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Welcome, to all arrivals, new and old. My name is Ozpin.

It seems our arrival has fallen on October's doorstep. It was, to put it lightly, a dangerous month in Deerington. Even here in Trench, I would be unsurprised to find that we are entering a season of bloodshed and Beasts.

It would be wise to prepare. Even should that degree of danger fail to arrive, many of us have been newly burdened by powers we have not yet learned to control.

In the world of Remnant - I do not think it right to call it 'home,' in light of our situation - I served as headmaster of a combat academy. I guided young people in learning to harness their powers and hone their abilities, even in the most dire of circumstances.

If you are interested in such training, I am now accepting students for private instruction. It seems our currencies won't be of much use here, so allow me to propose an alternate price: stories. I have always been a scholar of folklore and fairy tales, and I would like to hear what your own worlds have to offer.

[ Ozpin hesitates a long, long beat. Then: ]

I shall even trade you one in return. My favorite, as of late, is about an old hermit and the visitors who changed his life. For those who have heard some of my more recent tales, you may be pleased to know that this one has a happy ending.

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I would be delighted to hear those you consider most important, or most meaningful. Which had the greatest impact upon you? Which seem to convey a lesson worth learning?

If stories are a universal language, then I am most fascinated by what it is we choose to say.

this one saved my life

[ Here, Eurydice switches to audio. Typing this all out would take too long, given that she doesn't have much practice with it. ]

When the king of the Underworld was young, he fell in love with a woman who lived on the surface. He saw her in her mother's garden, against the sky, and it was like he'd known her all along. He was the god of death, and she was the goddess of spring, but despite their differences, they loved one another. She agreed to marry him.

So he took her home, to be his queen. There was no sun in the Underworld, where the king lived, and so they decided she would spend half the year in his world, and half the year in her own.

They say that is where the seasons come from: when the woman is on the surface, the sun burns hot and bright, and it is summer. When she is down below, the world cools, and it is winter.

[ As stories go, it's a relatively simple one. Still, Eurydice's voice is soft and careful as she tells it, as if each word means a great deal. ]

[ He listens. To the story, yes, but moreover to her tone: to the weight behind each word, the force of belief in every line.

He switches to audio, to match her. ]

Thank you for telling it.

[ This is said simply, but there is heavy consideration behind his tone. He has heard so many fairy tales, drawn books and coaxed legends from so many worlds. He has heard few like this: about a gentle god of darkness, and a loving god of light.

He will examine this thought later, in the quiet of his study and the privacy of his mind. Perhaps he can even revel in the distance of it, the novelty of examining someone else's gods with the luxury of not having to care. ]

We have our own story of the seasons, where I come from. It is truly remarkable to hear one still new to me.

What of the spring and fall?

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