Ashibumi 1.1

I sprinted through the dense undergrowth, the treacherous uneven ground doing nothing to impede my sure footed step. I knew every part of this island, every inch of its landscape, I could traverse it on a moonless night with the same surety as I did now.

It was all I could do these days. I couldn't make it past the razor sharp reef on my own, as the faded scars on my back and chest could attest to, and even if I made it past the current and reef, the horrific storms and heavy seas would make any makeshift raft into a death sentence. So I stayed here.

And ran.

And trained.

And hunted.

But today was different, today I'd smelt something different on the wind, a very distinctive odour that had caused a fierce spark of hope in my heart.

Fumes.

I smelt exhaust from a machine.

That meant technology.

That meant people.

It meant I could finally get of this island and get home.

But only if I moved quickly.

My arms brushed aside another branch as I dashed further forcing every iota of speed out of my muscles. I came to a high drop and instead of slowing I surged over it, my hands lashing out on a branch and using it to pull myself through the air landing lightly on my feet as I kept up my pace.

I slid across the loose stone until I came to the bottom of the steep cliff face, my goal resting at the top of the rocky platform. Most people wouldn't have attempted something like this without a full set of rock-climbing
equipment and protective gear.

Me?

I climbed it with my bare hands and feet with nothing but a ragged pair of pants and a makeshift hoody I'd made out of some sheets that had washed ashore. I climbed like a man possessed, leaping from one handhold to the next with my whole body at a breakneck pace my toughened palms and soles of my feet latching firm to the cliff face propelling me scrambling up to the top before I pulled myself over the lip of the edge with a grunt. I looked up and I could see it the dust plane trawling slowly through the sky. I could see my ticket home.

But it couldn't see me.

Time to change that.

I leapt forward across the spine of the rocky cliff top running as fast as I could, jumping over the drops back down into the canyon before I slid to a stop next to my goal.

It was a makeshift bundle, made from the same material as my hood that held one of my most treasured objects here on the island. I unfolded it to reveal a bow and some hand crafted arrows, the tips all cut from unrefined fire dust, taken from the abandoned mine.

I inhaled and let my aura flow through my body and into the arrow, the arrowhead now glowing white hot akin to a blade in a forge. Not much time before it detonates, can't expect much from the unrefined stuff.

I grabbed the bow and nocked the arrow pulling the tight drawstring back to full draw, the sea wind blowing my dirty matted hair over my unwavering eyes. No matter. I already knew where the target was, I did not need my eyes to see it.

I forced myself to stay calm and focused on my breathing. On the next full breath. I exhaled slowly feeling the air drift out of me before I inhaled the bitingly cold air of the island only further honing my sharpened focus.

I breathed in, feeling the wind blowing against me as I did so and adjusted my aim minutely.

Then I fired.

The arrow soared the air like a bullet from a gun arcing up into the sky, the white hot arrowhead blazing a trail through the air, before descending down like a javelin from on high and slamming into the large pile of fire dust crystals stacked down on the beach front.

The arrow did its job perfectly the raw red dust detonating in conflagration of flames with such force that I could feel the explosion from up here. I looked up at the air ship, a desperate hope still flickering away within my heart.
Come on…

Please see it…

Then, like providence from above a spot light blazed out from the aircraft swiftly focusing on the bonfire as the aircraft came about.

I don't remember when I started running towards the beach but before I even seemed to realise it I was already tearing through the forest, my bow held tightly in a firmly held grip as I spun and mantled over any obstacle that got in my way before I slowed as I stepped off of dirt and onto the jagged rocks that signified I'd reached the beach.

The beach, just like everywhere else on this island was harsh and cruel, instead of sand there was only sharp rock constantly whetted by the harsh crashing waves. It was here I had first washed up on the island, the hell that was called Tartarus. And now it was where I would be leaving it.

The Airship had landed on the beach, people in crisp white uniforms disembarking down a ramp onto the island, polished clean guns in hand as they scanned the area. One was examine my makeshift Grimm repellent, a series of Grimm skulls mounted on wooden pikes. Surprisingly more efficient than you'd think. Grimm really don't like going near other dead Grimm.

Finally one soldier spotted me as I made my way forward, calling out to their comrades with a startled voice before commanding me to stop and drop to my knees.

I did so quickly, dropping to my knees uncaring of the natural daggers now pushing into me as I raised my hands above my head, my eyes scanning the soldiers' equipment and the ship as I did so.

It was a high tech thing, better than anything I'd ever seen before, so either airships have gotten a lot better over the last five years or this was a newer model. There was a symbol emblazoned on both the ship and the soldiers looking like a white snowflake of some kind. That rang a bell dully in my mind, I know this symbol.

Or at least I did. In the time before the island. It was hard to remember those times hear, they only made it more painful so I forced myself not to remember them, to cut them off and make surviving the island my only concern.

I think it started with an…S…Maybe?

Snow Corporation?

I've got no idea.

And I honestly don't care what they're called.

They're here.

That's all that matters.

I felt my grip on the bow slacken as I collapsed to the side, my eyes spinning as I did so.

Oof.

That hurt.

Guess I must have pushed myself harder than I thought.

Rookie mistake.

Through blurry eyes I saw someone else walk down off the ship another blur of white, that was shorter and yet whiter? I frowned as my brain tried to make sense of the jumbled sensory data. That didn't sound right.

The new person barked garbled commands at the soldiers in white who quickly sprung to attention marching over to me and carefully lifting me up and began making their way back onto the airship.

It's happening.

I'm going home.

And at that my eyes lost the fight to stay open and only darkness remained.

BEEP

….

….

….

BEEP

…

…

BEEP

…

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

BEEPBEEP

BEEPBEEPBEEP

Oh shut up already.

My eyes opened slowly flinching away from the bright light as they did so. Ow. "Easy son, take it slow, you're in
no rush." A voice said beside me low and with a hint of gravel. My body felt slow and heavy, every movement taking an age to complete. I was drugged. I remembered this sensation.

I couldn't see who was next to me yet, but there voice told me a great deal. Male, Late 50's at the earliest, genuinely empathic. As my eyes adjusted I turned to see an old man dressed in a doctor's coat, a pair of heavy black glasses sitting in front of intelligent dark eyes, greying hair kept cropped short in a vaguely militaristic fashion.

I was lying in a bed, an actual bed with a mattress and sheets, a series of cords trailing over me and attached by sticky pads to seemingly random points all over my body. A screen beside me was letting out the constant BEEP of before, the bouncing line that was my heartbeat following every beep.

I'd been stripped out of my clothes and was wearing a patient's gown, a needle in my arm feeding me whatever was no doubt causing this sleepy sensation. It was only slight but I could feel the floor rock slightly, even on the bed. Not constant enough to be the swell of the ocean. Ah, wait. I'm still on the airship then.

The doctor remained silent as I scanned the room before speaking up as my eyes focused on him once again. "I'm Doctor Swineheart." The man said calmly introducing himself as his eyes scanned his tablet which had a series of moving graphs dancing across it. I guess that must be about me, probably. "How much do you remember?" He asked his eyes looking back up from the diagnostics and back into my own.

I went to speak, and opened my mouth, my lips cracking as they did so. "An airship landed on the island." I whispered softly with my bone dry lips, trying to whet them with non-existing saliva as I did so.

Dr Swineheart quickly passed me a glass of water which I took thankfully. I forced myself not to gorge on it and drank down the whole glass at a swift but not frantic pace. "We saw your signal as we were passing by and came down to investigate. We found you on the beach but you collapsed and Ms. Schnee had the security team take you on board for treatment.

I blinked slowly at that, my hazy mind trying to make sense of the information that I had been dealt by the doctor. That name was important. It was the…ergh…wait no I've got it. "Schnee Corporation?" I rasped, the water doing little to smooth my out of practice voice.

Dr Swineheart nodded. "The same. Since the closest continent is Vytal we're making our way towards Vale Central Hospital to continue your care. What is your name, son?" The doctor asked his eyes searching mine for signs of fatigue or stress.

My name?

It's been a long time since I've said my name.

Or even thought of it.

Just like everything else before the island it reminded me of what was beyond reach, so I had to stop myself from
using it.

To survive Tartarus I couldn't be the boy who had washed up on the island. He would have died years ago. I had to forge myself into a weapon, a sword that cut down anything which tried to kill me on the island, hard steel that could survive the cold and loneliness.

And the Grimm.

Even in my drugged state I felt my hands clench into tight fists at that. Words cannot describe the depths of the hatred I feel for the Grimm. But the island had long since taught me that such hot anger serves only to burn oneself if you let it go. It must be controlled by you, or it will kill you faster than any Grimm could.

"My name…" I said my voice quiet at first but firm and unyielding like solid steel. The child that was marooned on the island is gone. I am all that remains.

"Is Jaune Arc."

At that my eyes started fluttering again, a sure sign of whatever was in the IV working its magic and sending me back towards the realm of unconsciousness. I struggled feebly, fighting to try to stay awake a little longer.

The doctor had already seen it and pushed softly down on my chest, but to my drug addled body it mas as well have been a mountain. "Go back to sleep Jaune." Dr Swineheart's voice said, sounding distorted as if I was hearing it underwater. "You're going to be alright."

I was going to see her again.

Darkness.

The door to the infirmary slid open and Dr Silber Swineheart stepped out feeling several years older than when he had stepped in.

That poor boy. When they had stripped Jaune of his filthy clothes and into the gown they had revealed the horrific scars lying beneath them, monuments to the pain and suffering he had undergone on that island.

Those were no ordinary wounds. Silber had not seen wounds like that since the war, thick painful scars inflicted by the weapons of man and faunus rather than that of the soulless Grimm. He was an army surgeon back then who treated all patients, be they faunus or human and did everything he could to ensure they survived. Life was the greatest gift one ever received and he ensured that it did not fade away into the darkness.

Silber was not usually a man of violence but seeing those wounds… He slammed a clenched fist into the wall of the airship, his teeth bared. Well there's always exceptions to the rule.

And the way his eyes had looked at him, the steel in those eyes. Those were not the eyes of a child.

The distinctive sound of clicking heels steadily approached and Silber schooled his expression into that of the professional ex-war doctor once more. "Ms Schnee." Silber said respectfully, tilting his head slightly as he did so.

Ms Schnee was young, impeccably dressed in the sheer white that all members of the Schnee family seemed to favour and appeared to have all the personality of a frozen glacier. However Silber had been a part of the Schnee household for most of the heiress' life and knew the warmth that was hidden behind her seemingly cold exterior. "How is he?" She asked, the he in this question readily apparent as she stared at Jaune through the one way glass as he slept on the infirmary bed.

Silber bit back a sigh as he thought of how exactly to word the extent of Jaune's condition. "He looks like he's been through a war." Silber informed her bringing up a small list of the boy's injuries as he did so. "He's got scar tissue across the majority of his body, signs of broken bones that he's had to set without any medical equipment and that's all I can say with the limited medical equipment here in the infirmary. He needs to be at a hospital for us to ascertain the full scale of this." Silber informed her clinically, drawing from years of experience in dealing with all sorts of injuries and maladies. "Despite that he appears to be in near perfect physical condition, his muscle tone is damn near exemplary." He shook his head lightly before focusing on Ms Schnee once more. "I've contacted my old team at Vale Central. They're readying a room and warming up the CT machine. We'll be ready to go as soon as we get there."

Ms Schnee nodded decisively. "Very well doctor, I'll inform the captain to increase our air speed." She said turning and walking towards the cockpit before she stopped and whirled around to face him once more. "Do we know his name?" She asked quietly, the concern she had been hiding under her façade plain to his practiced ears.

Silber nodded. "His name is Jaune Arc." He replied before opening he door to the infirmary and stepping inside once more, ever the diligent doctor when it came to his patient.

Ms Schnee mulled over the boy's name as she pulled out her scroll and informed the captain to increase their speed ending the call before more than a respectful "Gladly Ms W..." could be uttered. She had heard that name, the name Arc before but she couldn't put any information to go with the name she apparently remembered. Shrugging internally she chose to see what information she could find on him on the CCT. Being an heiress to the family that helped make the CCT had its benefits including all the ships in the Schnee air fleet having their own personal CCT terminal aboard the vessel.

She walked into the Eiszapfen's communication room and started a call to Schnee Corporation headquarters in Atlas. The screen remained blank for a few moments before the screen was filled with one of the Schnee employee's manning the desk back at Atlas, already aware of who was calling through the private channel.

"Hello Ms Schnee, how can I help you today?" The woman said brightly, a slight smile on her face as she seemed to beam enthusiasm into the terminal. Ms Schnee was nonplussed long since used to the routine.

"I want you to find me all the information you can about a person named Jaune Arc." Ms Schnee said firmly, idly filing a nail as she did so.

"Certainly Ms Schnee, do you have any information you can give me about Mr Arc?"

"Blonde, Blue eyes. Less than twenty."

"Alrighty then. And….there here we g…oh my."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, Ms Schnee, just…sad. It was in all the papers a few years back. One of the Schnee Passenger Airships travelling to Vytal was attacked by a murder of Nevermore mid-flight and the plane crashed into the middle of the ocean. Mr Arc was one of the passengers on board the flight. There were no survivors ever recovered. It's the reason your father funded the creation of the Bullheads."

Ms Schnee stopped at that looking over the article that had been sent by the Schnee employee. It was a newspaper detailing the tragedy of Passenger Airship Strom, dated over five years ago.

"That will be all." She said shortly and ended the call before the woman could talk any further and sat down on the chair.

Five years.

He'd survived on that desolate rock for five whole years?

Since he was twelve?

That spoke of more than just simple luck or chance.

That was will, sheer determination to survive, a fortitude beyond that of any other man except her father.

Her lip curled upwards slightly as she laid a hand on the image of a twelve year old Jaune smiling cheesilly, almost completely different from that of the scarred hardened individual sleeping in the medbay. The boy had been thrust into the crucible and dragged himself out as a warrior, a survivor.

And she'd examined the arrows that he'd had with him when he collapsed on the beach, the natural unprocessed dust rock he'd used to make his arrowheads. He'd been able to channel enough aura into it that it was able to detonate. It would take more aura than even she had to so much as attempt to do that. And he had learned how to do it seemingly on his own.

"You interest me, Jaune Arc."