Sunday arrives quietly, carrying with it the kind of calm that only exists before something significant.
By evening, Beacon Academy will host the dance. For now, the campus feels unhurried—students drifting through the courtyard in small groups, laughter and idle chatter carried by the breeze.
Erik sits alone on one of the stone benches near the courtyard's edge.
He leans back slightly, arms resting loosely at his sides, eyes following the movement of students as they pass. Pyrrha had insisted on grabbing snacks for later, leaving him to wait here for a few minutes.
He doesn't mind.
Waiting is something he's always been good at.
"Enjoying the view, Mr. Lioren?"
The voice is calm. Measured.
Erik doesn't startle.
He turns his head just enough to see Professor Ozpin standing a short distance away, cane resting lightly against the stone path, expression as unreadable as ever.
"Just people-watching," Erik replies easily. "It's a good day for it."
Ozpin smiles faintly and steps closer, stopping beside the bench—but not sitting.
"Indeed," he says. "Sundays tend to bring out a certain… openness in students."
Erik hums. "People are less guarded when they think nothing important is happening."
Ozpin's eyes flick toward him—brief, sharp, then soft again.
"A fair observation," he says. "May I?"
Erik shifts slightly, making room. "Of course, Professor."
Ozpin sits beside him, posture relaxed, gaze still on the courtyard rather than directly on Erik.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then Ozpin breaks the silence.
"I happened to notice you in the library recently," he says casually. "Your choice of reading material was… interesting."
Erik doesn't tense.
"Fairy tales," he says. "Not exactly popular among combat students."
"No," Ozpin agrees. "Most prefer manuals. Tactics. Recorded battles."
Erik shrugs lightly. "Those tell you how people fight. Fairy tales tell you how people think."
Ozpin's smile deepens, just a fraction.
"And what is it you believe people think about, when they write stories like those?"
Erik considers the question.
"Fear," he says. "Hope. Things they can't explain yet. Or things they used to understand and forgot."
Ozpin taps the head of his cane once against the stone. "Forgotten knowledge," he repeats thoughtfully.
Erik glances at him then—not suspicious, but curious.
"Is that dangerous?" Erik asks.
Ozpin chuckles softly. "That depends entirely on what one chooses to do with it."
Another pause.
"I noticed," Ozpin continues, "that you weren't reading just one version of those stories."
Erik nods. "Different versions contradict each other. That usually means something's been… edited over time."
"And you find that noteworthy?"
"I find patterns noteworthy," Erik replies calmly. "Especially the ones that don't quite fit."
Ozpin turns his head now, studying Erik more openly.
"And have you found anything concerning?"
Erik meets his gaze without hesitation.
"Nothing actionable," he says. "Just questions."
Ozpin holds his stare for a moment longer—then looks back toward the courtyard.
"Questions," he muses, "are often far more powerful than answers."
Erik smiles faintly. "That's usually when people start getting uncomfortable."
"Indeed," Ozpin says. "Which is why many stop asking them."
Erik doesn't respond right away.
Instead, he glances toward the path leading back from the dorms.
"I don't ask questions to cause trouble," he says finally. "I ask them so I know where not to step."
Ozpin's expression softens—approval, perhaps, or something close to it.
"A prudent philosophy," he says. "Beacon could use more students who think that way."
Erik lets out a small breath. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
From the corner of Erik's eye, he spots Pyrrha approaching, arms full of wrapped snacks, expression bright as she scans the courtyard.
Ozpin notices too.
"Ah," he says, standing. "It seems you're no longer alone."
Pyrrha reaches them moments later. "Professor Ozpin! I didn't realize you were here."
Ozpin smiles warmly at her. "Good evening, Miss Nikos. I hope you're enjoying the day."
"I am, sir," she replies. "Very much."
Ozpin nods, then turns back to Erik.
"Enjoy the dance tonight, Mr. Lioren," he says. "Moments of levity are… important."
Erik inclines his head politely. "I plan to."
Ozpin steps away, cane tapping softly as he disappears into the flow of the courtyard.
Pyrrha watches him go, then looks back at Erik. "What was that about?"
Erik shrugs lightly. "Books. Stories. Nothing serious."
She narrows her eyes playfully. "That's not very convincing."
He smiles. "I'll explain later. Right now—what did you bring?"
Her expression brightens instantly. "Chocolate pastries. And something warm to drink."
"Then," Erik says, standing and offering her a hand, "I'd say this afternoon just improved significantly."
She laughs and takes it.
Above them, the sun continues its slow descent.
They settle back onto the stone bench together as the afternoon light stretches across the courtyard.
Erik glances at the small bag in Pyrrha's hands and smiles faintly.
"Thanks for grabbing these," he says. "I was starting to regret mentioning snacks."
She laughs softly. "You sounded very serious about it."
"I was," he replies. "Waiting is easier when there's food involved."
That earns another laugh as Pyrrha opens the bag, the quiet rustle drawing Erik's attention. The scent of warm pastry and chocolate drifts between them.
She hands one to him. "You chose well."
He takes a bite, pauses, then nods with clear approval.
"Okay. Yeah. Worth the wait."
"High praise," she says, amused.
"Extremely," he agrees. "I'm filing this away as future motivation."
They eat side by side, the conversation drifting easily—small observations, light jokes, nothing that needs to be said too carefully. Students pass through the courtyard in twos and threes, laughter carrying on the breeze, the academy slowly easing toward evening.
Pyrrha watches them for a moment, then looks back at Erik.
"It's nice," she says quietly. "Just sitting like this."
He glances at her. "Normal?"
She nods. "Very."
Erik leans back slightly, one hand resting on the bench behind him.
"I'm glad," he says. "You deserve normal."
She smiles at that—soft, genuine.
They finish the snacks at an unhurried pace, shoulders occasionally brushing as they shift. No one rushes to move. No one feels the need to fill every silence.
As the sun dips lower, the air cools, and the courtyard grows quieter. The sky begins to darken, hints of evening settling in.
Pyrrha folds the empty bag and tucks it away.
"Thank you for asking me to get these," she says. "It gave me an excuse to step away for a bit."
"Anytime," Erik replies lightly. "I'm very good at coming up with excuses that involve food."
She laughs, leaning just a little closer as they sit together, waiting.
To Be Continued...