A/N: I don't own RWBY.

10 Years Ago: Origins

As long as Jaune can remember; he had always wanted to be a hero. The call for adventure; the lure of being praised for protecting people; of being hailed as a hero. It called to him like a siren's song; tantalizing, desirable and yet so foolish, so dangerous. But oh, so… inviting.

And being the grandson of a famous war hero and the son of a famous hunter certainly didn't help him in that regard. Hence, he trained. He trained as much as he could. So that the hero in his story; can always get a 'happily ever after'.

Whenever someone asked him about his overzealous behavior towards his training, this was the innocent response that they received. No one and I mean no one except his grandfather knew his original goals.

He just wanted his father to notice. That is the only reason he trained so much. He liked to think that if he becomes a good enough huntsman; maybe his father will finally start talking to him.

Sometimes he thought that his father agreed with that too, but those apathetic stares and awkward silences were quick to cull any such foolishness.

As long as he can remember his father; their relationship had always been like this. Even his first words were Granpa; and not Papa. After all; his grandfather had practically raised the motherless child; while his father ignored his existence. When he started to understand people and his relationships with them, he had thought that it was his fault that his father didn't love him. He had tried; oh how he had tried. He drew pictures for his father; copied his mannerisms, even tried to make his breakfast that one time.

But nothing happened. His every effort, every attempt met the same result. A nod. Nothing less; nothing more.

The seemingly unsolvable puzzle that was his father; unraveled the day he tried to make breakfast for him. His father had taken one look at his handiwork and left the table immediately. And Jaune; being long since habituated by his actions, only stood there with a sad little smile on his face. He did nothing; for all that he could, he didn't know what he did wrong.

But his grandfather; the man who loved him even more than his own father; wasn't able to digest such behavior so easily. Watching Jaune's heartbroken expression for the umpteenth time, his grandfather went to confront him.

Now Arctus; his grandfather had always told him that eavesdropping was a trait most unbecoming of a gentleman. But he liked to think that petty manners should yield in front of curiosity in such a sensitive situation. Keeping that in mind; he inched towards his father's study to hear his grandfather arguing with his papa.

"… long, Arlan? How long will you neglect your family, your blood; your own son!? I thought this was just a phase in your grieving, but this is getting ridiculous!" he heard his grandfather shout.

"Don't Arlan me, you old coot!" his father shouted back. "You know very well why this happened. You and your fucking fairy tales! You are the reason Juniper is dead!"

"Oh. I see"; his grandfather answered. "Very well. Now tell me, even if all of this is my fault… why exactly are you neglecting a child? And your own child nonetheless?"

A moment later he added; "And do you truly think that I lied to make your life harder? Do you really think so lowly of me?"

A strangled sob emerged from his father, "No dad. I don't"; he whispered. "I blame myself. I blame myself for pulling her into this mess. I blame myself for dragging her into my cursed family. To make her responsible to give me an heir, even after we failed for the first six times."

This time a rather loud gasp was heard after the pause. Checking for its originator; Jaune found that he was the one responsible for creating the sound. "Jaune?" the occupants of the room stilled. And the culprit responsible for the sound found himself unable to either flee or answer his grandfather's question.

"Jaune. I have told you time and again not to eavesdrop on others. There must be a good reason for your actions, young man"; chastised his grandfather. Just as he was preparing to apologize to Arctus Arc and flee from this increasingly baffling situation, his father's voice sounded over their conversation.

"Let him in Dad. Its time he knows about his own family and his duties toward it."

"Are you sure son? Don't make any hasty decisions based on what we talked about."

"No, no. I am completely sure about this. It's high time he learns about his mother and why his pathetic excuse of a father acts like this." Sparing one more frowning glance at his son; Arctus Arc led Jaune to Arlan's study; for a discussion that will most likely shake his entire world.

So apparently the huge fortune of Arc Family is not contributed entirely by the countless war heroes, army generals and famous hunters in the family. According to what he heard; they were the direct descendants of the Royal family from the time of 'The First War'. It was fought between Humans and Grimms and for the first time in history, humanity was capable to reclaim Grimm infested lands in order to keep up with their population. Apparently; their ancestor was the first person to use Dust in warfare and that was the reason for their victory. Hence, the people of the newly formed kingdom of Remnant went on and declared him the 'True King', someone who acted as the leader of all the tribes present at that time.

As time passed; humanity went on to reclaim more of Remnant from the jaws of the Grimm. Making the option of having a sole ruler of the entire humanity no longer a feasible option. So, they started to form new countries and started to declare their own leaders. And gradually, other Royal Families started to pop up across Remnant.

Slowly the kingdoms of Vale, Mistral, Vacuo, and Mantle were formed; with the Arc family as the rulers of the Kingdom of Vale. The people were happy with their King, and they, in turn, cared for their betterment. All seemed well; even if they lived in a world, where literal personifications of evil roamed their lands.

But of course, nothing good can possibly last forever. Just like the 'night' that approaches after every 'day'; the glory and good fortunes of the Arc Family also came to an end.

It started in a rather inconspicuous manner. No longer being the only Leaders of Humanity; some of the Arcs started to pursue their own hobbies and interests. This was encouraged by the ruling family since the Arcs being the inheritor of very healthy genes, caused the birth of at least 4-5 children in each generation. The firstborn of the Royal Family handled the mantle of the ruler; whereas his siblings supported him by being ministers, generals and other important positions in the Royal Court. But as time went on; the number of Arcs outside the main branch of the family became too many for them to attend the Royal Court. Hence, when someone among them expressed the desire to pursue different interests; like singing, painting, writing or other activities; they were allowed to do so with the full blessing of the royal family.

The results turned out to be good and it brightened the name of Arc Family outside the fold of nobles that ruled the Kingdoms. Famous singers, artists, sculptors started to pop up across Remnant carrying the Arc name. Proving to everyone that the Arcs can succeed in every walks of life.

But as fate would have it; one of the descendants of the Arc Family who was supposed to be the King; refused to do so. He loved to sing and declared that he will not wet his hands on the blood of others. So, the ancestral blade 'Crocea Mors' was handed over to his brother, who became the King instead.

Now, according to the stories told by the females in the Arc household, Crocea Mors was a blade gifted by the Gods themselves for protecting humanity; for holding back the Grimm at the edge of its blade. They judged the progenitor of the Arc Family and found him worthy to yield the Godly Weapon. But under the condition that only a true Arc can wield it. For they didn't dare a weapon of such raw power in the hands of the wrong people.

Like every event that has ever occurred in the history of mankind, time changed a true story to one of the legends. Something that everyone listens to but doesn't believe. Something that everyone becomes fascinated by; but believe it to be the exaggerations of people with too much imagination or the ramblings of a person blinded by his/her faith.

But alas, that was not the case here. As soon as the previous owner of the blade died and Crocea Mors was handed over to his second-born; the curse of defying the wills of God came down upon the Royal Family. He died at the presentation ceremony and words became visible upon the surface of the Blade. As if someone had burned it on the blade itself.

'Sevens blood shall quench its thirst'

As soon as the Sword stopped glowing; its sheath expanded into its shield form and written on its backside was the name of the oldest brother; the one who gave up on ruling to become a singer. Yet once again the rational and disbelieving minds of people considered it to be a coincidence and thought that it would be okay if the King simply doesn't touch the blade.

That decision right there; became the reason for the fall of the Arc Family. As days went by with no one suitable to yield the sheer destructive power of the Sword, it turned against those who neglected it in the first place. Members of the Arc family started to die from getting incurable diseases, getting murdered by enemies and by a whole lot of other inconspicuous reasons. They were also accompanied by natural disasters, Grimm attacks and other things that started to crumble the Kingdom of Vale that was under the direct leadership of the Arc Family.

When the oldest brother came back to claim the blade; the damage in Vale was extensive enough to make the public agitated against Arc leadership. And thus; the Arc Royal family came to an end and the leader of Vale started to get chosen by the people via elections.

Many years after that it was found that not every wielder of the blade got his name written on the sheath. There were a lot of cases where the firstborn wielded the blade without any problem but his name was not etched on the shield.

However, what was found is that; the wielders of the blade who had their names etched upon their sheaths were all exceptional warriors and strategists. Their battle prowess, their cunningness, and their leadership skills ensured their positions as war heroes, army generals or as exceptional hunters.

But at the same time; these individuals of such great talents found the most gruesome of deaths. None of them died a natural death. And while it could have been explained as a simple coincidence; one thing remains fixed in each case. Every time; he/she died by the same blade, Crocea Mors. For example, the first wielder; the oldest brother killed himself with it, being unable to survive the guilt of destroying the Arc family for his own selfish wishes. It wasn't as if the people knew about this secret. After the Arcs stopped ruling the Kingdom of Vale; all these facts about Crocea Mors were only passed from the father to his heir. And yet time and again; the same thing occurred.

It was during the time of the fifth 'True Wielder' of the blade; Joanne Arc, that someone was capable to give a possible reason for such a weird phenomenon. She believed that the curse placed upon the Arc Family granted the worthy wielders of the blade with such raw talent and in turn, it bathed in their blood to 'quench its thirst'. So according to the phrasing of the prophecy; the blade will lose its curse after choosing seven true wielders.

And the last true wielder of the blade was Jonathan Arc; Jaune's Great- Great- Grandfather, who was the sixth in line. He died during the 'Great War' when one of the opposing generals disarmed him and killed him by his own blade. The blade seemingly 'lost' in the battle, returned to the Arc family within a month via exceptional events and coincidences. No Arc asked about it, readily thinking it as one of the many quirks of the Divine Blade.

This was the main reason for problems in Jaune's life. His mother, Juniper Arc was not suitable for bearing children. However; due to the dire circumstances regarding the inheritance of the blade, she tried to do so anyway. Both of them loved each other very much. And hence, neither Arlan left her, nor did she stopped trying. And as a result; after six consecutive miscarriages, Jaune was born, but his mother died in the process.

"So you know"; said his father, "Every time I looked at you I remembered your mother. I remembered her smiles, her indomitable spirit that never faltered even after the death of her own children. I was so sad, you know? No parent must ever bury their own child. And we did it six times. Six Times! Every time she got pregnant; we hoped that something will change this time. That this was the last time that we will have to mourn our child. Yet nothing did.

There were so many times I asked her to leave me; for her suffering became too much to bear. Even if a father can shoulder the weight of his dead child, how can a mother do so? It was her own flesh and blood, her own progeny that she cared for 9 months inside her very own body! She felt their every kick, heard their every heartbeat. And yet when the child was supposed to play in her lap; we had to bury them in the graveyard.

Still, she endured. She got up every morning with a smile on her face and prepared our breakfast. She asked about our day, listened to our petty complaints and provided soothing words whereas none of us were able to do the same for her. She became my rock in the relationship; when she was supposed to be the blubbering mess. She was just so strong you know! She seemed so unbreakable; so invulnerable. She was the sole reason we kept trying even when anyone else would have given up.

And then you came. The little brother to my six older daughters. I don't know how she knew, but she always said that this time everything will be all right. That you will come to us defying all odds, all difficulties. Our little fighter. When your sisters used to nudge your mother's stomach; you used to kick her wholeheartedly. While your sisters caused your mother to eat a little bit more; you caused her to eat almost twice as much. She was so confident, so happy that we couldn't help but fall to her enthusiasm. The mentally exhausted, grieving parents who had to bury their child six times; started acting like newly-weds waiting for their firstborn to be born.

And everything was alright. Our attendants, our doctor; each one of them assured that it will be a normal delivery. That our little prince will play in our laps in no time.

But once again; the cruel fate struck on our lives. Even if you were strong enough to endure your messy birth process; your mother would die if we went on with it. When our doctor asked whom we want to save; you or your mother, she clasped my hand tightly and shook her head. She chose to die to let her little prince live. She chose to die so that I can have an heir. And she did it with a smile on her face. Not a sad smile; but a happy one, a content one. One a mother flashes when her baby plays on her lap, not when she is about to die. She rubbed her hand on her stomach one last time and died smiling on her bed. Content; that though she will die, her little prince will live on in her stead"; he sobbed.

The other occupants of the room, Jaune and Arctus were not in a better position themselves. Arctus was crying remembering those past days; while Jaune cried for his mother; who gifted him her very own life. Who chose to die in his stead so that Jaune can live in this world.

"Do you hate me dad?" asked Jaune meekly.

"What?! What are you talking about?" "Do you hate me because mom died so that I can live? Is that why you always ignore me?"

"No!" shouted Arlan, "Good heavens no. You are my son. You are our son, son of Juniper and Arlan Arc. How can I possibly hate you?"

"Then why…"; muttered Jaune. He couldn't finish his sentence before his father engulfed him in a hug. A hug. For the first time in his life, his father hugged him. That alone pushed both of them to bawl their eyes out.

"I'm sorry son. I'm so sorry. I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly hate you! I ignored you because every time you smiled at me; I remembered that your mother can't see it. Every time you drew a picture of us; I remembered that your mother is not with us for you to draw. Every time you came to talk to me even after I ignored you previously, I remembered your mother's indomitable spirit; the one which can endure pain and struggle with a smile and yet not falter in its path.

Every time I saw you; I remembered your mother is not there to see it. That she couldn't be there to pick you up when you try walking for the first time. She can't see her son drawing for the first time, singing for the first time. So each time you did something that made me proud, made me happy; I avoided it like a plague because how can I be so happy, when she couldn't even see her own son?

But I guess I messed up, didn't I? I was so engrossed in making my own life hell; that I forgot that you are just as much affected by it. That your pathetic excuse of a father had turned your motherless childhood into that of an orphan. I'm sorry son. So sorry."

"It's alright dad"; mumbled Jaune, with his face still buried in his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry too, for thinking that you didn't care for me. But we can just start again, right?"

"Yes, Jaune, yes. We can certainly start again. We will definitely start again."

The father-son dynamic improved drastically after that affair. Arlan started taking low-risk missions so that he can spend more time with his son, and Jaune started looking forward to the evening spars that he did with his father. He was the heir to the Royal Family after all! Even though nobody cares about that nowadays. Only historians and history nerds can possibly link the Arc name to the First Royal Family. Still, like every other heir in their family; he was trained in reading, writing, dancing, noble etiquettes, etc. He didn't go to a normal school and was instead taught by private instructors at home. Basically, they were almost like the Schnees; except with more emotions and less money.

Jaune didn't mind though. He loved living at Arc Mansion with his father and grandfather. His grandfather used to tell him about his escapades at the wars that he fought; whereas his father used to tell him all about the Grimms that he had faced in his career. And now that their relationships had been fixed, he asked him about his mother too. Sometimes he gave an answer, sometimes he didn't. But when he didn't; he would hug Jaune for all that he's worth. And being affection deprived for the first 6 years of his life; he certainly didn't mind.

On the day of his 7th birthday, Arlan unlocked Jaune's aura. Apparently; that was the custom in Arc Family. The members of the Arc household had their aura unlocked when they were 7 years old, by their own parents. And being the heir of the family, this was also the first time he was supposed to hold Crocea Mors; so that the blade can judge his worth.

When he woke in the morning; he found an expensive tunic and pants kept at the foot of his bed along with a note that told him to get ready quickly. Getting a quick but thorough wash, he dressed up in the white tunic with gold trimmings. Accompanied by navy blue dress pants.

When he reached downstairs wearing his brand new ensemble, Arlan and Arctus were already standing there, wearing their own tunics and looking every bit of the Royalty that they are.

"You look good Jaune"; his father smiled. "Indeed. He looks like, how an heir should be. Keep your head high and make the family proud; grandson", his grandfather commented.

Jaune smiled and nodded shyly. "I will father, grandfather. You two are also looking good."

"Right"; Arlan clapped his hands, "we will unlock your aura today. Which means you can finally begin your proper training. And also, most importantly; you will have to accept Crocea Mors today to finalize your status as the heir of the Arc Family."

Watching him nod his approval; Arlan moved before him and placed his hands on his heart and his forehead respectively. "Kneel down on the ground by one knee. Then close your eyes and listen carefully to what I say." Seeing him close his eyes; he poured a little bit of white aura in his hands and pushed it against Jaune.

"We are the bulwark against the dark. A protector, a guardian. We are the last defenders of Humanity. We protect the weak from the strong; the innocent from the evil, by any means possible.

Where other men blindly follow the truth. Remember, nothing is true. Where other men are limited by morality or law. Remember, everything is permitted. Blessed by the Goddess of Balance, we work in the dark; to serve the light.

I, Arlan Arctus Arc; first of his name, release your soul and by my shoulder protect thee."

The kneeling figure of Jaune flooded with intense white light. Waiting for his vision to recover; Arlan called him up, "Rise, Jaune Arlan Arc. Receive your birthright; the weapon of the Gods; the weapon of the Arcs, Crocea Mors; and complete your first duty towards your family."

Opening his eyes; Jaune couldn't help but be impressed by the tell-tale glow of his Aura. Standing up he took the blade from his grandfather and removed it from its sheath. His aura seeped through the blade inch by inch whereas he simply stood there, transfixed; admiring the majestic weapon in his hand. When the glow of aura covered the sword fully; it started to pulse. Blinding the other two occupants of the room; whereas Jaune fell in an aura induced trance.

A large battlefield. Filled with soldiers carrying swords, axes, halberds and other weapons. And yet, I don't feel afraid. I am filled with the excitement of a hard battle. Drunk in the lust of war, of destruction. I am ecstatic at seeing my enemies shake in my presence. The burden of a thousand souls; placed upon the shoulders of a single Knight; and yet I stand tall, I stand proud. They are whispering my name…

"… Jaune! Jaune! Are you alright!?" He broke from his trance to see his father shaking him frantically and his grandfather shouting his name.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. What happened?"

Seeing him break out of his trance; his father and grandfather released him and calmed down. "We don't know really. When the sword stopped pulsing and we regained our visions; we saw you standing with the sword clutched in your hand and your eyes glowing white. We tried to call you, but you were in a trance. We had to break you out of it forcibly. What happened to you?"

Sheathing the sword that was still in his hands, Jaune answered honestly. "I'm not exactly sure what I saw, but I think I saw a memory. And it was definitely not mine." Watching their inquisitive stares; Jaune explained what he saw to them.

"…wow. I did not expect that"; said his grandfather. "Hear, hear"; his father nodded, "This is some seriously weird shit." Rolling his eyes at his father's reprimanding glares, Arlan continued; "Although weird, maniacal visions aside; I don't think I got any visions when I first held my sword. Did you get any dad?"

"No. Can't say I did. This is certainly intriguing"; Arctus nodded. "Although… wait! Can it be that!?" his eyes widened. Whatever he meant flew above Jaune's head, but was certainly registered by his father if his horror-stricken face was anything to go by.

"Jaune. Can you open your shield?" asked Arctus. Seeing the serious expression on his grandfather's face, he quickly followed his instructions. The white sheath of Crocea Mors expanded; not in the way a mecha-shift weapon expands; but it seemed as if the metal rippled and flowed and ultimately took the shape of a shield; pristine white in its appearance with a golden border and two curved moons drawn on its surface. And on its back were written six names;

"Arleus Jonathan Arc"

"Lissana Argond Arc"

"Cadmius Arthur Arc"

"Argum Erigor Arc"

"Joanna Octavian Arc"

"Percius Olenna Arc"

The names of the 'True Wielders' of the sword. They were respected all around Remnant for their heroic deeds, and yet they all died in the most unheroic manners possible.

"Oh thank god!" his father exclaimed. "Yeah. I was almost sure that the blade chose Jaune as its seventh wielder"; Arctus nodded.

"Wait. Doesn't that mean that the wielder will be like a super talented, super famous person? Like written in history books famous? Why are you guys happy?"

"Oh. Believe me, son. I know it sounds very cool and all when you say it like that, but the truth is completely different. All those dreams of being a hero and all that will vanish when you really start working in the field."

"And what is it?"

"What?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jaune asked; "The truth that you have found. What is it?"

"Oh, simple. It ain't worth it"; replied Arlan.

Scoffing at his son's rather brazen answer; Arctus joined in the laughter along with Arlan watching Jaune's eye twitch in irritation.

Little did he know, that this was the last time the three of them will be joined in a conversation like this.

His father went on a mission a week after his 7th birthday. Someplace in Vacuo; to search for some rogue huntsman who was scaring the common citizens. Apparently; it was a serious enough problem to send a team of elite hunters to deal with the threat. Although he had stopped taking high-risk missions after that incident, he accepted this one as a special request from Headmaster Ozpin.

On the day of his departure; he left early in the morning to meet up with his teammates. But not before hugging Jaune and promising them both that he will return as soon as possible.

And he did return. Within 4 days even. Just not in his usual form. Rather as a message from the remaining members of his team; that he died while protecting his team members. The rest of their team had returned with serious injuries, but they were still alive. Whereas; the only thing of Arlan that had returned was his sword, Crocea Mors.

Grief. Terrible, uncontrollable grief shadowed Jaune. Why did he have to die? Why did he have to go? Why did he have to accept that stupid mission from that stupid Ozpin? He clutched onto his grandfather like his lifeline and poured his heart out.

A motherless boy. Ignored by own his father during his childhood; making him practically an orphan. Successful in getting back with said father. Death of the now loving father within 6 months of their reconciliation. Back to being an orphan within 6 months. This time; permanently. Ladies and Gentlemen; I present to you, Jaune Arc; the heir to the Arc family. He sure was a lucky one; wasn't he? Heh.

Days passed. The day of his father's funeral came along. Planned and maintained by one of their numerous employees; it was filled with important people from all over Remnant. Though out the funeral people came to give their condolences to Arctus. His grandfather answered and nodded to them politely; while Jaune clung to his arm wordlessly. All the pitiful stares directed towards him flew over his head. He seemed untouchable, unaffected by their stares, by their whispers. And they understood. They understood his silence; his silent rejection when he didn't answer to their queries, their statements. Probably from the haunted look in his eyes; or maybe from the apathetic expression on his face. Who can say really?

Almost at the end of the ceremony, one of the invited guests crouched down before him. A pretty lady with black hair with red tips; wearing a black dress for the ceremony. She seemed pretty insistent that Jaune had to listen to her. Something about how she was so sorry and all that. And she kept crying too.

When it seemed that she really won't budge from there until he answers; he asked reluctantly. "Why?" he croaked in a voice that had broken from all the crying that he had done in the previous few days.

Watching her inquisitive stare, Jaune elaborated; "Why are you sorry?"

The waterworks came back once more; the woman huddling into herself almost as if to shrink away from his curious gaze.

"I was his teammate"; she whispered through her sobs, "He died to protect me."

He died to protect me.

Jaune froze. His expertly maintained facade of nonchalance crumbled away. His eyes turned away from the woman to see the people accompanying her.

A blond man wearing a black suit stood behind her; wearing a sad and pitying gaze. A black-haired red-eyed man stood beside him; keeping a hand on his shoulder. He also had a sad look on his face; but not nearly close enough as the two small girls who huddled close to the men. One of them had long blond hair; who seemed to be switching her sad glance between Jaune and the little girl who whimpered in her arms.

The little girl seemed to be the most expressive among the family; staring at him with her large glistening eyes and crying silently jutting her lower lip out. Jaune attributed her reaction to her young age; since though the blond-haired girl looked closer to his own age; the little girl looked at most 5 years old.

Watching them look at him with pity in their eyes; Jaune's apathetic expression turned into one of rage.

Why me? Was my family not worthy enough; that my father had to die? They had their father and probably their uncle to fall back if she died! I had no one. Why do I have to sacrifice… again and again and AGAIN!?

As soon as his ire rose, it seeped out just as quickly. For, he realized; who is he even complaining to? She didn't enter the mission with the objective to die. And she sure as hell didn't ask his father to do so in her stead. The only person who is responsible for this situation is his own father, Arlan. And maybe the rogue huntsman too. Arlan was the one who jumped before and gave his life; so that this woman can come home back to her daughters. So that he can't come home to see him.

Was it all a lie? Tears sprung up in Jaune's eyes. Did he pretend to care for me? To love me? Am I so unlovable that he preferred to jump to his death rather than come back home? Come back to me?

Huh. Maybe… maybe I am. And I think I should too. I don't want grandfather to tolerate my pathetic existence any longer if I am as bad as I think I am. Yes… yes; I should do it. No need to tarnish this world any longer with my presence. I should die… alone; as I was destined to be. I should…

"… Oomph!" Jaune grunted in surprise to see the little raven-haired girl clinging to him by his waist, cutting him out of his dark thoughts. Hesitantly; he lifted his right hand up and patted the girl on her hair. Feeling the hand settle on her head; the tiny girl lifted her face up.

His hand froze in shock at her expression. Two of the largest silver eyes he had ever seen; sparkled with unshed tears as it looked up at him. Watching him sadly, compassionately. And try as he might; he couldn't find even the tiniest bit of pity, of condescension at his misery. They looked at him and told him that they understood what he is going through; what he has gone through. Telling him not to give up; that even if the entire humanity spits at his presence… those two eyes will always look after him. Tell him to love, to live… one more day, if not for his own then for the sake of those two eyes.

Slowly and unknowingly to its very own owner; his left arm unclasped from his grandfather's side and joined his right hand. He bent down and hugged the little girl back; as softly as he can; as if he was afraid that too much pressure will break down this illusion. For it must be an illusion; since who can just come up and say that they care? That they care, not because they share a name or blood; not because of his financial or societal position; not because of their own goals. She simply cares. She cares that he is sad; she cares that his father is dead.

Silver eyes blinked in surprise; her visage turned into a slightly happy one; as if pleased at the thought that she had made him feel better, however minor it can be. She glomped him hard and pushed her face in his stomach; like she was trying to crush all the grief out of him.

Looking at the now pleased and relieved face of the girl, Jaune had an epiphany. He finally understood what Arlan did, and why he did it. He understood the true meaning of the mantra that his father recited when he was releasing his aura.

'We are the bulwark against the dark. A protector, a guardian. We are the last defenders of Humanity. We protect the weak from the strong; the innocent from the evil, by any means possible.'

Is truly it possible for him to leave a good person behind when they are in danger? Is it possible to sacrifice himself to save others; even when he knows that his loved ones are waiting at home? The Jaune Arc that existed ten minutes ago; might have shaken his head in denial at such a foolish question. But the Jaune Arc of now; who is being hugged by a little girl, who can see that the gazes where he found only pity once, are now laden with gratitude? Gratitude for saving their mother, their wife, their sister? Gratitude towards him for sacrificing his own father and giving them back their own loved ones?

He just smiled in acceptance. The first smile that adorned his face since he heard about his father's demise. It was laden with acceptance and pride. Acceptance at his father's decision and pride in his father for keeping up the Arc name. A protector, a guardian indeed.

He untangled himself from the little girl even as she held onto his right hand; and asked the woman from before; "Who are you?"

Wiping her eyes at the event that just transpired; she lifted her head to face him. Looking at him with the now-familiar silver eyes just like her daughter, she replied; "My name is Summer."

"Summer Rose."

A/N: How dare you think that I will kill Summer Rose!? The "Baker of cookies" and "Slayer of giant monsters" will live on. Forever.

.

.

.

George R.R. Martin: We'll see. (Mwah hahaha…)

Toodles.

Next Chapter on 29th March 2020.