Chapter 3

I wake with a startled gasp in a bed that's not mine. A firm mattress, if you can even call it that, digs its solid contours into my back and rough sheets chafe against my skin. I flail momentarily as a flood of adrenaline pumps through my veins, but the open window that greets my vision grounds me in reality. Verdant green trees reaching towards a tranquil blue sky wave lazily at me. Right. I'm not home anymore. I'm at Beacon.

I hazily remember being bundled into a transport in the dead of night. Sometime between then and now I must have been given a room. Guess I was too tired to protest. Everything's just so... strange. It's like I'm dreaming, but this is way weirder than any dream I've ever had.

Not to mention you can wake from dreams.

A knock on the door fully chases the last vestiges of sleep from my body. I drag myself from the bed, noting that I'm still in my street clothes – now very much rumpled – from last night. I turn the knob, and the stern countenance of professor Goodwitch fills my vision when the slab of wood opens fully. I take an instinctive step backwards, suddenly conscious of my haggard appearance. I mean, she's been nice so far, but I'm not gonna lie: she's really scary. Just has this aura of if you screw with me I will murder you.

"Good morning, Mr. Arc," she greets. Not quite frostily, but certainly not friendly either. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock, actually," I say. It's somewhat embarrassing to admit it, for whatever reason. Professor Goodwitch… she just makes me want to present my best. Maybe it's the instinct for self–preservation.

"I'm glad to hear that," she says with a trace of a smile. It catches me off guard. "Given the suddenness with which you arrived, I allowed you to miss this morning's conditioning session, but I expect you will rise on time tomorrow. It will not be permitted again."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you." Yeesh, Beacon doesn't waste time. Ruby and I barely made it in time for the first day, and they've already hit the ground running.

She gives me a cool nod. "Make yourself presentable and join us in the dining hall in thirty minutes." She hands me a bundle of tight cloth – my new uniform – with a meaningful glance at my clothes. I flush at the insinuation. "Classes will begin after that."

As she departs, I take a moment to explore my new room. There's not much to tell. Space is limited, and most of it is taken up by my small bed–cot–thing and a plain desk. Still, it's mine. No roommates. I even get my own bathroom.

After a quick shower, I change into my uniform and take in my reflection. It's… wow. Is that even me? A dashing young man stares from the mirror, clothed in a sharp black jacket with navy blue pants. The top of a crisp white shirt peeks over the jacket. Is it supposed to? I haven't done this before. Normal schools don't really bother with uniforms.

It seems kind of silly, taking such pains to make Hunters look good. I mean, they're basically all doomed to die, right? But it also makes sense. Hunters – and I guess I'm one of them now, or at least one in training, cuz I'm sure not gonna see live combat– we're not just soldiers. We're heroes. Icons. Everyone knows the Hunters are doomed, but at the same time, they're so impressive that, at least for a little while, you can just… forget. When you fight creatures that are drawn to negative emotion, hope is the most potent weapon of all.

I still don't know if I put this stupid thing on correctly. Well, everything seems to fit, so I hope it works.

Time to face the day. How fun.

As I leave my room, I almost run straight into Ruby. The crazy girl is tearing down the hall, caught somewhere between running and bouncing up and down like a caffeinated rubber ball. Only a near dodge on my part saves us from a nasty collision. She wheels around gracefully, silver eyes sparkling.

"Oh, there you are. We're room neighbors! Good morning!" she chirps, completely unrepentant of the havoc she nearly caused.

"Mornin'," I respond glumly. She frowns in concern.

"Are you ok? What's the matter? We're at Beacon! Beacon, Jaune!"

That's the problem.

Still… I can't just say that. I might be nervous about the day, but that doesn't mean I have to inflict it on her.

"Sorry. It's just that I don't know how to put on this uniform." I offer the first, lamest excuse that comes to mind. She skips forward, studying my appearance with a scrutinizing eye.

"I dunno. Looks right to me." She shoots me a shy sidewise glance, then twists away, but not before I spot a shade of pink in her cheeks. "You look good. I mean sharp! Like a good Hunter. Or something. Gah, you know what I mean!"

Her awkwardness really helps, actually. I can feel a little bit of my building stress dissipate into a small smile. "Thanks. You… you do too." Ugh. I'm so lame. Just offer her a compliment, Jaune. She even did it first. Don't be some awkward, blushing, clumsy school boy. What are you, some twelve year old kid?

I'm not saying it just to flatter her, though. I mean it. She has the same uniform as me – Beacon doesn't really discriminate between male and female students. Probably because the Grimm don't either. Unlike me, however, Ruby wears hers with the comfortable grace of a pro.

"Come on," she tugs on my arm. "Let's go eat before they run out of cookies!"

… Cookies? At breakfast?

Yeah, I'm not the only kid around here.

::-::-::

Shoot.

Me.

Now.

Oh, not because of breakfast. It had been one of the best meals of my life. Absolutely amazing food. Beacon didn't skimp, let me put it that way.

No. What's killing me is my absolute lunatic of a professor.

Immediately after breakfast, I'd been rushed into a lecture hall with probably a hundred other students. Like the rest of the academy, the hall prioritized function over form. The desks were plain and the flooring just simple tile, but there was plenty of room for everyone.

My professor introduced himself as "Peter Port, but you shall refer to me as Professor." A solidly built man with a massive mustache and jovial features set into a permanent squint, he looks more like someone I would expect to see entertaining children during major holidays than the experienced Hunter he claimed to be.

Don't be fooled. He's not nice.

"Alpha beowolves are easily recognizable by their longer claws, darker eyes, and the distinctively sharp peaks of their fur," Professor Port barks, his booming baritone echoing clearly through the otherwise silent hall. He gestures between a picture that presents an alpha and normal beowolf side by side. They look exactly the same to me. Judging by the confused, darting glances of my classmates as they scramble between the lecture slides and their notes, they can't see the differences either.

Port doesn't stop to explain further, however. He launches into a detailed breakdown of the general purpose of alpha beowolves in Grimm packs, particularly about leadership dynamics in the presence of superior and inferior Grimm of other species, and in which pack compositions they were considered high priority targets. My pencil flies across my notes as I desperately try to take in all the information, and my exhausted mind paints streams of smoke rising from the now–dulled graphite.

Complicated, right? That should be enough for one lecture, right? Nope. He'd spent the previous hour and a half on the weak points and fighting techniques of beowolves in general.

Send help.

Oh, but he gives breaks. Five minute ones. In three hours of lecture.

Why do they not break it up again? I bet they like watching us suffer.

Finally, right before my brain paints a gory mess on the wall behind me, the barrage of information stops. "That's it for today. Your first quiz will be the day after tomorrow. You will be expected to identify the critical weak points of each of the subspecies of beowolf we covered today within thirty seconds of being shown a picture. You will also be expected to list Grimm species in descending order of target priority when presented with a pack composition. If you need help, I will be available in my office until ten. I suggest you take advantage. Dismissed."

All of us students stumble out of the hall in a zombified daze. No wonder Beacon has such a relatively high survival rate. Compared to lectures like those, combat must be a piece of cake.

"Jaaaaauuuune," a piteous whine pierces through the crowd of bodies. Ruby materializes in front of me before collapsing onto my chest. Slim arms wrap around my torso. "I don't wanna be here anymooore."

"We can study together," I offer weakly.

"Yaaaaaaay," she mumbles into my jacket.

"What's next?" I ask, steering the subject away from our future doom. I hadn't had the chance to check the schedule, but I'm willing to bet Ruby did, with how excited she was.

"Dunno."

Well, scratch that bet.

"Isn't it obvious?" a girl next to us pipes in with a disdainful sniff. She's stunningly beautiful – striking, regal features emphasize a pair of brilliant eyes, and although the uniform hides her form to some degree I have little doubt her body is equally appealing. Long white hair stands in sharp contrast to the dark colors of her jacket, and she holds herself with uncommon poise. Normally, I might feel appreciative. At the moment? I kind of hate her.

"No." Ruby responds for me.

"Lunch, of course," condescending–girl snaps. "Look at the time!"

"Ok," Ruby says. She doesn't look. Neither do I.

"Disgraceful," the girl grumbles, and then she disappears in a rhythm of snappy footfalls.

"Come on," I say to the remaining girl – the one who's glued herself to my torso. "Let's get some food. Maybe everything will feel better afterwards."

::-::-::

When I find out what comes after lunch, I actually wish I had another lecture to go to. No such luck. Beacon, after all, is a combat school.

And that means weapon practice.

So what's the problem? The problem is that the most lethal implement I've ever wielded is a flyswatter. Somehow, I doubt the Grimm will be too impressed by my sick wrist technique.

I was only given a few minutes to change into loose combat clothes – a loose shirt and pants – before I rushed to a sparring room. There, I was oh–so–generously gifted a weighted wooden sword and shield. My arms are already weary with the strain of holding them.

When Professor Goodwitch herself enters the room, I have to fight the urge to curl up and cry.

Send more help.

"Since you have not had prior training, you will receive private tutoring until you achieve basic competency in a weapon," Professor Goodwitch informs me. "At that point, you shall move onto the specialized instructors your classmates are learning from." She must notice how tense I am, because she places a hand on my shoulder. "Relax. I know you're new. I don't expect anything from you."

Gee. Thanks professor.

For the first two hours, training isn't so bad. A sword and shield are relatively simple weapons, and Professor Goodwitch is a patient – if strict – teacher. She runs me through the fundamentals: stances, basic attacks, blocks, and parries, general combat theory, and footwork. Lots and lots of footwork. After the supersonic sprint of Professor Port's class, it's a welcome break.

Then, in the last hour, the demon comes out.

When she pulls a solid wood staff as tall as she is off one of the nearby weapon racks, my whole body breaks out into a pervasive cold sweat. The thing just radiates bloodlust. It's stained and scarred, probably with the blood and bones of innocent students before me, a twisted hulk of ash–black wood.

"Professor," I ask, voice coming out in a panicked squeak. "What's that for?"

She gives me the most terrifying smile I've ever seen: a sickly, slanted twitch of the mouth. "Making sure you learned."

::-::-::

Professor Goodwitch is a firm believer in practical experience. She spares no effort in making sure that her students have plenty of opportunity to practice what she's taught them.

How does she do this? Simply by ruthlessly beating the ever loving crap out of her students until they properly perform all the actions she so painstakingly walked them through. If you attack, parry, block, and move well, you don't get hit. If you don't?

Well, like she insists, pain is an excellent teacher.

So don't worry, I learned a ton. Turns out, aura doesn't numb pain.

For the second time that day, I stumble out of a class session, this time less like a zombie and more like a sack of bricks. My battered legs barely can hold me up, and I have to lean against the wall for support. I can't bring myself to care when my bruises scream in protest. They've pretty much already gone hoarse.

You know, taking care of babies is sounding really, really good right now.

After a few minutes of lazy agony, Ruby stumbles out of the room over. While her steps aren't marked with the same pained limp that mine are, she hasn't come out unscathed. A massive, dark purple bruise adorns her cheek, and although the sleeves of the combat dress she'd changed into hide her skin I catch a brief movement as she rubs her right arm gingerly.

A surge of unexpected anger wells up from some previously unknown pocket of strength. I might not have planned it, but she's my wife – or at least will be, I'm a little fuzzy on the details. Beating her up? Not chill.

She catches sight of me and walks over. She's definitely tired, her slightly hunched posture and heavier steps make that clear, but there's a satisfied smile dancing across her lips. "Jaune!" She studies my face before breaking into a fit of giggling. "You look terrible."

So do you. "Professor Goodwitch," I mourn by way of explanation. Her amusement instantly transforms to sympathy.

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Ouch." I nod meaningfully at her bruise. "What happened to you?"

She rubs the back of her head in embarrassment. "Don't laugh."

"Can't promise."

She sticks her tongue out at me. "I… I ran into a bar."

She… what? I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't that. "Should I ask how?"

She sighs and slumps against the wall. "My semblance is speed. Really, really fast speed."

I nod. Somehow, I'm not surprised at all.

"Well," she continues, "my instructor says that speed's great, but I need agility as well."

Uh oh. I don't like where this is going.

"So in order to make sure I develop both, he's making me run through obstacle courses. In a very short time." She shudders. "And if I fail, I have to run it again."

"I'm so sorry," I deadpan. Still, in a twisted way, it's really smart. Super fast fighters are infamous for being predictable. Somebody with the flexibility to change their movement at an instant's notice would be an absolute monster. "Who's your instructor?"

She frowns. "A man named Qrow. He's not a professor… I'm actually not sure what he is." She hesitates for a long while. "The thing is… maybe I'm crazy, but he feels really familiar."

"You think it's the shared faculty sadism?"

She laughs at that, an enthusiastic chuckle that sounds like tinkling bells. "Maybe. But hey, at least we don't have extra classes this week!"

"This week?"

Ruby makes a face like she'd eaten a lemon or three. "Yeah. They gave us a lighter load so we can get used to it, but next week we'll have sparring or another lecture at this time. Not to mention a new training session before lunch." She sighs dramatically. "At least that one's short."

Oh sweet Grimm–spawn. This was the light load?

Send even more help. I'm not gonna make it.

::-::-::

Perhaps in accordance with my foul mood, a heavy thunderstorm rolls in that evening. Pounding rain hammers the roof of my room in sequence with my splitting headache. Ruby and I spent the majority of the day studying together, but by the end the only thing I'm certain of was that I'm irreparably screwed. Cramming everything together is just too cruel. Couldn't they do something like an hour of exercise followed by an hour of lecture, instead of these multi hour blocks from hell?

Let's be real. They're torturing us, they know it, and they probably love it. Bastards.

I'm far too tired to try anything remotely productive. I fumble my way through a few more feeble attempts to memorize something, anything, but it's not long before I give up and get ready for bed. Who knows. Maybe after a good night's sleep everything will magically come together.

::-::-::

I'm rudely awoken in the middle of the night by a piercing scream that cuts through the very walls of my room. I shoot upright, hair standing on end. I fumble in the dark for my light, but unfamiliar as I am with my new surroundings I fail to find it before my door bursts open. I barely suppress a very unmanly screech as the poor door is slammed shut immediately after. Something tackles me ruthlessly, driving the breath from my lungs, and I'm about to fight back when the soft gasps of a crying girl reach my ears.

When two arms reach around me, I realize who it is.

"Ruby?"

Her only response is to try to snap me in two with the strength of her hug. For such a small girl, she has a disturbing amount of strength.

"Ruby, please," I gasp. "You're killing me."

The grip slackens, but not by much. She still says nothing, overcome as she is by sobs.

Can somebody explain to me what I'm supposed to do here? I mean, come on, comforting a distraught girl in the dead of night isn't exactly covered in common sense 101. You'd think seven sisters would have taught me something, but nope.

I free my arms from her merciless pin and wrap them gently around her shoulders. Hopefully it's not an inappropriate response. It seems to help, because slowly but surely the rapid inhaling and exhaling melds into shaky but normal breathing.

Now what could have upset her so badly?

Wait. Ruby. Kid.

"You didn't… happen to have a bad dream, did you?" I ask warily. I mean come on. These things don't happen in real life.

"Maybe," Ruby says.

Oooor maybe they do. "Wait, really?"

She punches my arm. It's such a feeble motion that even my bruised muscles barely register the hit. "Meanie. Ok, fine, I did." She turns around, so that her back leans against my chest and her head comes to rest under my chin. "It's dumb, right? That just a nightmare could scare me this much."

Yes. "Depends on the nightmare, I guess."

"Mmm," she hums noncommittally.

For a moment, the only sound is the rain spitting hate against everything outside, but Ruby pipes up before long. "I hate thunderstorms." The complete change in topic throws me off like mental whiplash.

"Why?" I finally manage.

"The worst day of my life was a thunderstorm." Right on cue, a deafening crash tears through the steady percussion of rain. Ruby shrinks deeper into me. Since she hasn't protested yet, I hug her a little tighter. Given how physically affectionate she is, it makes sense she would like it. Sure enough, she relaxes once more in my arms.

"Better?" I ask.

A weak laugh is my answer. "Yang used to do the same thing."

I blink in confusion before realizing that 'Yang' is probably a name. "Who?"

"My sister," Ruby clarifies. "She was a Hunter."

Was. Not is. Not surprising. "How long ago?" Gah. Tact, Jaune. You will learn it someday.

Luckily, Ruby understands what I'm really asking. More luckily, she doesn't seem to mind. "Seven years. She was ten years older than me. She was basically my mom, once my real one died." Her voice falls into a shaking whisper. "I miss her so much."

There's pain there, and a lot of it. Even someone as awkward as I am can tell. "Want to talk about it?"

She spends a long time working up the will to respond. "I'm from Patch." Nothing more. It's a short answer. It shouldn't tell me anything. But it tells me everything.

You see, Patch is a little island off of Vale's coast. It was the first colony attempt once The Council felt the need to expand outside the relative safety of Vale's walls.

It's now the site of one of the worst Hunter defeats in recorded history. Looking back, nobody wanted to go to Patch. You were 'volunteered.' It makes sense that it would be a festering pool of resentment.

And, well, the Grimm love that sort of thing.

The Patch massacre happened ten years ago. Put two and two together, and it's not hard to guess what happened to Ruby's sister.

"They drilled us on how to react to Grimm attacks, you know," Ruby continues. "Even the little kids like me. You just follow the crowd to the evac zones, don't panic, and don't wander. There were plenty of airships waiting to lift us out." She chuckles mirthlessly. "Except I didn't. I was too scared, so I hid under my bed."

My heart twists at the self–loathing that permeates every word. I open my mouth to interrupt, but when she cuts me off I say nothing.

"Yang was a Beacon trainee at the time, but the Patch attack was a national emergency, so they dispatched everyone with a hint of aura. She found me, somehow. She'd been fighting for hours. The Grimm were right behind her."

Ruby comes to a stop, but when she resumes again, her voice is thick with choked–back tears. "She told me to run. I listened. She didn't follow me."

By this time, my own throat is painfully tight. I'm perversely glad I can't see her in the darkness. I would probably start crying myself.

"So yeah. Now you know," Ruby concludes. "An amazing hero died because her stupid little sister was too dumb to obey instructions."

"You were a kid," I spout the first words that come to mind. "Blame the Grimm, not yourself." It's empty, insensitive, even condescending, and I regret saying them as soon as they leave my mouth.

"Because that excuses everything, right?" Ruby snarls. The bitterness is so at odds with the bright girl I've come to know that I'm struck completely silent. All I can do is hug her even tighter as a fresh wave of sobbing overtakes her. By the time she wears herself out and falls asleep against me, I'm every bit as exhausted as she is. Sleep comes quickly, but not easily.

A/N:

I'm not gonna lie, your reviews were extremely inspiring. Thanks so much for the feedback, and I'm glad people are enjoying it. All the response hardcore inspired me, hence why this chapter came out so quickly. Don't get too used to it though, heh heh.

No long rambling note about world lore this time. Hope you guys enjoyed, and let me know what you think!