Albus stood his ground, wishing to best his teacher with the same courage that he and his grandfather instilled in him over the years. He threw one last Dust jar into where the missile was about to be launched before firing a single bullet into the container. As all three objects were in physical contact, it resulted in a huge explosion that sent both men flying almost fifty feet away from each other until they simultaneously crashed into a wall.
Duncan coughed a bit of blood, his Aura having shattered upon impact. “You’ve won,” He said to Albus, who was struggling to get himself off the wall. He laughed heartily, having not received such an exhilarating fight since the final days of the Faunus Revolution. “Best fight I had in years.” With those last words spoken, Duncan slowly closed his eyes, slipping into unconsciousness.
Lord Gwynfor applauded his grandson, who took a quick bow after getting back on his feet. “You’ve done well, child.” The elderly lord floated down from the parapet using his Semblance to decrease the speed of his fall. “The future of House Lleu is secured.”
“It is thanks to you, Grandfather.” Albus replied. “Everything I have built - my powers, my skills - I owe it all to you.” He dropped on one knee, having been exhausted after his trial. “I will repay you for all you given me.”
”And I expect you to,” Gwynfor laid a gentle hand on Albus’ shoulder. “One day, we shall rise as Vale’s new leaders and restore this country to its glory.” He helps him get to his feet. “But for now, let us retire for tonight.” The elderly noble smiled faintly. “For this august, you shall enroll in Beacon.”
”Yes, Grandfather.” Complied Albus, watching as a pair of medics placed Duncan on a stretcher. I’ll tread to the very wastelands of Fornax itself if you’d call for it. Albus carefully retreated back to his room to rest. Laying head on the pillow, he dreamt of his family’s return to power, with himself being exonerated as a monarch.