RWBY: Moon Reflection-Chapter 110: Change

The small hospital room felt suffocating. Its walls, stark white and sterile, offered no comfort, no reprieve from the emotional weight that filled the air. Machines beeped softly, monitoring Crimson's vitals, a faint and rhythmic reminder that he was still alive. Ruby sat in the same chair she had occupied for weeks now, her eyes red from crying, her posture slouched with exhaustion. She held Crimson's hand gently, her fingers trembling as they clasped his.

Across from her, Pyrrha sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap. Her emerald eyes watched Crimson with a quiet pain, her face a mask of calm that barely hid the turmoil within.

On the far side of the room, Blake and Weiss sat together. Both were unusually quiet, their gazes heavy with thought. Weiss absentmindedly traced a hand over the faint scar on her forearm, a reminder of the chaos they had survived. Blake leaned back, her ears twitching at every subtle sound in the room. Both had come out of the war with little more than cuts and bruises, their bodies healing quickly. But not everyone had been so fortunate.

Lie Ren, for example, had lost an arm during the final confrontation. It had been a clean cut, cauterized by the very fire that had engulfed their battlefield. Now, Nora stayed by his side constantly, a vigilant and unwavering presence. The two had always been inseparable, but now their bond was tested in a way neither had anticipated. Meanwhile, Elm from the Ace Ops had lost a leg in the fray. She was learning to walk with a prosthetic, but the trauma of the battle lingered in her every step. Harriet wasn't as lucky—her body had been burned so severely that she remained in critical care, her condition uncertain.

The silence in the room was broken when Yang entered, her boots clicking softly against the floor. She paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning the somber scene before her.

"Any change?" she asked quietly.

Pyrrha shook her head, her fiery hair swaying slightly. "No. He's still the same."

Yang nodded, her shoulders sagging slightly as she stepped inside. She moved to sit next to Blake, her expression mirroring the heaviness of the atmosphere.

Blake, in an effort to lighten the mood, cleared her throat and asked, "Any news about Salem?"

Yang looked at her, frowning slightly. "Uncle Qrow is watching her now," she said. "She's stopped screaming... she's just sitting there, staring at nothing. She looks... broken. Hopeless."

Ruby, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. "She deserves worse," she said, her tone laced with bitterness. Her grip on Crimson's hand tightened. "She took our mother. And now Crimson..." Her voice cracked, and her lip quivered as tears began to well up in her eyes again.

Yang frowned, her gaze softening as she turned toward her sister. "Crimson is not dead, Ruby," she said gently.

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But Ruby only shook her head, her face crumpling as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "It's my fault," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If I hadn't rushed back then... if I hadn't been so reckless... he wouldn't be like this." She broke into quiet sobs, her head bowing as her body shook.

The other girls exchanged glances, their hearts breaking for Ruby. Weiss, always composed, leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Ruby's shoulder. "That's not necessarily true," she said softly. "You couldn't have known what would happen. You tried your best to help."

Ruby sniffled, but she didn't look up. Her sobs quieted slightly, though her shoulders still trembled.

Blake, trying to steer the conversation away from Ruby's guilt, added, "It's worth noting... Crimson said something before everything happened and he went into a coma. 'Sun Breathing.'" She paused, her golden eyes narrowing in thought. "I never knew there was another breathing technique."

Weiss nodded slowly. "Neither did I. Moon Breathing alone was already... otherworldly. And to think he had something even stronger..."

"It's terrifying," Blake finished.

Pyrrha, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "He didn't show it before, probably because he knew what it would do to him," she said, her green eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "I think... I think Sun Breathing was a last resort. Something he only planned to use in a situation where there was no other choice. Like the Hydra. Killing it was necessary, no matter the cost."

The weight of her words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. They all fell silent, the only sound in the room the soft beeping of the machines monitoring Crimson's condition.

Ruby wiped her eyes with her sleeve, her breathing uneven as she tried to calm herself. The guilt she felt was still heavy, but the quiet support of her friends offered a small comfort.

The room fell into another stretch of silence, this one even more oppressive than the last. The battle was over, but the scars it had left on them all—physical, emotional, and otherwise—were still fresh. None of them knew what the future held, but one thing was certain: the road to recovery would be long and arduous, and some wounds might never fully heal.

They sat together in that small, quiet room, each lost in their own thoughts. Outside, the snow fell softly, blanketing the world in a fragile, fleeting beauty. But inside, the weight of the past hung heavy, a reminder of all they had lost.

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Crimson stood motionless in the middle of an endless expanse of clear, still water that reflected the burning brightness of the sun above. There were no shadows, no imperfections, only the gentle warmth of the light and the tranquility of the water beneath his feet. His hair moved faintly in a breeze he could not feel.

Looking around, he noticed a figure standing a few steps away, their form glowing faintly in the sunlight. The figure radiated peace and authority, their golden eyes observing him with a calm curiosity. The God of Harmony.

Crimson offered a small smile. "I suppose I died in the end," he said, his voice steady and free of regret.

The God returned the smile and shook their head gently. "Not exactly," they replied, their voice resonating as if it were part of the very air itself. With a wave of their hand, the water beneath their feet rippled and shifted. The stillness broke, and an image appeared—Crimson's body, lying motionless in a hospital bed.

Crimson tilted his head as he stepped closer to the vision. He could see himself, bandaged and unmoving, surrounded by the faint glow of monitors and the hum of machines. The scene shifted slightly, showing a procession of visitors entering and leaving the room.

He saw Ruby sitting by his side, her eyes red and swollen, her hand trembling as she held his. Yang appeared next, her expression caught between frustration and sorrow, staying only long enough to whisper something before walking away. Pyrrha came often, her posture always calm but her eyes betraying her pain. Blake and Weiss, together as always, sat in silence near the foot of the bed, their conversations minimal but their presence appreciated.

Then there were others—soldiers in Atlas uniforms, some with missing limbs or bandages from their own injuries. Strangers from Mantle, young and old, stepped into the room, some weeping softly, others standing silently with respect. Crimson's heart stirred as he recognized faces he didn't know. These were people he had unknowingly touched, lives he had saved through his actions.

The God of Harmony gave him time to absorb the scenes, their eyes never leaving Crimson. When Crimson finally looked up, the God spoke. "You have achieved what you once regretted failing. You have left a legacy—bright, vibrant, and enduring. Your name will be remembered by all."

Crimson's gaze fell back to the rippling water, where the images continued to play like an endless stream. He watched silently as the weight of those words sank in. A legacy. The one thing he had never sought in this life, but somehow, in the heat of battle, he had created it.

"Do you find it ironic?" the God asked, breaking the silence. "That the things you once sought so desperately, the things you desired but never believed yourself worthy of... were achieved unintentionally?"

Crimson didn't respond immediately. His reflection stared back at him from the water, his face calm but his mind a storm.

The God continued, their tone gentle but firm. "When you left my realm after finding peace, you did so reluctantly. You told yourself it was for life, for redemption, but the truth is you didn't hold life in high regard—not truly. Not for yourself, nor for the lives of others."

Crimson's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent.

"You cared for your family," the God said, their words cutting through the stillness. "Your sisters—they mattered to you. But the rest? They were irrelevant. Your own life? It was merely a tool, something you could throw away when the time came. You were still searching for the day you would die."

The words struck a chord deep within him. Crimson's shoulders tensed, but his expression remained neutral. "I cared about life when I left," he finally said, his voice low. "I went back for that."

The God shook their head, a faint sigh escaping them. "You cared for your family," they repeated. "Not for life itself. Not for the strangers who looked up to you, not for the soldiers who fought by your side. And certainly not for the enemy. But look at yourself now."

The images in the water shifted again, showing scenes from the battle. Crimson saw himself, blade glowing with fiery intensity, cutting through the Hydra's heads with unrelenting resolve. He saw the soldiers below, watching him in awe, their spirits lifted even in the face of overwhelming odds.

"You feel sorrow now for the deaths of those you didn't know," the God continued. "You feel pain for the lives lost, even when they were strangers to you. You even pity your enemy, despite everything you have seen. And in the end, you were willing to die—not for vengeance, not for glory—but to save others. Do you understand the change in you?"

Crimson's gaze softened as the weight of the God's words settled over him. He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

The God stepped closer, their golden eyes meeting his directly. "Tell me, Crimson. Do you wish to die now?"

Crimson sighed, his gaze dropping to the water beneath them. He thought about his sisters, his friends, the strangers who had come to visit him in the hospital. He thought about the lives he had saved and the ones he hadn't.

"No," he said finally, his voice firm. "I like my life now."

A smile spread across the God's face, warm and approving. "Then know this," they said. "You are truly vibrant and warm now, just like the brother you admired so much. You should be proud of how far you have come."

Crimson's eyes widened at the words, shock flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the God raised their hand, stopping him.

"Your journey is not yet over," the God said. "You have a full life left to live."

Before Crimson could respond, the God's hand glowed with a brilliant light that enveloped him. The warmth of the sun seemed to intensify, and the water around him rippled and faded into blinding brilliance.

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When Crimson opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room. The faint beeping of machines filled his ears, a sound he had only heard through visions.

A moment later, he registered the faces around him—Ruby, Yang, Weiss, Blake, and Pyrrha—all staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Crimson?" Ruby's voice trembled, her hands clutching the edge of his bed.

The others were frozen for only a moment before they all rushed forward. Ruby broke into sobs, leaning over him as tears streamed down her face. Pyrrha smiled, her own tears glistening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Weiss and Blake looked stunned, but relief shone in their eyes. Even Yang's usual bravado was replaced with a mixture of shock and overwhelming happiness.

Crimson managed a small, weak smile. His voice was hoarse as he croaked, "I'm back."

The room erupted into cries of joy and laughter, their relief spilling out in waves. After a month of waiting, hoping, and mourning, the impossible had happened. Crimson was awake.