A/N
Fair warning: this story has a number of elements of power fantasy. If you don't enjoy that kind of fiction, this may not be your cup of tea.
Later on, there will be elements of smut. Won't turn into a lemon fic, but the story does not ignore sex. That won't be for a while, though. T rating until then.
There's are two AU condition which deviates from Canon: Jaune has a permanent illness relating to his lack of a Semblance which hinders his ability to ever become a Hunter. Salem, however, has a solution...
Also: Salem retains her original appearance.
Prologue.
Jaune saw in the doctor's eyes a truth as bare as the operating room in which he stood.
"I can't be a Hunter."
The grizzled medic wore a constipated look that might have appeared comical save for the circumstances. Jaune's parents huddled around him, offering tactile comfort with half-hearted hugs. They didn't help.
"Is there any chance of a misdiagnosis?" his father asked, his voice quivering. "Can we run another test, perhaps?"
"Mr. Arc," the doctor sighed, rubbing his brows. "I understand your plight, but the specifics leave little room for doubt. Our machines didn't malfunction because they misread the emissions of Jaune's Semblance. We detected nothing. There is no misrepresenting data which does not exist. Your body is a rare genetic case... there's a hole where your Semblance should be, and all of your body's latent aura is patching up that deficiency. Given the circumstances, unlocking your aura without filling that hole would be fatal. And- I'm sorry, Jaune- but we have no known way to transplant a Semblance."
His mother breathed a pained gasp. "But- but how is this- his parents are both Hunters!" she stuttered.
"To be honest, I haven't heard of a case like this before either." The doctor raised his hands in surrender. "There are, however, one-in-a-million medical deficiencies that occur by dint of sheer bad luck. I'm sorry, but this is one of them."
The worst part was that he did look genuinely sorry. Jaune saw pity in the lining of his aged face, in the way his eyes focused on a fixed point in the ground. It was the look of a man forced to crush a child's dreams.
"Can I- can I-"
"No," his father finished. The burly man lowered himself to Jaune's level, emotive blue eyes meeting his own. "I'm so sorry, son." His face contorted into a trembling grimace.
"There isn't a reputable Hunter academy in the world that would accept such a case," sighed the doctor. "It pains me to say this, but it'll be best to begin thinking about other career paths."
Jaune collapsed.
Seven years flew out the window. Seven years of pining, seven years of hearing his father regale him of tales of his own time at Beacon, seven years of a mother's preparation and sibling expectations. Seven years planning exactly what he'd have in his dorm, what his weapon would be, which path he'd pursue, all wiped from existence.
In that instant, June Arc became a nobody.
His parents' words filtered to him in snippets on the ride back.
"- not everyone needs to be one..."
"-can still do great things..."
"you know, I had a friend who didn't make it to Beacon. He's now a regional manager at-"
"Please," he whispered, the beginnings of a migraine pounding his skull. "Please stop. I get it. I... I think I need some time to understand this."
The silence that followed was infinitely preferable to their concerned euphemisms. He couldn't stand that look: the pity, the sadness, the guilt, as though they were looking at a quadriplegic. In some ways, he was a cripple, he supposed.
His whole family had gone to Beacon. His parents, all of his sisters, his grandparents, all admirable Hunters, protectors of the realm of Remnant.
And then he came along. The one male heir. The prodigal son destined to propel the Arc name to greatness.
The weight of the revelation didn't fully hit him. He supposed he was in shock. He didn't know. There was a giant nothing in his chest which expanded and contracted with every heartbeat.
"I think I need some time alone," he whispered. The voice didn't sound his own, but his parents nodded, leaving him through a pale red door. Dimly, he registered that they'd made it back home. As he stood on the doorstep, he imagined the shock on his sisters' faces, their wide-eyed looks as he revealed that their little brother was a failure, that he'd amount to nothing. That he'd be the black stain on their family line.
A pressure built up from his eyebrows. He cried out as it increased, spreading across his skull and fracturing lines of pain through his mind. Unconsciously, he began running, though he didn't know where. Away, he guessed. Away from expectations, away from disappointment, away from life, away from reality. Away from truth.
Cracks burst from his feet as he trampled over autumn leaves, picking up speed as he went. Tears blurred his vision, and he couldn't see the road ahead. He didn't need to. His legs knew the way, weaving a path as fast as he could into the unknown.
Minutes later, the burning caught up to him. He fell, chest heaving, tear tracks curling down his face like spilled milk. "Fuck!" he cried. It was a word he'd heard mother use in instances where she thought he couldn't hear her. It sounded so heavy, so weighty, so appropriate. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"
"My, my," a soft voice whispered.
He looked up.
The woman before him stood wreathed in light. She wore light blonde hair like spun gold above her gorgeous face, her eyes a piercing blue. She stood clothed in a silken gown which stretched to her feet. Jaune didn't know if he'd seen anyone as beautiful in his life. There was an ethereal quality to her, an angelic perfection that transcended the human physique.
"What a dirty mouth for one so young," she laughed.
His face burned. "I- I didn't know there was anyone here! I'm sorry!"
If this lady referred what he'd said to his mother... he didn't dare imagine the consequences. "Something really bad just happened to me," he explained, hoping she'd understand. "I was really mad. I'm sorry, I really am!"
Her laughter sounded of bells. "Don't worry. It's alright. Would you like to share?"
To anyone else, he would've said no, but some combination of her prying eyes, the circumstance, and her appearance loosened his tongue. "Well," he sighed. "I just got told that I'll never be a hunter. Ever." He stressed the last word. "I don't have a Semblance, see, and I'll never have aura either, and my parents tell me those things are really important for a Hunter."
"They are," the fairy-like lady confirmed, and his shoulders sagged. As the tears returned, she traced a finger on his chest.
"I can see the absence," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "It's a fascination condition, perhaps unique in all Remnant."
"Great," griped Jaune. "I guess I'm special special."
"No, no... you misunderstand, little one," she laughed, bending down and staring him in the eyes. For a moment, he was lost in that swirling blue. "Your condition could yield greatness."
He blinked. "What?"
"You are a clean slate. Your body is unformed, your destiny not set. Even your Semblance has yet to appear, leaving a maw behind- but that maw can be filled."
"It can?!"
"Perhaps not conventionally," she admitted, "but I certainly can."
Was she a fairy? With how she appeared, he'd certainly believe it. "You- you can magic me a new Semblance?"
"It's not that simple, unfortunately."
"What do I have to do? I'll do anything. Anything!"
"Anything?" That glint appeared in her eye again. "What if it means you won't see your family again for years?"
That gave him pause. Then, the pained looks on his parents' faces assaulted him. He closed his eyes, head downturned. "They probably don't want me now anyway."
"I could help you."
A perfect finger lifted his chin to meet her eyes once more. "I could make you strong. I could make you great."
His eyes lit up. "You could make me a Hunter?!"
"I could make you into something far greater," she breathed.
Greater than even a Hunter? He didn't dare to imagine it.
"Only, you'll have to follow me."
"To your fairy kingdom?" he gasped, his eyes lighting up. A corner of her mouth twitched.
"Something like that."
He paused, some compelling argument against surfacing in her mind. The lady's eyes had a bewitching quality to them, however, scattering his thoughts until the lone desire remained. Why wouldn't he follow her? The opportunity sounded fantastic.
"I'll do it. Let's go."
She laughed again, a sound reminiscent of the morning sky.
"Look me in the eyes," she ordered. He did so without hesitation. As he stared at those crystal blue orbs, his eyelids felt heavy, his body weighed to the floor. He felt bone tired. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. Moments later, darkness overwhelmed him.
/
He came to to burning. Flame burning his blood, immolating his limbs. A scream escaped his lips. Thrashing, he screamed again, but something bound his limbs. He opened his eyes. Four leather bonds tied him down to a metallic table much like the operating table he'd been on mere hours before. Through his hazy vision, he could barely make out a man with a large mustache with a clipboard.
"- injected 48 milligrams-"
"Salem's blood... adoption... Semblance creation..."
"World... time... Grimm... losing, losing-"
Black again.
The world swam. Time seemed immaterial. He could've been in this state of befuddlement for hours or seconds. Nothing made sense. Groaning, he tried to sit up, and was surprised to find that this time, nothing inhibited him.
Where was he?
He blinked.
Who was he?
Something about a clipboard, something about disappointment. He didn't remember.
His name. What was his name?
Wrenching free, he sprawled onto the ground. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember his name!
"Ahhh!"
For a second, he didn't realize the voice was his own. It was so melodic, so light. Had his voice always been like that?
The room in which he stood appeared nondescript. An operating table, a sink, a few tools in a neat row beside it. A full-length mirror stood to his left. Turning, he inspected himself.
A stranger stared back. Was this what he'd always looked like? He didn't know. His memories seemed murky, as though shrouded in some impenetrable mist.
The figure which stared back at him was achingly beautiful. Sheer black hair, pale skin, crimson eyes. Its face- his face- was a flawlessly beautiful visage, as though some master sculptor had carved its features from sheer marble and whittled until all imperfections disappeared. Angelic. Cherubic.
This was him?
"Hello."
He turned.
A blonde woman stared back at him, her beautiful features strikingly similar to his own.
Who was she? She seemed vaguely familiar. He recalled feeling trusting of her, feeling warmth in her presence.
"Who are you?" he gasped. "Who am I?"
"You are Jaune Fall," she smiled. "My name is Salem, though you may call me mother."
"M-mother?" the word tasted funny to him. "Salem?"
"Yes," she laughed. "I understand you may be feeling confused. You've just undergone a complex medical procedure, and it may take some time to get your bearings."
"Er..."
"Come with me."
She turned and left the room through a side door, looking over her shoulder with a brilliant smile. Jaune didn't know what to do. She seemed trustworthy enough, he supposed, and a part of his mind still harbored good feelings to her from some undefined point in his past.
"You're my mother?" he tried again, following her footsteps. "I- I can't remember much. It's all so hazy."
"I will feed you, I will clothe you, I will look after you, I will teach you, I will protect you," Salem smiled. "But more than that, I love you. I love what you can become. We share blood. Can you feel it?"
It was true. Something in him thrummed like two strings in harmony, producing something concordant, something that belonged. They even looked alike. "Mother?" he whispered.
"Mother," she confirmed with a grin. "Come along."
They followed a cobblestone pathway of dark stone. Oddly, he seemed to find comfort in the damp and the dark; it shrouded him in a safe veil.
A few turns later, and they approached a pure white door, its handle a metallic sheen. It opened to admit a tall, mustached man, the same one he'd seen in a haze earlier.
"This is Doctor Watts," Salem introduced. "Although his expertise lies in mechanical areas, he's more than capable of medical feats as well. He will be testing you for any irregularities regarding your Semblance."
"Semblance?"
"Of course," his newfound mother giggled. "Would you like to show us?"
He blanked. Semblance? He knew the word. It was still tied to an aching hollow in his chest. It was something he didn't have.
"Feel," Salem whispered, her voice hypnotic. "Sense. Express. Release."
Closing his eyes, he tried. He really did. Nothing happened.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't-"
The scene before him cut his own words off.
Mother and Doctor Watts began spazzing. They moved slowly and then quickly and then slowly again. Her words warped between high-pitched and low, as though transmuting through some strange substance.
Backing away, he tried to control his breathing. Stop. Please stop.
Something warped in the air. Everything returned to normal.
"That, dear," Salem breathed, her face lit up in an almost feral grin, "was your Semblance."
"I... I make things glitch?"
She chuckled. "No. You manipulate time."
Kneeling down, she held his palm in her own. "But you were spazzing everywhere!" he gasped.
"No, you were," she replied. "We appeared to move irregularly because your panic increased and decreased time around your body. I'd have thought your ability would relate to... my specialties... but I suppose this figures to be a cruel joke."
Her laugh didn't sound real. "The Gods' curse of immortality, time-defiance, stretching even to my blood. And now, your blood."
He didn't understand much of what she said, but a part stood out to him. "A joke?"
"She wasn't talking about you, child," the man, Doctor Watts, said, his lips forming a habitual sneer.
"Your ability is anything but," Salem confirmed. "This... this is extraordinary. The applications of such a Semblance should prove more valuable than any Grimm-related."
A peal of her laughter shook the room. "We shall become quite the pair."
Jaune wasn't sure what had just happened, and his very identity seemed a bit hazy. He knew, though, that here, he mattered, he belonged. This nice lady with whom he seemed to share both blood and appearance had given him something amazing. Even now, he could feel the air slowing around his palm at his will, the breeze moving between lazy and fierce at a moment's thought.
He was given a chance. Although he didn't fully trust or understand his new mother, he supposed he could give her one as well.
/
They ventured down the corridor, which opened to a massive space. Obsidian walls stretched as high as the eye could see, filtered at the edges with stained glass windows. Coffin-shaped purple tables filled the distance at regular intervals, and the chairs beside them held motifs of worn stone.
"Wow," Jaune breathed. "It's beautiful."
"It is," Salem agreed, leading them farther and farther. "I designed much of it myself, molded it from the darkness. There's a sublimity to it, is there not?"
He didn't know the word, but nodded all the same.
"We're not far from our destination. There's someone I'd like you to meet."
/
Cinder Fall thought herself prepared for anything. She'd destroyed armies at a breath, turned cities against themselves, and prided herself on having the knowledge to both control and confront every situation.
When Salem, Queen of the Grimm, dropped a seven year old child at her feet, however, she was at a loss for words.
"You will take care of him," she commanded. "You'll see to it that he has the necessary shelter and sustenance."
"...Me?" she croaked.
It seemed akin to smashing a nail with a brinks truck. Were there no sledgehammers available? Was spending time smashing nails truly the best use of the truck's resources?
But Salem seemed set on the idea, and here she was, lugging along a child. The boy bore a striking resemblance to her master, his bone structure eerily reminiscent of hers. Even now, she could tell he'd be a heartbreaker when he grew older. She hoped she wouldn't still be stuck with him then. He'd be insufferable.
"Here are your quarters," Cinder gestured at a spacious room as they traversed up a winding staircase of black metal in a spire of the castle. The room included all necessary modern amenities, a showering area, grooming and sanitation equipment, even a Dust-powered entertainment system.
"Come to meals at the appropriate times." She turned to leave.
"W-wait!" he called, his voice almost annoyingly melodic.
She turned crossly. "What?"
His pout, reaching up to two beautiful somber eyes, almost melted her then and there. That face is a weapon.
"You're just going to leave me here? All by myself?"
"Yes," she snapped. "I have neither the time nor the inclination to take care of some- some-"
His frown had well and truly reached his eyes now, which started to water.
She gave.
"I'll help you settle in, and I'll ask a servant to deliver clothes to your room," she conceded. "Here-"
Cinder Fall, criminal mastermind, spent the rest of the afternoon giving an extended room and castle tour to a timid child. She felt like an idiot, but his frown was gone, and somehow that made it worth it.
/
At dinner, Salem- or, mother- introduced a slew of new characters to him. There was Doctor Watts, whom he'd already met. He'd be teaching him coding literacy and machinery, apparently. Hazel Rainart, an imposing, giant man, covered combat classes. Her other associates included Cinder, who he'd come to regard as de facto caretaker, and Tyrian, a strange, scorpion-tailed man who gave him the creeps. Thankfully, the he didn't appear to have much to do with the scorpion faunus. They didn't stay for dinner.
Meals were prepared and served by faunus, often teenaged, who moved about with hunched figures and closed eyes. They were surprisingly scrumptious, at least in reference to what he was used to. He frowned. What was he used to? The memories wouldn't come to him, like liquid falling through his fingers.
"Jaune," called Salem. He looked up. The two of them were the only ones in the room save for the occasional stooping servant.
"Yeah?"
"How are you enjoying the meal?"
"I like it. I've never tasted some of these flavors before... they're really nice," he smiled.
"We have some of the finest chefs in the world to prepare our meals. They've been hired from some of the best restaurants in Remnant under contracts of confidentiality."
Jaune chewed slowly, a thousand thoughts flying through his mind. He hadn't yet organized the hurricane of new experiences and questions that had inundated him. There were so many questions. Which to ask first?
As if reading his mind, Salem smiled and asked, "You must have a lot of questions. Perhaps I can assuage some doubts? Feel free to voice whatever you'd like. I don't mind."
He paused.
"Who am I? Who are you? Where are we? Why am I here? Why can't I remember anything?"
A peal of laughter rang through the room.
"That's quite the deluge." She took a napkin from the table and dabbed at her lips. "You are Jaune Fall. I am Salem, a queen of magical creatures called Grimm. You're here because you were lost alone in a forest and you called for help. I extended a hand. Unfortunately, the only way to grant your wish involved muddling your past memories. I've since officially adopted you both in name and by blood ritual. For all intents and purposes, you, Jaune, are my heir."
"I had to forget everything to come here?" Jaune frowned. Something seemed off about that, but Salem nodded. "An unfortunate circumstance. Child, you were born with an unusual and permanent condition. The cure required a specific set of circumstances that could only be met by such a result."
Something didn't quite add up, but he decided not to pursue the point. He settled on asking a simple "Why?"
"Because I care about you," she said simply, her tone dead serious. "I see in you potential for such greatness, such strength. I want to help you. We're bound now, you and I; we share a mark of blood. I did this not only because I believe in you, Jaune, but also what you can be. What you will be."
Something in him warmed at her words. She truly did mean what she said. He could tell. He wasn't sure what compelled him, but he trusted her to take care of him, to mentor him.
"Salem?" he whispered.
"Please, call me mother," she replied, a gentle smile on her face.
"Mother," he amended. "Why do I need to be strong?"
A pause.
"Strength, child, is what moves the world," she said. "Strength allows you to fulfill your dreams and achieve your visions. I have a dream about saving the world, about removing all of the ugliness that stains it and reforging it anew and perfect. For now, I'll be glad to nurture you for the mere joy of watching your success. I... I was a mother once, before... I would like to be one again. Failing that, I want to be your friend, Jaune. These castle walls can become awfully lonely. You don't have to fight for me, or even agree with my cause. But I see a spark of something great in you. I'd like to see that realized."
Despite himself, he found himself agreeing.
"I- I think I want that too."
Then, hesitantly-
"Mother."
A/N
To be clear: Salem isn't suddenly some goody two-shoes. She's a master manipulator, and her words should be taken in that context. As for her appearance... I hope I'm allowed some mild AU. I don't think Jaune would be nearly as taken with a pale monster.
Note: I've modified this so that Jaune's condition is more than just having no Semblance, since the AU conditions I've previously set for Semblance and aura growth were mentioned in one line and so were easy to skim by.
I'll continue work on both this story and Paragon. Ty to reviewers, followers, faves!