The Phoenix Reborn

'''Author's note: RWBY, Beacon, Remnant, and all things associated with any of the previously stated intellectual properties, whether they be locations, concepts, characters, or weapons, are all rightfully the intellectual property of Monty Oum and Roosterteeth, LLC. I, RichieJA claim ownership only over the original characters which I have created that are present in this piece of fiction.'''

Chapter 1
Asch's eyes flew open as he violently sat up from his previous lying position, his chest heaving; the shadows of the recurring nightmare he had just endured still lingered in the depths of his mind.

"Not again," he moaned. Even though a cold draft swirled around the room that he shared with his infant sister, he was in a sweat. He waited for his heart to stop racing, and threw the threadbare quilt that served as his bead spread off of his legs. Standing up, he combed his fingers through his dark hair, doing the best he could to tame the messy tangle that had evolved from his fitful tossing and turning.

Creeping towards his humble dresser, he winced as the mildewed floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Glancing over at his baby sister, still asleep in her crib, he breathed a silent sigh of relief, and gathered his clothes and bags.

As soon as he shut the door to the bathroom behind him, he exhaled, this time audibly. Turning the faucet on, he wrinkled his nose as the stench of sulfur filled the room. "Ugh - That's new," he coughed out, hurrying to cut of the faucet. It seemed that he wouldn't be taking a shower this morning. He dressed, and quizzically looked in the mirror as he slipped on his cargo shorts and shoes. His mind still foggy from sleep, it took him a few seconds to realize that he had his red v-neck, emblazoned with his steel-grey emblem, on backwards. A slight red tint arose in his cheeks as he quickly put the shirt on correctly, grateful that no one had seen the mistake. As he slipped the last vial of dust into his baldric, he picked up Blademerang, his weapon, slowly sheathing the double edged short-sword across his right shoulder. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine as the familiar shing of the blade being sheathed cut the relative silence of the bathroom. "This is the day I've waited for," he whispered to his reflection in the mirror.

Once the reverence of the moment had passed, Asch retrieved the final piece of his outfit: a worn, midnight-black bandana. It was obvious that it had been well loved. His eyes began to water as he brought the bandana up around his neck, making his vision blur. As he finished the knot that he had almost ceremoniously tied every day for the past 5 years, a single tear managed to escape, rolling down his cheek before disappearing into the folds of the bandana. Slowly, Asch closed his eyes, a solemn blanket of emotion and memories enveloping him.

Then, just as quickly as they had came, the tears vanished, replaced by Asch's typical impassive demeanor. He snapped his eyes open, and cooly examined himself in the mirror. His black, messy hair, swept to the right, was accompanied by contemplating eyes that could never decide if they were hazel or green in color. His tight-fitting white v-neck had his emblem on the top left corner - a golden wing, with the tips of the feathers transitioning into flames. The hilt of Blademerang was visible over his shoulder, sheathed across his back in his baldric, which sat on his right shoulder and fell to his left hip. There, it connected to his belt; where the two met, a large throwing knife was sheathed. His simple leather belt wasn't buckled in the front, but rather at his right hip, and the front of both his belt and baldric were in a bandolier style, holding seven vials of dust. The baldric held four bottles of varying colors, and the belt held three bottles of red dust. In addition, on both his wrists rested two rather thick metal bracelets, with a small hole and a button visible on each; they contained dust as well, but their contents were not a specific color. Rather, they contained a grayish mixture of several different varieties of dust. He carried so much of the volatile substance only because it was necessary for his semblance - he was a glyph caster. Simple gray cargo shorts and black canvas shoes, along with his signature bandana, completed his attire.

He picked up his lone duffle bag - he was able to fit everything that he owned inside - and walked from the bathroom to the meager kitchen. The 'kitchen', if you care to call it that, was truly just a small corner of the house's living room. Opening the pantry, he grabbed a slice of bread and a few pieces of dried sausage, and stuffed them into his mouth, considering it close enough to a breakfast.

As he chewed, he checked that both his parents weren't awake yet, and pulled out an electronic scroll from his duffel bag. Asch's father, Pryde Fuerre, would disown him if he found out that he had accepted the scroll as a gift from Vernon Rivers, the only regular customer to Pryde's pitiful dust shop; the store was continually under stocked with worthless products.

Pryde was an aptly named man; one of his few personal possessions was his pride, and he let nothing get in the way of it - especially the charity of others. Though the family of four truly needed help, he refused to accept anything that he himself did not earn.

Asch looked at his scroll, once again checking the message that he had received from Mr. Rivers; it had not changed, still telling him to be ready at 6:30, this morning. Looking at the top of the scroll, he saw that it was 6:26.  Rivers will be here any minute. Sure enough, a honk echoed from the outside.

Readjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder, Asch hurried down the stairs to the first floor, which served as his father's store. Taking care not to hit any shelves in the dim light, Asch strode to the front door, looking back one last time on what had been his home for his entire life.

Today, everything changes, he thought to himself as he leaned against the swinging door, pushing it open with his back. He shivered in anticipation as he saw the limousine in the street, seeming out of place amid the poverty-stricken slums that comprised Asch's neighborhood. As he approached, the door automatically opened, and out stepped Rivers.

He was a tall man, with brown hair that was starting to gray, and a wisp of a goatee. His blue pinstripe suit and dark green tie gave him an authoritative, if not somewhat solemn, presence. Though his face was emotionless, his tired green eyes screamed out his sadness and desolation. Vernon was a husk of the cheerful, witty man he had once been before his divorce, cruelly followed by the death of his only son, Gael.

"And you're sure you want to do this?" was Rivers' cold welcome; the man treated everything like a business venture.

"Yes, sir," was Asch's humble response. Asch muttered thank you as he climbed into the limousine, Vernon holding the door open for him.

After the limousine had started moving, Rivers pulled out a scroll, muttering to himself about sales figures as he tapped on the screen.

Asch stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt him. After they had driven in silence for almost a half an hour, Vernon looked up from the scroll, putting it away inside his jacket's pocket.

"Mm," he grunted. "Happy birthday," he said with a sigh, pulling out a silver case from underneath the seat. Clicking it open, he revealed eight shining bottles of powdered dust. On every bottle, a single word was engraved into the glass - D'eolas.

"You're in the big leagues now. I suppose that you deserve better than the crap that your father sells," Vernon continued, nodding his head towards the cheap plastic bottles of Schnee in Asch's baldric.

Asch let loose a rare smile as he replaced the dust in his baldric and belt with the new gifts. He would have to wait until his bracelets were empty before he could refill them with the D'eolas.

Asch was one of the few people that knew about Vernon's true motives for doing business with Pryde, who only sold Schnee dust products - and their... lesser quality dust, at that. Vernon and Pryde had been childhood friends. As adults, Vernon was a wildly successful business man; Pryde… was unlucky in his endeavors. When Vernon saw Pryde struggling to feed his family, he offered to give the family enough lien to make sure that they never went hungry. Disgusted, Pryde rejected the offer, so Vernon took up the facade that he was simply Pryde's most loyal customer, making sure that Pryde always had enough sales to keep food on the table. Of course, Vernon didn't have a use for the dust he bought from Pryde, but as long as Pryde never caught on to the scheme, all was well.

"Sir?" Asch tentatively said.

"Yes?" Vernon replied, checking his scroll again.

"Thank you… for paying for my tuition for Beacon."

Closing his eyes and slightly hanging his head, Vernon sighed as he sat in silence, Asch waiting for a response.

"Asch," he finally began, "me and you both know that I am not the reason that you are learning to be a hunter. I am merely the means by which you are able to do so. Please do not torture me with the past by reminding me why you are here today in the place of my son."

His hand instinctively reaching up to grasp his bandana, Asch's happiness from receiving the birthday present wilted as he listened to Vernon, who was only speaking the truth. Not daring to open his mouth again, the two sat in silence once more.

Thankfully, the tension-filled car ride was coming to a close; out of the tinted windows, Asch could see the airport, growing ever bigger in his field of vision. He quietly checked his scroll for the terminal number going to Beacon, and made sure he had his student I.D. card that served as his ticket onto the airship. Content that everything was ready, he restlessly sat in the cruising limousine, fiddling with his throwing knife as his future loomed ever closer in the form of an airship bearing the famous crest of Beacon.

Any and all criticism is welcome. I do not operate on a particular schedule, so I cannot guarantee regular updates; however, I will write and post new chapters/installments as often as possible.