Kael Ardent always believed the end of a story should matter.
He sat curled up on a secondhand couch in his tiny Portland apartment, a warm cup of green tea balanced on one knee, and an aging novel cradled in his hands. The world outside his window was gray and cold, rain tapping rhythmically against the glass, but his world? His world was full of dragons, forgotten gods, and stories that made his chest ache in the best way.
The final paragraph of the book trembled under his gaze, not from the cold, but from something deeper. That bittersweet ache when a good story ends.
"...And in the end, the storyteller vanished, leaving behind only words... and the people who dared believe in them."
Kael closed the book slowly, hugging it to his chest.
"I wish I could do something like that," he whispered to no one. "Tell stories that matter… Teach something that lasts."
Kael always wondered about his life so far, and he had to say that it was a normal one at best. Nothing went wrong or nothing went perfectly, but he was on the right track in life, and there was always something on his mind that he always kept reminding himself.
"What do you want to be remembered for?"
The answer is simple, it's like a book that has its pages, "its rising action, its rising climax, and then its conclusion, but the most important part.
"It's a story worth telling," Kael whispered to himself, the answer.
Kael leaned his head back against the worn cushions, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling above like the paths of forgotten constellations. His breath fogged slightly in the cool air of his apartment. The heater had gone out again. But he didn't mind. Not tonight.
He'd read dozens of books this month alone. Graded tutoring essays. Helped a struggling high school student find their voice in a short story. But that hollow tug inside him—that yearning for something more was louder than ever.
He lived a quiet life, yes. Predictable, even. Class in the morning. Tutoring in the afternoon. Reading, writing, and ramen in the evening. But beneath the still surface of his routine swirled an ocean of untold dreams.
"I don't need to be famous," he murmured. "Or rich. Or even remembered by the world. I just... I want to leave something behind that matters."
He let that thought sit in the silence, like a prayer left at an altar of paperbacks and tea-stained journals.
Then, the light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Kael blinked and turned his head slowly, watching as the room dimmed unnaturally. A hum filled the air, not from the city streets or faulty wiring but from somewhere deeper, like a sound that didn't belong in this world at all.
Suddenly, the pages of the book in his hands rustled on their own.
His heart quickened.
"...What the hell?"
The words on the page began to glow softly at first, then brighter, as Kael dropped the book to cover his eyes, only to be gone from the couch as the book had closed itself as the cover was changed.
The apartment fell into silence.
The hum was gone.
The rain still tapped the window, the heater still refused to work, and the mug of tea sat half-full and cooling.
But Kael Ardent… was no longer there.
The book on the couch shimmered faintly. Its cover, once old and worn, had transformed. The title had vanished, replaced by a stylized image—an illustrated man cloaked in dark robes, holding a book in one hand and a teacher's cane in the other. His face was turned away, as if walking into the horizon of the page. The only words now etched into the leather-bound surface were:
"RWBY: The Wandering Teacher"
And beneath that, in smaller print:
"To teach is to ignite futures. To tell a story… is to change the world."
.
.
.
.
.
.
Somewhere else.
Somewhere far beyond the concrete quiet of Portland and the tired buzz of city lights… the world breathed differently.
Kael gasped as light poured into his vision like ink spilled across a blank page. He wasn't on his couch anymore. He wasn't even sure he was anymore.
He floated in a vast, starless expanse, like an infinite void of darkness. His body felt weightless, his senses stretched and drifting. He saw… nothing and everything. Memories flickered like candle flames around him, scenes from his life: a birthday party at age ten. Crying after his first rejection letter. Laughing with a student who finally understood symbolism. Late nights and ramen. Quiet victories. Loneliness.
Then a voice. Not loud. Not deep. But ancient.
"You wished to tell stories that matter."
"To teach something that lasts."
"And so you shall."
Kael spun, though there was no ground beneath his feet.
"Who's there?! What is this?" he called out, heart pounding.
The voice did not answer directly, but if it could, it smiled if such a thing could be seen at all.
"The world of Remnant is fraying. Its stories are unraveling, its truths lost to fear and silence. You are not a warrior. You are not a king. But you are something this world has forgotten. A mentor. A storyteller."
A shimmering thread of light appeared before him, slowly weaving into the shape of a book, not unlike the one he had held on Earth. Symbols carved themselves into its spine. Pages were blank as fresh snow awaited words.
"Here, take this. It is a gift, a tool, a promise. You will walk their roads, hear their pain, and teach them to dream again. Your name may change, but your heart must remain the same."
Kael reached for the floating book, fingers trembling.
The moment his skin touched the glowing pages, a surge of memories not his own poured into his mind maps of kingdoms, names of Huntsmen, snippets of history, and curriculum modules. Aura charts. Dust mechanics. Even lesson plans titled "The Hero's Journey: Fairy Tales Across Worlds" and "Symbols in Silence: The Language of Action."
He gasped. It was overwhelming, beautiful, terrifying, and exhilarating.
He felt as if his very soul was being rewritten. He wanted to laugh, as if he had uncovered a theory that could change the entire world. It was almost amusing to him because, after all, this place was undeniably real.
Kael then closed his eyes after a while of many things going into his brain.
.
.
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.
The next time Kael opened his eyes, he felt the gentle wind. Crisp. It smelled of green leaves, distant flowers, and a hint of smoke from some faraway training session.
He was lying on a wooden bench beneath a large oak tree, sunlight streaming down through the canopy in golden threads. The sky above him was impossibly blue, vivid, surreal, like a painting that had come to life. And for a long moment, he didn't move.
Not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to break the illusion. His fingers curled around something paper. He blinked and slowly sat up, the world shifting softly around him.
His body felt… different.
Taller, slightly more toned, but not in a soldier's way, more like someone used to walking long distances, perhaps carrying a bag of books rather than a blade. He wore a dark, travel-worn coat that brushed just past his knees, and a collapsible cane sat propped against the bench, glinting faintly with Dust containers near the handle.
His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at the paper in his grasp.
It was folded neatly. Slightly wrinkled. Typed with startling clarity in a familiar-sounding tone:
"Drop-Out Request Form"
Name: Kael Zafkiel
Assigned Year: Third Year
Field of Study: General Studies/Huntsman
Reason for Withdrawal: Personal Fulfillment / Not Fit for Huntsman Work
Kael blinked. Zafkiel? That wasn't his last name, but it felt… right, somehow. Like slipping into a pen name that had always been waiting for him.
But at the bottom of the form, scrawled in an elegant, looping script, were a few lines penned by hand:
"Mr. Zafkiel, while you may no longer walk the path of the Huntsman, your presence here is not in vain. Enclosed is a provisional Huntsman license, renewable every four years. Use it as a key for your education and resource, not a weapon.
Prof. Ozpin"
Kael swallowed hard, eyes scanning the signature again.
Ozpin.
It was real. All of it. The voice in the void. The book. The knowledge now rested just behind his eyes, like a library he hadn't finished sorting yet.
Kael rose slowly, steadying himself. The breeze tugged at his coat as he walked toward a statue on the academy grounds. Students moved past him like he wasn't there, laughing, living.
He watched them for a long while, heart full of a strange peace.
"This… is really happening."
His voice was a little older. Calmer.
Resolved.
The Mentor System flickered silently in his mind's eye, icons labeled "Lesson Plans," "Student Profiles," "Memory Playback," "Worldbuilding Templates." It was part game UI, part interactive syllabus, and all overwhelming. But it felt right.
Not a warrior. Not a fighter.
A teacher.
He took a deep breath, allowing the air of this strange, fractured world to fill his lungs completely.
Kael Zafkiel's journey didn't start with a sword.
It started with a story.
And somewhere in the pages of Remnant's crumbling narrative, he would help write a new chapter one shaped not by violence, but by the quiet, radical power of education.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
Ding!
[System Notice: "Prologue Complete"]
New Quest Unlocked: "First Lesson – Inspire One Soul."
Kael smiled faintly and turned back toward the academy with one last look.
"Alright then," he murmured, adjusting his cane beneath his arm.
"Let's begin class."
As Kael started walking off away from Beacon Academy.