[ Qrow looks at him with open hope, blood and soap on his hands. For the first time in a long while, Ozpin carefully weighs truth against kindness. He looks back down to the sheen of blood on the floor. ]

I'm afraid it's not quite so simple.

It is... [ And here is the part he so hesitates to say, the matter which must be handled so delicately. ] ...more akin to developing one's Semblance. Learning the boundaries of that power... and gaining some measure of control, however limited. These abilities are a part of ourselves, even if it may be a part we do not fully understand. Like a limb you don't yet know how to use... or a scar whose edges you've not yet felt out.

[ He remembers. The fierce, wound-tight desperation in a gangly teenager as he tried to manage his influence on the world around him— as he tried to keep it bundled in close to his chest and not let the secret slip. ]

Some convey terrible drawbacks. [ He remembers the day Qrow looked up at him, the way he'd uncurled in open shock, when it became clear that Ozpin knew. ] Mine seem to be particularly demanding, as we've discovered. I am still coming to understand that burden. But I trust that I can master it all the same, given enough time.