Jaune Arc has dreamt before, but none so quite alike to this.
Falling. An ever fall. He was falling into shadow. An odd dream which seemed to have no end.
He felt his clothes shake with the wind, but neither felt nor heard the breeze. He breathed, but didn't feel his lungs take in the air. He tried to talk, to shout, to scream or beg for a call in return, but no sound escaped him. His thoughts seemed to be the only thing to be heard, as curious as that seemed.
This is too weird.
Weird. WEIRD. too weird.
It almost felt like he heard the worlds spoken from his lips.
Only too curious, as the words came from echoes of his thoughts.
This is a dream. I need to wake up.
Dream. Wake UP. Do you really?
I have to.
To. HAVE to. Are you sure?
Yes.
This went on for some time. Just more falling. Falling. Falling. Falling…falling…fall…
And then there was light.
A sun. A town. Buildings from right to left. Scattered amongst trees and a cleared, stone road. No one around, just an empty and soundless place.
No. Not empty. Someone was there.
A girl stood in the street. A bit older then Jaune, who only just recently knew the hardships which teenage years brought on with vengeance, but there was a confident poise to her. Even with her back turned to him, Jaune knew she was important, garbed in a slender red and gold dress.
The new figure turned. Long black hair, striking pair of eyes, confident smile. That smile…
She held out her hand.
The world started to break. The houses tore and flew to the sky. The stone road began to shatter, showing dark puddles beneath them. And behind the girl, a dark wave with red eyes moved towards her.
Jaune ran to her. Hand held out, trying to grab her. The words he wished to shout fell on soundless lips. All he could do was show urgency to his features, even as the shadow took the girl.
It swallowed him, too.
It was dark now. Everything. Not a piece of light to be found. He was drowning, but he didn't need to breathe. The shadows pressed and pushed him back, but he tried to fight it. Tried to move forward, knowing that the stranger was still there. Still with her hand out and wishing to be taken. But he couldn't reach it, the pull was too strong. He couldn't fight it anymore, he was too weak.
He fell again.
Then, he rose. There was a light. The sun, he thought. The darkness was pushing him to the light.
Now, these were new buildings. A tall, towering structure. With spires which rose high and great columns of granite brick. He was sitting on cold stone. Where did it all come from? He thought he might have recognized the place, but his thoughts-
There was someone else.
Another girl. Different, but still colorful. Livelier, too. She waved to him, red hair shaking with her active moves. She smiled to him, too, but this look was sweeter than the other's. More innocent. Jaune felt himself smiling back, the happiness of the girl contagious as he moved to meet beside her. Where this sense of familiarity came from, he couldn't say. But he felt…
Her expression changed. Her eyes locked to something upwards, behind him.
Jaune turned to where her panic focused on. Something was falling. Many things, from the clouds and sky. One more than other, as a person with waving blond hair, brown and blue clothing closed the distance between himself and-
The ground fell again. He fell with it. The girl didn't seem so troubled by this, watching as he went.
Again, he started to fall. Fall into shadow. And for a long while again, he neither felt the air, the breath, or the feeling of anything.
And then, his body moved.
Not of his will, his feet shifted down. No longer was he diving deep, but falling now. And slowing. Slowing to a crawl. His legs bracing themselves for a landing he did not know how he knew was coming.
But land he did.
But on what?
He looked around. Didn't move, for worry he might step on something without form and begin falling again. But this place was dark with only a faded light from something above to show him any sight of anything.
This became tiresome quickly. He took a daring first step.
And the surface became alit.
The dark surface vanished like a cloak had been pulled from it. A light, blinding, took over. And for a moment, it was tricky to make out what new thing he was finding stable footing on.
But then, even when he grew used to the new light and found himself on a tower or platform of some sorts, this new station was odd.
It was…a mural. A mural of someone.
It was intricate. A golden-bronze colored thing, flat but looking as if it were carved into the make. And at the center was a figure. A girl, a bit older than him, dressed in a respectable, if a little old-fashioned, blue dress. She had long black hair and a charming smile. She seemed to be awake, but her eyes were closed. And beside her, small circled images with faces were lit. One of an old man, another of a dark-skinned woman, a rough-looking man, and a metal bird.
None of this meant anything to Jaune, but the image still captivated him.
So much to do.
A voice behind him. He turned. No one to be seen in the darkness.
So little time.
The voice was over him. He looked up, but there was no one again. Only shadows.
Take your time. Don't be afraid.
Afraid? Afraid of what? What was there to be afraid of?
The door is still closed.
What door?
Step forward.
He did. What else was he supposed? Compellence to do so came from somewhere he could not guess, but this was the first direction he had in this haze-filled dream.
He walked towards the center of the platform, where a light shone clearly above. He felt warmth in its glow. A welcoming change from the dower shadows from before.
Power sleeps within you.
A shift in the platform. The ground moved only a little, but enough to get his attention.
From his left, right, and behind him, three spires rose. Similar in design, they were the first obvious change to this rather pretty mural. But the changes did not stop there.
If you give it form…
A shield. A sword. And an odd stick appeared over the three prisms. Appearing in bright gleams of light, they floated over them with obvious importance.
They seemed oddly familiar to Jaune.
It will give you strength.
Strength. Strength how? Jaune's words were cut off again from his lips before they could even be muttered. It would seem he was there to listen, not to speak.
The path of strength, the warrior. Invincible courage. A sword of terrible destruction.
The sword shined a little brighter.
The path of defense, the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all.
The shield certainly looked more appealing, then.
The path of wisdom, the mystic. Inner strength. A staff of wonder and ruin.
The stick twinkled at its end.
The obvious motion was to choose one. That was what the voice was telling him.
Jaune Arc looked to all three.
Of course, as a boy, the most obvious choice was always the sword. Something which radiated the power within all young men. But he knew, from memory, that his ability with something like it was…limited. At best. And his ineptitude with such a tool, even in this bizarre dream, was not something he wished to think of.
The shield. His father, in a rare moment of teaching, spoke of the importance of the shield. How if he were to ever have need of tool to protect himself or another, the shield would not do him wrong. That above all others, it would keep him alive for much longer than anything else. His father had…a larger piece then this. But this could serve his smaller frame just fine.
Then the staff. There was something otherworldly to it. Something beyond anything he knew. A potential that he did not know but felt strongly to wish for. To know what might be within him or what the staff may hold. How tempting.
Choose…choose…choose…
He stepped onto the platform and reached for the shield.
You have chosen the path of service. Of sacrifice. To bear the weight of the world and press on through it.
The shield vanished. A shimmer of light, passing through his chest. He felt a brief tightness where it went, but then it vanished as quickly as it came.
In return, he felt something…warm. Nice.
The ground shifted. The platform, and those around him, fell into the mural.
::HEARTOFANARC::
Jaune almost fell to his knees but managed to keep standing. Something was not right, he could already tell. The shadows were starting to shift around him. Creating a sound that did not bring comfort or sound feelings.
Then, the mural shattered. And he fell.
But this time, Jaune did not feel so lost. And his fall was not so long. For a new mural appeared to catch his fall.
This one was similar to the last. A long, dark-haired girl. Younger than he was, by the look of it. Unfamiliar, too. Dressed in very fine fabrics. Her hands were pressed together, as if in prayer. And her eyes were shut closed, though rather softly. Like she, too, was asleep. Three circular images surrounded her; a silver-haired man, a dark-haired man in a mask, and a beauty who looked similar to the girl. A mother, maybe? Jaune didn't know.
He felt a pulling in his chest. The light returned, twisting around himself before falling into his hand.
The shield returned. It's sudden weight not even phasing him.
You've gained the power to fight.
Fight? Fight what? What could you fight with a shield?
He gave the new tool a swing. Brought it close, to protect. The teen supposed, at the right angle, with the right thrust, he could do damage with this thing. But it wasn't the sword…
There will be times you have to fight.
Jaune's eyes twitched to the side. Something moved. Something in the shadows at the edge of the mural. A couple somethings. Then more. Shadows twisted out, scurrying small forms on the ground. Wriggling and twisting. With beady, yellow eyes.
Keep your light burning strong.
Light? What-
The shadows took solid form and leapt for him.
Jaune tried to yelp with his silenced lips, bracing his arm with shield in hand to meet these solid shadows. They moved with warped and awkward shifts, maybe meant to throw him off. How awkward they were with their small, clawed hands. Their staunch legs and small feet. And their heads – pure gold eyes with antennas at the top and nothing else. What simple creatures.
They held weight to them, too. Jaune pushed one off, holding the shield as right as he could. How little practice he had with sword, it was even less with shield. He thought himself an idiot for choosing such a tool then.
He swung at one creature. The shield would work well, he hoped. But the monster fell into the mural, disappearing from touch. A more literal shadow in the ground.
He kept himself up. Another little monster went at him, only to meet shield again. Jaune struggled less with this one, pressing him back easier than before.
Go! Now!
He listened. With the creature thrown, he was stunned. He brought the shield around, smashing it's face in the side. Jaune felt the hit, saw how the creature flew back. It didn't even touch the ground before deciding it had had enough, and blew up in blackish smoke.
But now was not the time to cheer or feel good about his small victory. More came from the corner.
You can fight.
And fight he did. With shield in hand, he rushed into the swarm. Perhaps by way of madness or a sudden idea that these twisted things were not so terrifying as he first thought, Jaune pressed into each one which formed onto the mural. The swarm was dealt with in short order. The remaining few fled back into the dark.
Your heart is strong. Very strong. Not everyone would deal with such foes as you had.
Jaune felt himself beam at the words. Praise might not have always been so normal a thing for the Arc boy to receive.
But it would not last long. The mural began to change. Its color changing into black, with the girl's figure and fellow faces quickly being swallowed.
Jaune tried to shift away, but there was little room left to move.
The shadows got him again. And this time, they took a hard, uncompromising hold…
::HEARTOFANARC::
Jaune felt as if he were fighting the shadows still before he realized he was back again. Back onto another painted stage.
A blond, this time. A pretty one, too. Dressed in white and sleeping. She had very pointed ears, that much he could tell. And in her hands, a triad of triangles floated besides, as if being held by her. Protected by her. And there, just above her visage, sleeping alike, was a man dressed in green. He actually bore some resemblance to Jaune, in some manner, but with harder features. More people he did not know.
But there was something there.
This mural seemed odder then the others. At the end of it all, close to the shadows, as a doorway. The light above shined on it, the reflection needing Jaune to cover his eyes.
The closer to the light you walk, the longer your shadow…
Jaune made to move towards it. He did glance to his back and, sure enough, his shadow did start to grow longer. He paid it little mind. This was his exit. Exit from this wicked dream. He meant to take it.
The greater your shadow becomes.
The light seemed to grow a little brighter as he narrowed himself to its handle.
His shadow only grew.
Always be aware of this.
The words held some warning then. Jaune's eyes widened, as he felt a pull from behind.
He twisted around, and his shadow leapt up to greet him.
A copy of him. That's what it was. A darkened version of Jaune, copied down to the hairs on his head. But where blue eyes should have shown back, only a pair of yellow met his own.
The teen stepped back, making towards the light of the door with earnest.
The shadow only grew. Its arms began to expand. The fingers filing into long, sharpened claws. Its legs spread out and grew, abnormal in height and stance. Its face fell into something unfamiliar and threatening, no longer the young boy it resembled briefly.
And still, Jaune backed away more into the light.
But don't be afraid.
Too late.
Jaune turned around, hoping to find a door beckoning to opened away from this place.
But the door was gone. Only the accursed light remained. A light he now stood directly under.
And don't forget…
Forget? Forget wh – ah, screw it.
Jaune turned himself again. Shield raised, he felt ready to fight whatever terrible thing was coming.
But who was to suspect such a thing of nearly thirty feet, built like a monster, dark and ugly and oozing malcontent was to be their opponent. What nerve or steel in heart could prepare for something of such obvious malice or distrustful intent?
Not even the monsters of his world compared to this.
The goliath raised his hand high above. It glowed an eerie violet and red, swirling and pressing against its palm. It looked down to the boy, scared stiff by his own shadow, and aimed to bring the fist down for a quick end.
But perhaps there was still some instinct in Jaune yet. He leapt back, rolling with a certain lack of grace as the hand fell into the platform's mural. The blow and force should have been enough to smash the painting and the platform with ease, but a curious thing instead happened. The monster's hand sunk into the structure, twisted down with the same black and violet power from before. And the monster seemed none too interested in removing it.
Jaune didn't need to wait long to find out why.
Monsters began to spawn from the planted arm. The tiny little shadow things from before. And they were coming in spades.
He might have felt comfortable if it were just them. His confidence still lingered somewhere within him.
But this monster, this ominous thing…how could he fight that?
His fear made the beasts grow stronger. More nimble and aggressive. One fell to his legs, immobilizing him. The rest quickly followed with aggression and intention. Their claws made to rip his flesh and claw his sides. Screaming was not an option in this place without voice. And weighed down as he was, Jaune had little else to do but feel the pain and watch as the monster of his shadow stretched and loomed over him. Yellow eyes peering behind black, wild locks of hair at its former owner.
He lost.
Don't be afraid.
The platform and the mural began to sink into shadow. The dark power spread and twisted. And Jaune felt himself begin to sink again. He did not imagine it would have such a kind end as before.
You hold the mightiest weapon of all.
The shadowed force gripped his arms. His legs. His clothes. His hair.
So don't forget:
The shadows closed into his eyes. What light remained began to flicker and dim…
You are the one who will open the door.
::HEARTOFANARC::
As far as odd dreams went…yeah, Jaune could honestly say he'd never had worse.
Waking up soundlessly, with his back to a tree and the warm breeze of the summer day passing through his golden locks, he momentarily forgot the extreme, unnerving tension he felt most likely not a moment before. His eyes did not immediately widen, his hands did not go up to guard from some shadowed, nameless, formless but undoubtedly dangerous things. And even when his tired mind did recall the whole thing, or at least the intense, dire moments of his sleep, he did not find himself too unraveled. Most of that came from a still lingering exhaustion from his earlier day practices.
Sitting beside him, just within arm's reach, a roughly carved wood shield and sword waited patiently for their crafter to give them another whirl. They were battered and unprofessionally made, not entirely suitable for the means by which the Arc child sought to use them for, but what else was a boy to do when his family largely forbids all forms of Hunter training? Answer; improvise.
Finding the wood was easy. Sticking them together wasn't hard. Carving them into makeshift combat arms, resembling his grandfather's classic Hunter tools, was a bit trickier but not impossible. He was sure he got the weight wrong, but it wasn't like he could sneak into his father's study, measure Crocea Mors out properly, and have it returned without his notice. The last time he tried, when he was seven, he would never forget the punishment he received from the casual action. His father was a stern man. Kind and fair, at times. But you did not touch the armory without his permission.
So, since training and using proper tools was out of the question, that left plan B.
'Suck it up and make do with what you have.'
Self-teaching and hoping the videos of Hunters and Huntresses fighting would help were proving…minimally successful, at best. But, practice makes perfect, as his Mom always said. Though that was more for his attempts at learning the guitar at one point in his life than actual combat training. But it still worked under the same basic principle.
Jaune was relaxed now. No great shadow. No darkness. No weird platforms or pictures or girls.
Just the grass. The woods. The sun shining and the birds chirping away.
His home.
What a relief.
He let out a long yawn, still feeling the fatigue from early-day exercises. His arms stung a little, his fingers would have blisters he'd need to pull, and it felt like he pulled a muscle at a twist he was woefully ill-prepared to perform. Still, hard work paid off. He didn't need an academy or his father's help. He'd be a hero, like his grandfather. Traveling the world, slaying the monsters which bated the people, standing proud and earning the recognition his name used to have.
He started late, he knew. His sisters told him so. Said he would be better off as a musician.
But he still had time. He told himself that. He could still be-
"Jaune!" A voice called out from the woods. "Jaune! Time to come home! Mom made lunch!" His sister's voice.
"I'll be right there!" He yelled back, knowing if he wasn't quick, his sisters would ravage whatever small feast his mom undoubtedly prepared for them. And he needed his energy; training was hard work. And he really didn't trust his own skill in cooking something up, that's for sure.
The boy stood up quickly. The muscles in his legs hurt less than his arms, but still held a tightness he could ignore. He pulled his sword to him and gave it a toss into the hollowed hole of the oak he decided to rest on. It wouldn't do to leave his only tool to the elements.
Or worse, his mom or dad found them.
He pulled his makeshift shield up, knowing it would have to in, as well, but paused before giving it a toss. The memory of his sleep coming back to him.
That odd shield was heavier. But the extra weight made it feel more natural. Balanced, too. Maybe he would add something to this to make it feel more natural. It couldn't hurt, really. It almost felt like he was used to the weight now, even if it was just a dream.
"Hmm. A really weird dream," he corrected his thoughts.
He tossed the shield into the tree and made off running for home. And whatever thoughts of his unusual dream soon left him.
It was probably unimportant.
::HEARTOFANARC::
Garen Crownguard.
Born to the family of Crownguard charged with the defense and protection of the king of Demacia, firstborn child to Pieter Crownguard, who served under and stood as the shield for the current Demacian King, Jarvan Lightshield the Third. He was a giant of man of significant presence, walking steadily through the great white halls of The Citadel of Dawn. Arrayed from toe to breast in heavy but well cushioned armor, made only for the most exemplary of men under the Dauntless Vanguard, Garen towered over his fellow knights and men by sheer bulk and appearance. Cleanly cut and sternly looking, he was an ever-proud protector of his home and people. A recognized figure, admired by many, and an honorable sir who would one day take his place as protector of the royal family and give his life for it, so if it were asked for or required.
But right now, he was unamused.
Before he would stand beside his king, heirs to House Crownguard were first stationed to the protection of the heirs of House Lightshield. Namely, Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth; Prince of Demacia. A prince who, conveniently, was away from his chambers without notice to his stationed men or maids or housekeepers to his location. Without location, Garen found his position as prince protector to be somewhat difficult.
Now, Garen did have some patience. It was a well-known and recognized fact that the prince and his guard were friends of the deepest bond. Brothers, if not by blood, then by strife and tenacity alone. By conflict fought together and hardships stood side-by-side against. They joked and laughed and shared many a secret between the other. Some no other man or woman could have known of or even suspected. Both would fall into the deepest pits of the Noxian Empire to see the others safe and sound, and had done so before.
But still, when his lord decided to go wandering off without word or notice, Garen's job became understandably tedious.
He had some manner of idea where he was. The same place he remained in for some days, studying everything from ancient lore to old texts to even the stars. While Jarvan was a man of learned combat, his equally astute and scholarly background could not be disputed. And of late, his mind and eyes had been to matters Garen had little understanding towards.
For the last couple months, he'd found the prince oft in the same location. In the family study, atop one of the highest towers, connected to an observatory which he found to be moving more often than not these days. Sometimes it would be pointed east, west, north, south, anywhere and everywhere. What for, who was to say. Maybe only Jarvan and the gods truly knew.
Still, as he made his way up the tower, he already prepared his usual morning greeting by heart. Should the prince have worked through the night, normal greetings and advice to seek rest at the next opportunity would be a must. If he was resting in his chair, normal morning greetings and a mention that a bed made for a far better resting quarter then the old tower could ever hope to be. And if he should have been drooling again into some old, priceless passage of antiquity? Normal routine, with a small jab at his predicament. Maybe with a mention of how dragging his armor up the tower's narrow walkway was a chore in itself, with a little banter to wake up the prince. It always lightened the mood.
"My lord," Garen called through the door, knocking with his large, armored glove, "might I enter?"
No answer. Which meant he might be sleeping.
Garen entered afterwards. He needed to be somewhat careful where he stepped, the room held text older than his household and infinitely more valuable than anything his family owned. There were titles and authors and information he most certainly could have spent a lifetime trying to discern, and most likely being no further to the truth of whatever he read since his first day at trying. Garen was a warrior, not a scholar. His sister would probably have appreciated this place far more than he.
"My lord?" He called again. The front desk of the study, where books stacked above one another in great lengths, was empty of any manner of movement. Garen's eyes went above to the second or third levels. No sign of a prince to be found.
Hmm. Well, this was not necessarily a bad thing. Though no one had seen him in training or with the king, this did not necessarily mean anything. Perhaps he was simply by the observatory; the sun was rising, but some stars could still be made if looked for.
It was then, as he made for the door, that his eyes caught the small piece of paper on the desk.
This would not be so unusual, yet it bore a strange seal on it. Not of House Lightshield, but the insignia for House Crownguard. And how it laid so plainly away from all manner of books or disturbances, it was obviously there to be seen. Seen, maybe, by him.
This was unusual. And part of Garen thought better than to read it, in fear that such a gesture would be wrong or inappropriate.
Still, Jarvan wasn't here. And he was his friend. And this paper did have his family crest holding it sealed…
He opened it quickly.
::HEARTOFANARC::
"Lux! Lux, hold on!"
Luxanna Crownguard, or more commonly referenced by her friends and family by the affectionate 'Lux', turned around when her name was called by a familiar voice. She was a young, blond maiden, attired in light armor and dressed somewhat cleanly in blue. And, like her father, brother – Garen, the man running towards her in loud, frantic steps – and many Crownguard before her, she was stationed in the citadel in service to her majesty and king. Dutifully. Happily.
The young woman smiled beamingly to her new arrival.
"Garen!" She shouted to her older brother. "Good morning! It's been awhile, how are-"
"Shhh!" Garen hissed, bringing a large hand to her lips, shutting her usual greetings promptly. A surprising action for the usually well-kept soldier, but there was something off about him. His face was covered in sweat, his eyes wide, and…where was Jarvan? Those two were usually connected to the hip at this point in the day. "We have a situation!" He whispered, pulling the young woman off to the side of the hallways and into a crevice for some privacy. "A huge, horrible, dastardly thing has happened!"
"Hmm? Like what?" Oh, did Jarvan get captured again? Garen was just getting over his failure from the last time it happened. "Brother, you look like you've seen our uncle's ghost, what's wrong?"
"Something-something! Gah!" His hands went to the short strands of his hair, looking as if to try and pull them out. "I-I need to tell you something, Lux! But it has to be kept a secret! A secret about the prince!"
A secret? When was the last time he trusted her with something like that, she wondered? About the prince, no less. "A secret? A secret from who?"
"Who?! Everyone!"
Oh, quite a secret, then. "Like from Shyvana?" A member of Jarvan's Elite Guard. Maybe only the second most important person to the prince's life, and that was sometimes even debated on in hushed rumors.
"Without question."
"Quinn?" The equivalency of Demacia's own spy. Another close friend of Jarvan, too.
"Absolutely not!"
"The king?"
"N-we'll report it to him soon," even Garen hesitated to keep something from his majesty. "B-but between us, I have to tell you something of the utmost-"
"Oh! Hi there!" Lux turned her head around her brother's mass, pointedly looked around him and waving cheerfully to someone outside Garen's view. "Good morning!"
The giant of a knight looked confused to where her sister's attention turned. He moved himself around, casting his eyes back.
There stood Shyvana, the half-dragon. And Quinn, the ranger, with her trusted falcon by her shoulder.
Both looked less than impressed with him.
::HEARTOFANARC::
Jack Arc was home.
Oh, what a wonderfully tense expression crawled on Jaune's face. Walking into the room, seeing the patriarch of the house. His visage was not some terrible thing, seeing how his sisters doted on him or how he smiled and laughed at their wanting of his attention. His blond hair cut short, his face rugged with lack of shave, but he was handsome all the same. And his smile, tired though it might have looked, really did show off some measure of elderly handsome that hadn't waned in the years since he could no longer call himself a young stallion.
"Dad," Jaune greeted by the back door, "you're home early."
His father turned his attention to him. His good-natured smile and relaxed edge seemed to fade and stiffen. "The grimm didn't prove too troubling," he answered his son. "I managed them and decided not to waste any time getting back here."
A casual answer. Jaune nodded stiffly. "Good," he said. "I'm glad."
Jack nodded back. "You look well. How have you been?"
As standard a question and greeting as the boy was used to. "Fine," Jaune answered, "just fine."
"Doing anything? Doing good?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm just…I was walking."
"Walking where?"
"Around. Just around."
"Hmm."
Jaune's eyes tried to keep to the man, but fell to the ground. He felt so small, even when his growth spurt was just starting to kick in.
"Well, alright. Grab something to eat." The older Arc male lifted himself from his chair. His daughters moving around with food on plates and in-hand to move out of his way. "Be sure to tell your mother thanks. And clean up any dishes she has."
A standard chore. Ordered and not to be argued with. "I will," he nodded, still avoiding the older man's eyes. "Glad to have you back, Dad."
"Hmm. Yeah."
He left his son to the kitchen, his daughters following behind. Amazing how such active bunch of young girls could seem so quiet in a room when the two were together.
Jaune stood still for a moment, waiting for his father to be out of sight before moving to what food remained. Bit of meat, bit of fruit, and still some milk to work with. Plenty of it left for a growing boy to be full from.
"So there's the missing teenager of the house," an excitable chirp sounded behind him. A middle-aged woman, blond hair tied into a bun above her, just showing the barest sign of age. She smiled a wonderful smile towards the lone figure in the room. "I was starting to wonder if I only had a small army of girls to deal with. Glad to know you didn't run away when I wasn't looking."
Jaune swallowed his food and smiled. "Hey, Mom."
"Why, hello there, sweetie," the matron of the Arc' house moved herself around towards the food. Smile never leaving her. "Didn't hear you wake up this morning. Leave early again?"
She thought he was helping the Coppers with their farm work. "Y-yeah. Denson wanted a little help with a new horse he got," he lied. For the last few months, he'd started to become rather good at it. And since the Coppers were more than happy to play along, this made his tale a little easier to sell. They were a bit kooky like that, but Jaune liked them. Sold good quality milk to his family, too.
"Well, that was nice of you. I can see your starting to build a little muscle there. Good to see old Copper putting you to the grinder."
Jaune actually beamed a little, trying to look casual as he measured his arms. "Thanks."
"So, is that what you think you want to end up doing? Being a farmer?" It was an innocent enough question, but one with implications behind it.
Jaune saw this veiled question easily enough and stiffened slightly. "Maybe," he practically yelped, his mother joining him at the table. "I'm still thinking about it."
"Well, you know that's what my dad, and you know how he felt about it," his mother's dad, not his dad's. His dad's dad was long gone. "I won't turn you away from something you like, but I will warn you. It's hard, honest work, but you best be sure you've got the stomach for it. I'd like if you tried out a few other things before you set yourself down, if that's not too much to ask," she took a large bite. "Just…just be sure you know what you want to do before you stick to it, alright? You still have a bit of growing up to do. Want you to test all your options out before settling on one. Sound good?"
He was testing his options. "Y-yeah, I think I can do that." He took a finishing bite of his apple, nearly taking some seeds with it. "I'll keep that in mind."
"That's my boy. Oh! And your father's back! Be sure to say hi to him, you know how he just loves when he sees you."
She missed their greeting, he guessed. No surprise; with his daughters, Jack was almost cheerful and loud in his words to be heard even from the furthest corner of their home. But towards Jaune, a quiet and soft tone was often used to convey the standard greeting of two Arc men.
Jaune had his doubts on the truthfulness of his mother's last claim, but nodded behind his apple regardless. Creating household drama didn't interest him like some of his siblings. "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."
"Oh, I know you will. Come on, be a dear and help me with the dishes, would ya?" Jaune didn't even look surprised by the swiftness of the woman's ability to devour her meals with ease.
"That's alright," he said, "I've got it."
His mother actually looked touch. "You are just the sweetest, you know that?" Jaune moved over to the sink, his mother giving him a quick touch on the cheek before moving towards the somewhat dulled sounds of teenage and adult sisters ramming their father with questions on his latest exploits. Ones he sounded only to eager to answer.
And so, in the quiet of the kitchen, Jaune passed the time cleaning.
Thinking about what 'Hunter Exercise' he might try next.
::HEARTOFANARC::
Jaune came back later in the day again, when the sun began to set. He was covered in sweat, aching in the arms, but it was of a good kind. Effort and exercise. He felt stronger every day. More confident. His left arm hurt more today than usual, after finding the means to add further weight to his passive shield. It didn't quite meet the same standards of his dream, but it was closer. More natural and sturdy. He rather liked it.
Still, he limped into the doorway, rubbing his face into his clothes and certainly stinking up the room. He called it a natural musk from hardwork. His sisters had decidedly less kind words to say.
"You stink."
Yes, like that.
Jaune actually yelped then, the sudden voice throwing him. "D-Dad!" He cried, looking towards the living room. "H-h-hi! You, there, hi!"
"Hello," the older man replied, "you're back late." Jack Arc sat in his personal chair. A chair Jaune only found himself able sit in when his sisters were away, his father gone, and the house empty. It was a nice chair, but most certainly his father's. No one dared sit in if he were around, though his sisters might have gotten away with it as a practical joke in their young, cuter years. Jaune would only get a look, telling him to move. One he never disobeyed.
Presently, the older man was busy. In his hand, a long sword sat in his lap. A weapon of slender steel, wide as Jaune's stomach. Jack's personal weapon, which weighed more than Jaune himself. His father was giving it a good fixing while his shield waited just out of reach.
Attila and Ancile.
"Were you helping the neighbors with somethin'?" The man working his weapon asked innocently enough.
"Uh, yeah," lying to his father proved more difficult than Jaune would have guessed. "I was, uh, you know. Mr. Copper wanted help planting his, uh, onions."
Jack kept sliding the whetstone over. "Onions? Aren't those better planted in the winter?" He did pass Jaune a curious glance.
To his credit, the teen only just managed to avoid a panic attack. "I-it's just what he wanted."
"Hmm," he stared into Jaune's eyes for a long moment, stalling in his care of the sword. Jaune tried not to look away. "Maybe Denson knows something I don't…" He went back to his tending. "Can you pass me my shield?"
Jaune's eyes widened only a little, glancing over to the thing by the wall. A tower shield, wider then he was. And by how, even in the few times he'd seen his father work with it, he knew there was a weight behind it.
"Sure," he went to grab its sides. The black metal was cool to his touch, not irritating the blisters so much. But his attempt at moving it back was surprisingly hard-fought. And the sudden shift – it almost fell on him. The weight of Ancile was something almost otherworldly!
"Careful," his father said casually, not bother to even look up to his son struggle, "it's heavy."
Jaune didn't disagree. His hands went around it and shifted himself to give it a lift. Took him a good moment to not collapse from the effort. Dragging it over would have been a far easier task, but his father would have likely criticized him for the act. Probably would have damaged the flooring, too.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four. Five. And final six, he tried to bring the shield down as carefully by the man's side as he could. He already felt a new sweat beginning to take over him.
"Thanks," Arc senior said, giving Attila a last look over before carefully lowering it aside and taking at Ancile's handles. With how easily he managed to shift it over himself, and how the chair groaned in protest, Jaune could only marvel at the sight quietly. His father was a real Hunter. "She's served me well," Jack began to talk again after a moment of looking the bulk of metal over. "Ancile here? Remember when I got her? You thought I bought you a snowboard." His laugh was good-natured, but Jaune still remembered the mistake and shifted embarrassed. "The Silvers made her. Heavy as a horse. They couldn't believe I could lift her. Hmph, almost couldn't believe it myself. No special attachments or advancements. Just how I wanted it.
"Too many hunters aim for great adjustments or make their tools into something multi-functional. Swords which turn into guns. Axes with rocket propellers. Shields which launch missiles. It's madness, really. And expensive, no question of that. Your great grandfather didn't need anything special to put a Death Stalker down. Just good, sharpened steel. And a truckload of confidence to help.
"Hunters today? They're becoming too dependent on them. I've seen it happen. The changing function will lock up midway. The dust dispensers implode or backfire or just run out. Even saw someone lose an arm because their axe's throwable return feature was too sudden and fierce to catch normally." Jack found a few dents. He reached for a hammer. "Too few Hunters these days. So many having to retire because of stupid mistakes. Or dying from them. We have those academies up, but truthfully? I don't expect even a tenth of this year's graduates will make it past five years. Only the really gifted will live that long. Ones who know how to fight past their weapons.
"Good steel. That's what these two are. I know what they can do. They're more than some transforming piece of metal with nifty functions. They're…simple!" He pounded a particularly difficult dent out. "Manageable. Very few surprises to them. Requires real skill to use. Not some application that's just as likely to bust when you need it most. The weapon does not make the Hunter."
Jack paused for a moment, knocking out the last dent in the shield. His eyes looked distant. Long and hard.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He looked up to his son.
Jaune stood by the entire time. Perplexed. Mesmerized even. He couldn't recall when was the last his dad talked with him for so long. He tried to look confident and understanding to whatever he was saying.
"Yeah. I…I think I do…"
Jack was quiet for a moment, staring at his son. Those blue eyes of his; a lighter shade then his. His mother's influence, most like.
"Wash yourself off. Your sisters are going to head into town. I think they mean to take you dancing."
One of the few things to do around. Listen to music and move to it.
"I'll look after them."
"Good boy."
::HEARTOFANARC::
Garen,
So, by now, you've probably noticed I'm not in the citadel any longer. Or, perhaps, anywhere in Demacia. I'm afraid that trouble has begun to fester that requires my attention. A darkness has begun to sweep amongst the stars. They are blinking out at an alarming rate, and I have concerns that the reasons may not be natural.
This shadow might find its ways to Demacia, so I have taken to discovering what has caused this disturbance. I hate to leave you, my father, or the entirety of my home but duty is calling me to see this danger felled before it can move forward.
I have been in contact with foreign forces. Those who have some inkling of the danger that is rising. They have told me of another, someone who might stand to challenge this darkness. Someone wielding a special item – a 'Key' – which could save our beloved home from demise.
I ask you to seek out this individual. Guide him. Protect him. Bring only what you think will be necessary. Travel light and quick to the Town of Traverse. A man by the name of Dante will be waiting for you. He will point you in finding this person. My father will help you in your next step. Bring him this letter, he will understand.
I cannot stress enough the importance of your new duty. The fate of everyone and everything might rest on our shoulders. It is a task I do not put lightly on your shoulders, my friend, but I see no other way this may be done.
Take care of yourself. And may our paths cross again soon.
Your friend – Jarvan, fancy titles and superfluous names and alike
P.S. Do apologize to Shyvana on my behalf. She might kill me, if you don't.
Oh yes. This was Jarvan's writing.
Amidst a large hall, several men and women gathered by an ivory throne. The man who sat in it, elderly and holding an air of wisdom and presence, read aloud the parchment in his hand to his audience. He looked very tired then, dragging his fingers through his beard.
"A most troubling boy. Always so troubling…"
Garen stepped forward, hand to his breast and kneeling. "My king, I must apologize. I take blame for this-"
"If Jarvan wanted to leave, there would be very little you or I could do to stop him," Garen's king interrupted, waving off the youth's words. "My son has always been impulsive. Even before you both met. A trait, I swear, I have tried and failed too many times to quell." He shook his head then glanced back to the paper. "He is gone now. Beyond Demacia."
"Sir, our lands are vast. I don't believe he could have passed our borders so quickly. Give me time, and I would find his path and-"
"Thank you, Quinn," again, the king interrupted, waving a calming hand to the fierce member of his court, "but I doubt you would find him even if you searched every inch or crevice of Runeterra. No, I believe my son has moved beyond this land. And beyond this world, along with it. To a place I doubt even your Valor could find so easily."
The large bird at the woman's shoulder looked almost offended at the accusation.
"My king, I don't understand."
"In truth, I understand little of it, myself. But I know it to be true, from experience and the old tomes of ancient warriors and myths. How beyond the skies and to the stars themselves, lands of richness and untold wonders lie. Separated by great spaces which only the most…unique of transports may find. To these stars which seem to be blinking out, as my son has written. Meaning that these new worlds are beginning to disappear by terrible forces. And he fears that ours may soon be its next target."
Lux, standing by her brother, stepped forth. "This sounds almost of impossibility."
"Or madness," Shyvana, the violet-skinned, red armor clad woman added from the corner with a look which spoke wonders of her liege's actions. Disapproval being the strongest.
"Be it none or both, I still believe my son knows of some method to make it past these hidden borders which separate us. To step on soils no Demacian has ever seen or felt. In search of something that may stop this calamity from befalling us." Again, the aged king looked down at his letter. "I understand what my son asks of me and my part in his plan. But I am wary to send one of my vanguard on an errand such as this. I could not ask you so callously to put your life-"
"I would give my life willing, my king," Garen interrupted. "If the crown prince asks of it, be it command or wish, then I swear I would follow his word through with all purpose and ability." As colorful a declaration of loyalty and friendship could be found. Fitting for a Crownguard.
The old king only smiled. "With words such as those, how could I bar you further?" He stroked his chin. "Any and all supplies will be provided to you, of course. But I would not have you take this journey alone. The dangers will most likely be great, and a single Demacian knight is no army, no matter how renowned and fearless. No, I would send you with another. A volunteer, maybe. One I might allow leave. Who amongst this small meeting would be right to stand beside you, I wonder, through all manner of tribulations?"
"I would go. My life is bound to his, from this world or any world beyond. I will bring him back, unharmed and untroubled."
"As would I, my king. Valor will make short work of his enemies and make finding this 'Key' a short task."
"Ah, Shyvana. Quinn. I expected no less from either of you." He stroked his chin some more, looking over both willing ladies. "But, I am afraid I have matters that would require both of your expertise, at this time. So, while your shows of loyalty do you both great credit, I must unfortunately decline them."
Quinn relented to his words, ever a true Demacian. Shyvana, however, looked ready to set fire to something or anything. Perhaps only the thought of how the prince might react to her roasting his father prevented her actions being taken.
"Hmm…" Again, the king looked out. Deciding duties, possibilities, even relations to his close friend and protector's son. Then his eyes fell on someone who might just work splendidly. "My dear Luxanna. Would you please step forth?"
How curious. The youngest Crownguard did step towards the throne, kneeling beside her brother, who she could tell was eying her curiously.
"I would have you take up your brother's side. To assist and offer council where he might need it," the king could see the child's eyes widen and express surprise, even from where she knelt. His eyes were not so bad, just yet. "Would you be willing to take this arduous task with him?"
"…If my king wishes it," she spoke calmly, still knelt, "then I shall." She raised her head, as did her brother, looking to the other carefully.
"I am gladdened to hear it. It sets an old father's heart at ease to know he sends some his finest and most deserving of Demacia's men and women. Now," the king stood from his throne. Everyone straightened with him, "if you would please follow me. I will lay out what must be done. And provide you with what you will need to move forward with my son's plan."
The king began to walk to the side, followed by his entourage. Garen and Lux, following their king with their eyes for only a moment, rushed to keep up with him.
Lux had not the words to say on this matter. Only to know that to be given a grand quest to find a wayward prince beyond Demacia's domains, and beyond the stars themselves, was not so normally a thing given. Even to a Crownguard! And oh, the excitement she started to feel! Most unbecoming for a lady, but who cared! This was…incredible!
Garen was of a slightly more methodical mind. Already, he had plans in motion. Necessities which would be needed to travel light and quick. Rules which he would need to illustrate with his sister if this mission was to not only be a success, but to be without issue or flaw. The prince's life was at stake; he would not fail to meet the high expectations and standards the Crownguard name held for many and everyone who recognized their sigil.
Efficiency. Success. Honor. Duty.
They would find the lost prince. And this 'Key' in short order.
Garen of House Crownguard just knew it.
::HEARTOFANARC::
Three years later...
"…the robbery was led by nefarious criminal, Roman Torchwick, who continues to evade authorities. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact the Vale Police Department. Back to you, Lisa."
The broadcast shifted, but Jaune wasn't really paying attention. His focus was more towards the people in the flying ship he similarly occupied then.
Smiling faces, hopeful looks, young ladies and men checking their arsenals and equipment or making idle chat with friends or allies or those from academy life before. A nice moment, one even he could appreciate on his own.
Funny, he thought, on how he could feel so alone in a room full of some much connection.
But those were dower thoughts he did not wish to dwell on. Instead, he thought to more pleasant thing. To adventures ended and times changed. To old friends and relationships kept dear. To ancient evils triumphed over and how shadowed forces could be stopped. Beaten with nary anyone to be aware. To doing something grand and impossible and knowing that to tell anyone was not to be believed. To moments of laughter, camaraderie, kinship and connections that wouldn't ever disappear. To how and why he came back here. To this place. To his home. To see if just that, maybe, there was still a place here to for him to see. A place to feel normal again.
How joining a class full of teens and students who wanted to protect the world from armies of evil-personified was a good start, the Arc teen couldn't say. From a certain perspective, it wasn't too large a change from what he did before.
These were baby steps, as a close friend would tell him. A friend he missed already. And it had only been a month.
Yeah, normal. Maybe he chose a wrong career choice to fall back to after he left the last one.
"Hello, and welcome to Beacon."
Jaune's eyes perked up, distractive thoughts moving away. Someone was speaking now.
A hologram of a blond-haired woman in a white, long-sleeved top appeared at the center of the vehicle's floor. She wore a lengthy black skirt with a purpose cape behind her. Her face might have been called stern and maybe even intimidating to some, but she was still pretty enough. Regal was a term for her stance and posture. An authoritative figure, most likely a professor of their next destination.
She had the attention of everyone onboard.
"My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You are among a privileged few to receive the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy.
"Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."
The recording was short and sweet and had the effect of riling the crowd. The other potential students moved towards the edge of the windows, looking outward. Excited whispers and mutterings filled the room, as the shuttle slowly started to descend on this high spired, wide and magnificent area of this campus of future heroes. How their next four years would be spent where the greatest of legends were made.
This was Beacon Academy. Jaune's new home.
Funny, the Arc teen thought then. The place actually looked a little familiar, somehow. Or he'd seen someplace like it, once.
Maybe in a dream…