#iclyn galant

[theonetheycallsagey]

Forge Your Path

I’m really excited, but at the same time very nervous about this one for three reasons. One, I’m not used to writing in a first person POV. Two, it’s more fairy tale-ish than what I’m used to writing. And three, it’s introducing with a new team! But anyways, here’s the story of Harley Onyx, and the beginnings of Team RGHL!

I grew up outside kingdom walls. Not in Menagerie either, I'm not a faunus, even though my dad always said I had the drive of a ram. I lived south of Vale in a small village that most people don't even know exists. Some tell about it through stories, but not many actually believe it. It just didn't make sense. Many had tried before to expand this far away from the safety of Vale, but they all failed, even Mountain Glenn. So, what would keep some shabby group from falling to the Grimm like the rest of them?

Well, there's a reason why my village is called The Forge.

See, we weren't the first to try and live out here. When they tried to extend past the mountains, the miners came first, all with ambitions to make it big and find the first dust reserves in the "new world." But, an accident involving a huge pocket of fire dust ended up killing any hopes of being the next Schnee. When the wave of families looking to settle came next, what they came upon was truly an astonishing sight. A flame that could never be extinguished, raging uncontrollably from right beyond the heart of the mountain chain.

But, rather than move away and start somewhere else, the wanderers used the fire as the ultimate fuel. Being a group of experienced craftsmen and blacksmiths, they saw this as the perfect opportunity to play to their strengths and carve out a new beginning. They took whatever metal they had with them for supplies and built around the fire. After countless days of slaving over the fire, bending and warping metal, they had eventually housed it and turned it into one big forge. This served as a central hub for a village grow around, and when they found vast ore deposits in the mountains, the forge itself began to grow as well. It eventually evolved into a large workshop, with the men of the village constantly working in it.

Now, they knew that no matter what they accomplished, it wouldn't mean anything if the Grimm attacked. They needed to have some sort of defense against the creatures of darkness. So, they put their skills to good use and crafted some of the finest weapons made by human hands. These had an attention to detail that the factories in the kingdoms couldn't even compare to. Each one was specifically made for its wielder, a bond built through heat and hearth.

Sounds like a fairy tale, huh? Yeah, I heard Remnant has a knack for stuff like that. But it's true. I should know. I lived there.

You wouldn't be able to tell though. I was always interested in modern life inside the kingdoms, especially Vale. I dressed differently than the other kids in the village. I talked differently. I acted differently. I always saw pictures of the cars that ran through the downtown areas and thought they were amazing. I asked my dad how cool it would be if I ever got the chance to work on those. He would just smile and shake his head at me. But, for as much as I thought about life somewhere else, my heart always belonged to The Forge.

I've always been a mischievous little firecracker, and my parents quickly realized that there was only one place that could tame me: the workshop. It was like a playground for me when I was a kid. I would constantly be rummaging through my father's toolboxes like it was a toy chest. While he would be busy maintaining the machines that controlled the flame as Chief Blacksmith, I would be building whatever contraptions my imagination could come up with. I moved to the rhythm of the Forge, a constant beat of hammers meeting metal. It meant hard work was in the air. I felt like I was a part of that, and it was a part of me.

But, just because we were able to defend from the Grimm, it didn’t stop them from coming to tear us apart. I remember one attack when I was about 11 years old, when it seemed like the Grimm came in 3 times the numbers they usually do. My father stood guard at the gates of the workshop, protecting the families who couldn't fight for themselves, myself and my mother included. It was honestly pretty calm from inside, until a rumble came from what sounded like mere feet from beyond the door. Suddenly, a harsh impact buckled the door, and another blew it off the hinges completely, giving way for a Beowolf to creep in.

"Mom? Where's Dad?" I asked my mother with a wavering voice, but all she could do was hold me tight. I looked around, and everyone was matching my fear and uncertainty. These people don't deserve this fate. No one does.

Against my mom's wishes, I broke free from her grasp and made my way through the crowd. I didn't know where I was going or what I was going to do, but I knew I had to do something! I reached into one of the drawers that the crowd shuffled me toward and grabbed a black gem, one of many found during supply hunting. My terrified orange eyes shined through its dark color, almost blending into the illuminating flame. I turned to see the Grimm closing in on a frightened family. I saw my family in their place. Acting on pure adrenaline at this point, I threw the gem at the Beowolf's head.

Its attention drew to me as the gem bounced between its eyes. It bellowed a menacing roar. I think my mom yelled my name, but I couldn't remember. None of my senses were working. Suddenly, the beast charged forward. I closed my eyes.

The only thing I had braced for was hearing a thud as the Beowolf collapsed with a bullet in the back of the head. On the other side of it was my father, shotgun in one hand with his other covered in blood over a gaping wound. He didn't say a word. He just staggered to me and held me until it seemed like all the commotion outside had stopped. The Grimm had done their damage, but we survived. That was clear, because that night, the never-ending rhythm of the forge continued, business as usual.

That night, I caught up with my father after my mother bandaged him up. It was weird seeing him in bed listening to the beat instead of taking part in it. I didn't know what to say at first. All I could do was hug him before finally choking out of an apology for acting so stupidly. But, he met me with a soft smile.

"Hush, sweetheart. You saved lives today. I'm so proud of you," he said. He looked off into the distance and breathed a heavy sigh. "I didn't think this day would come this quickly."

"Huh? What do you mean, Dad?" I said.

"You will leave me and your mother one day. You will leave the Forge." I couldn't believe what he just said. I was so loyal to my home and the people I had grown up with that I took leaving as an insult. That was, until he continued on.

"You will share your bravery with the world."

I had no idea what that meant at first. But, my friends heard about what I did against the Beowolf that day, and they started telling me stories. Ones about these people called huntsmen and huntresses, and how they go around Remnant protecting people who can't protect themselves against the Grimm. I was honestly amazed that people like this existed. They sounded incredible.

The thought of becoming a huntress persisted in the back of mind for years, but I was always scared of leaving home. This small pocket of land no one knew existed was all I knew. But, this small pocket of land no one knew existed was all that knew of me, and I wanted to see the world and change that. So, when I became old enough, I told my dad my intentions of becoming a huntress.

He heard the ambition in my voice and saw the excitement in my eyes and could only respond with a solemn nod and that smile he'd always give me. He led me into the workshop, and after digging through tools, he grabbed his trusted wrench. It was used on the machinery that maintained the fire, and it was large enough to where it could fit over one's shoulders and usually required first-time wielders two hands to hold.

But, this one looked different. The edges were sharper. It felt lighter in my hands. The other end look more fashioned to grip like a handle. Then it hit me. My father fashioned his favorite wrench to be my first huntress weapon. It was an axe!

I was astounded when I held it in my hands the first time. I gave it a haphazard swing before my father swiftly intervened. He then clicked a button on it, and suddenly the wrench transformed. In my hands was now a lever-action shotgun, with the ram horns symbolizing The Forge brandished on the side of it. I glanced up at my father, and I saw the same look in his eyes that I saw that night after the attack, one that carried as close to tears as someone as hardened as my dad could be. I could barely muster out a thank you as I hugged him before he left me to fiddle with my new toy.

The next day, after my last home cooked meal, I told my mom goodbye. It was hard turning back and seeing her cry as my dad and I walked off towards the mountains. It took us several hours to hike to the nearest place where a ship could pick me up, and we spent the whole time sharing stories that we had never told each other before. We spent that night in a lodge, and then a ship came early next morning to bring me into Vale.

I looked my dad in the eyes, and for the first and only time in my life I noticed a tear fall down his face. I gave him one last hug and vowed to make him proud and tell him about all the places I've seen the next time I come home to visit. Then, with my weapon on my back, I climbed onto the ship, and it took me to places I had never imagined seeing. I spent the whole trip with eyes glued to the window. The views were breathtaking all the way to Beacon, and seeing the campus was like a whole another world to me.

I stepped off and took my first steps outside of my village, alongside hundreds of other prospective huntsmen and huntresses with the same goals as me. This was going to be my home? Look at all the people. There's no way I can do this. I froze in my place, half terrified and half stunned at the beauty and enormity of it all. Part of me wanted to just turn around and go home, but my feet subconsciously kept moving forward. To the beat of hammers meeting metal.

Harley turned to the three girls she called teammates and all of them were too astounded to speak. Each of them were clad in their pajamas, and they had gathered around to tell stories in what Harley was quick to call a slumber party.

"Harley," Lotus said, finally speaking up after several moments of silence. "That can't be true. Are you just messing with us?"

"No, there's no way," team leader Royce said, her skunk tail wagging slightly. "She can't be making this up. It's too crazy. No one would think of this." Harley nodded and gave Royce a playful nudge.

"I'm no liar, Royce. You know that," she responded with a giggle. "So, who's next?" The fourth girl in the room, one with frost blue hair tied into a ponytail and a metal headband reminiscent of a medieval knight's headwear, spoke up, a hint of a British accent traceable in her voice.

"I suppose I'll go next."