Chapter 3: Crocea Mors

Jaune ended up with a terrible fever, tossing and turning in his bed for what felt like months. Nights were especially difficult, filled with sweaty dreams that he couldn't remember, yet tore him awake quivering and clutching his right forearm in a death grip.

His sisters were smothering him during the first day, but after one uncharacteristic outburst, which for him included a raised voice and polite but firm admonishing, they got the message, giving him some much-needed space.

Juniper was also going through a bad spell. Sapphire told him she had to hide her sleeping pills or else the woman would be abusing them dangerously. One night, he felt a touch on his forehead and heard a soft humming that sounded like Mom, but he couldn't tell whether it was real or part of some twisted hallucination.

In the end, it took only three days for him to get better. Physically.

School was already starting to feel like a distant, abstract concept his past iteration had had to endure for no reason other than satisfying others' expectations. He found it odd, how quickly he'd put a major phase in his life behind him. Officially, school wasn't over until the end of the month, but teachers didn't bother with attendance as they had no leverage over the students with the final exams already graded.

Thus, Jaune returned to his routine with a newfound vengeance combined with unrelenting dread. Very soon, it'd become apparent that his previous approach was far from optimal. For one, his physical conditioning was lacking and entirely unbalanced. While his chest and shoulders were getting stronger, he'd been neglecting the rest of his body. The optimal course would have been to join the local gym, but he couldn't face Derek, and that thought made him feel even worse. Even angrier at himself.

Instead, he trained outside twice a day, morning and evening, and slept no more than six hours a night, though the latter wasn't by choice. He added a three-mile run after his punishing pushups, ending at a local park where he did several sets of pullups on a somewhat straight tree branch. It was uncomfortably wide, and whenever his forearms burned his right hand began to spasm worryingly.

He couldn't figure out what Derek had done to him

Aura was a mysterious art; he'd always known that. What he didn't know was how strictly information was being controlled. The RWW was sparse with the details, articles mentioning abstract concepts yet conveniently failing to provide trusted sources. The Aura forum he'd frequented quickly came to be his lone source of information, which was anecdotal at best, possibly straight-up fabrications by bored young adults at worst. This frustrated him to no end. That someone else had a say in something so personal for him. The local library wasn't much help either, as most specialized books couldn't be purchased without a license.

So after wasting time on yet another useless blog post that promised to "light up his soul", then promptly offered him male enhancement pills, Jaune accepted that he would have to work with what was available to him, and hoped that it would be enough. So, aside from physical training; meditation and his confiscated Aura profile.

Getting back his Aura profile from Sapphire proved a futile endeavor. He yelled at her after he'd had enough with the circular arguments, shocking both himself and her. It may have been the loudest his voice had ever reached, supported by a sore throat days after. She was close to tears, and it made him yell even harder. She wouldn't relent.

Jaune gave up after that. He simply didn't have the energy to spare, nor was he even sure that profile would be of much help to him. He doubted any of the terms would make sense to him or could be easily researched. He would have to take comfort in the fact that she only hid it and didn't throw it away.

Meditation was pure torture.

Not only did he fail to sense anything remotely resembling a 'raging storm beyond the material', but his mind constantly wandered to memories he'd rather forget. About his father, mostly. All the time he'd wasted while the man was alive and could have shown him a path. Nichoals wouldn't have approved, but he would have understood what was wrong with his son, and he would have fixed it.

"You look like death." Hazel kindly informed him one morning during breakfast.

"Thank you."

"Wasn't a compliment you fucker."

"I wish he was fucking someone," Jade mumbled.

"Leave your brother alone."

"We're joking, Mom." Hazel rolled her eyes. "But seriously bro-Hey, where are you going?"

"My room."

"Why do you have to be such a bitch to him?" he heard Sable before shutting the door behind him.

Lavender was the only person he had any shred of patience for. She didn't mention the diner incident, or nagged him about his future plans, or commented on his 'decayed appearance', as Coral had put it. She didn't even talk about his training routine, other than asking if she could join him on his evening run. He didn't have the heart to refuse her, so he allowed it. Knowing that could cost him a session since she wouldn't be able to keep pace. Sure enough, she didn't, and he swore to run twice as hard the day after.

"You're getting bigger," Lavender said from her perch on top of a swing set, her braid woven around her neck like a scarf. Decent protection against chilly winds, according to her.

Jaune groaned in response, barely completing another set of pull-ups before his forearms burned and his right hand spasmed open. "I appreciate the compliment, but you don't have to lie to make me feel better."

Lavender tilted her head with a shrug. "When did I ever lie to you?"

She had a point.

"Here," she jumped off the swing. "Take off your shirt and lift your arms up."

"Why?"

She waved him to go on.

"Fine," Jaune relented.

Even warmed up, his muscles protested the squirming motion, but he'd gotten used to the state of aching soreness.

"Hmm," Lavender nodded to herself. "As I thought."

Jaune followed her pointed finger. Streaks of purple marks ran across his skin under his armpits.

"Stretch marks," she explained. "You've gained a fair amount of muscle in a short period of time. Your skin couldn't keep up."

"Good."

"They'll fade in time," she said with a caring smile.

"Apologies, but I wouldn't care if they didn't."

Lavender nodded knowingly as he shrugged his shirt back on. "I'll be leaving for Vale soon," she said.

Jaune winced. "Already?"

"Summer is over in two weeks."

"Oh."

"I have a flight booked the day after our graduation dance."

Jaune shifted uncomfortably and looked away. He'd been so focused on his training lately that he'd forgotten he had important life- choices to make. He wouldn't be staying in Ansel, but he needed a concrete plan.

A late Beacon application? Not possible without his Aura unlocked, but he hadn't made a lick of progress in that regard.

"Violence." Derek had said. Ironically, that was maybe the most verifiable advice Jaune had been given so far. And if Derek was right…

"I wanted to ask," Jaune hesitated, "What's your plan for housing arrangements?"

"Student dormitories," Lavender replied with a puzzled frown. "We've already signed up for roommates. Why?"

What was he thinking? It would be incredibly selfish of him to impose himself on her. She would be better off living on campus and making friends, not stuck in some shithole apartment with her pathetic brother.

"Uh- nothing," Jaune said, clearing his throat and averting his eyes. "Just curious."

Her eyes lit up. "My roommate is super nice! She helped me plan my schedule, which is not that bad…"

Jaune did his best to listen attentively and nod politely when appropriate.

The pit in his stomach only deepened.

/X/

Jaune turned on his scroll, squinting against the harsh, blue light before adjusting the brightness. The small clock symbol at the top right corner showed 3.30 a.m. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. His right hand was prickling and burning hot. It'd been doing that a lot lately, but never in that intensity.

He fiddled with his scroll, staring up at the ceiling.

'Truth is, any shit-stained back alley will provide you with the highest quality education,' Derek had said.

What if he was right?

Huntsmen and huntresses in training sparred extensively, most of them killing their first Grimm very young, much younger than Jaune was. Maybe the whole point was to saturate a person's environment with violence, to trick the body into unlocking its Aura, even if the threat wasn't real.

'If you don't mind me asking, how did you unlock your Aura?'

'Sheesh, that was so long ago I can hardly remember. Hmm, in my sleep? No wait, that was Ruby. I think I did it while taking a dump.'

Was that a result of Qrow's niece being exceptionally talented? Or maybe it was a process, not an immediate trigger, but a dam that eventually broke and overflowed?

His contacts screen opened up and a name caught his eyes.

Yang.

He tapped the 'call' button and tossed the scroll to the side.

The beeping tone was at its fifth ring before he realized what he'd done. Jaune shot up in his bed, scrambling, he kicked out of his blanket and almost fell to the floor.

"Argh, who is that? This better be good."

He froze.

He would wait for her to hang up, then call in the morning and apologize, lying that he'd slept on his scroll and accidentally called a bunch of people.

Yes, that would be the best course of action.

Jaune turned on his video. "We meet again, Yang Xiao Long."

He heard faint cursing, a cluttering noise, not-so-faint cursing, silence. Just when he was about to hang up, his screen flickered and Yang's glare stabbed into him.

Like him, the room around her was dark and her face shone with blue light from her scroll, lending her a pale, creepy complexion. Her blond hair stuck out in odd clumps, bunching around her shoulder where she was propped up on a pillow.

She looked pissed. "You missed a few steps, blondie."

"Excuse me?"

"First," she counted one finger, "you need to ask me on a date. Then," she held up a second finger, "you need to ask me on a date again because I'm going to refuse the first time. Then maybe we go on a date. You may or may not want to kiss me by the end of that first date. Then- "

"I'm sorry- "

"I wasn't finished," Yang cut him off with a raised third finger. "Then-, ugh, you know what? Never mind. My point is, booty calls are way up the escalation chain."

"Booty calls?" Jaune frowned. His eyes strayed down to the flimsy nightshirt she was wearing. "That's not- I mean- I am incredibly sorry- I didn't think- "

He mumbled to a stop.

"Go on."

"I thought to ask for your advice," he said, and hurriedly added, "purely academic, I promise."

"So let me see if I get this right," Yang said. "A girl gives you her number, you don't call her for months, and when you finally do, it's in the middle of the night to ask her purely academic questions?"

"Well, I mean, um, yes?"

"You look like shit," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"I thought it was the lighting at first, but you really do look like someone dug up your rotting corpse and is now remote-controlling your putrefying limbs."

Jaune clenched his prickling right hand. "This is…very creative."

"My mind is like that sometimes." Yang yawned and stretched, smirking when Jaune pretended to look away. "So, humor me blondie." She leaned forward with a coy smile and whispered, "I am all yours."

"Ahm, yes. It's- I thank you for your cooperation." He winced when she laughed. Dear gods, get it together. "So, er-"

"Am I going to see you in Beacon or not?"

"Well, probably not," Jaune admitted.

"Did you send your application?"

"I…did not."

"Why?" She blinked in confusion. "You think you're so impressive you'll get accepted at the last minute? Think again, because if Ozpin saw you right now, he'd offer you a ride to the closest hospital, not a scholarship."

"I…have a plan in the works."

Yang raised an eyebrow in a clear skepticism. "Which is?"

"I rather not discuss it right now if that's OK with you. I…got into a fight with, um, another huntsman in training."

"Did you now?" she moved her scroll closer to her face and pushed her pillow against the wall, sitting up straighter. "I hope the other guy looks worse."

He doesn't. "He does. During our struggle, he did something to me. We were…wrestling on the ground- "

"Kinky."

"…and he squeezed my hand. I thought he had surely broken it, but the pain disappeared as soon as he let go."

Yang stared at him. "…and?"

"And, well, I'm trying to figure out the technique he used."

"Technique…?" Yang opened and closed her mouth several times. When she finally spoke, she sounded distracted. "He pushed his Aura into your body. It's a common tactic, usually used by the smaller fighters to gain an advantage during hand-to-hand combat. it's easy to defend against unless you're completely outmatched in Aura control, but- Wait, how do you not know this!?"

Jaune cringed internally. "I- I'm sorry. I just, don't?" She was going to see right through his lies.

He had a hunch she wasn't one to take kindly to liars.

Yang blinked. "Self-trained, you said."

"I did."

She rubbed at her nose, sniffed, and pulled her blanket closer to her chest. "You thought he broke your hand…you didn't push back at all?"

"I tried to push him off me."

"Not physically. With your Aura!"

This was a disaster. He should change the subject. "Never mind, it doesn't matter- "

Yang ignored him. "Thought your hand was broken," she muttered. "Impossible. Your Aura should have responded instinctively at the very least."

If his Aura was unlocked, maybe it would have. "I was low on Aura at that point."

"How low?"

"Uh, I guess, nothing-low?"

Yang was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her gentle voice surprised him. "He pushed his Aura into your hand?" Jaune nodded. "And you were undefended, probably in the low reds, and he didn't stop?" Jaune nodded again. "He didn't stop until you thought your hand was broken?"

"Yes. I think I passed out."

"Jaune, this is..." She trailed off, looking upset.

"Excuse me, have I done something wrong?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It depends. Did you report that piece of human garbage?"

"I did not. "

"Then yeah, you did something wrong! Fucking report him!"

"Report him?" Was she joking? "What do you mean 'report him'? I thought you guys sparred like that all the time."

"Wow, this is so wrong on so many levels." Yang crossed her arms. "First of all, we don't spar like that. Fights are sanctioned, we have rules. If uncle Qrow had a student that pulled this crap he would have had them expelled in a blink."

Jaune's hands balled into fists. "Well, I don't mean to criticize your training philosophy, but real fights don't have rules."

"Yeah, and you don't get to live through most real fights either, so?"

"I'm alive and well.".

Yang frowned. "You look barely alive and certainly not well. When was this fight?"

"Two months ago, I put it behind me. Can we get back on topic, please? Pushing Aura, how does that- "

"It's been two months and you haven't healed yet?"

Jaune clenched his teeth in a grimace. "I haven't been sleeping well. Unrelated."

"Since the fight?"

"Ye- No. Maybe, I don't know."

Yang didn't let up. "Any other symptoms? Loss of hunger? Tremors?"

Jaune shoved his trembling right hand under the blanket. "Nothing of this sort."

"You need to get checked ASAP."

"Alright, I will."

"Blondie, I'm serious," she said. "You don't mess around with Aura-related injuries."

Jaune would have to research if it was possible to damage a locked Aura. Either case, it wouldn't hurt to get checked up in Vale. Medical visits could be expansive though, and he had a feeling he wouldn't have much extra Lien to burn.

"Duly noted."

Yang narrowed her eyes.

"That was rude of me, apologies. Your concern is appreciated and won't go unheard. If it's not too much of a bother, I wanted to ask about shaping exercises- "

"No." She took a deep breath, finally looking like she'd been woken up in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry, I have to be professional about this. I can't offer advice to an amateur civilian."

Her words were a slap to the face. "But you offered to answer my questions! You said I should apply to Beacon!"

Yang scratched the back of her hand. "Yes, I did. Your cloaking capability surprised me, along with your background living in a frontier town, I just assumed you were skilled enough to make the cut. But you're clearly unfamiliar with the bare basics. You may have already hurt yourself. I can't take on this responsibility."

"Right." This had been a complete waste of his time.

Yang fidgeted with a seam on her nightdress. "Hey, um, I'll be honest, I kind of like you?" She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry I can't help with your application, but I wonder if you wanted to grab a drink sometimes? I can show you around Vale city." She paused. "Assuming you're still going…"

"I am."

"Huh, great. So?"

Jaune forced himself to smile and nod. "Fine."

"Jeez, you really know how to shower a girl with enthusiasm."

"I am very much looking forward to it."

"Could've fooled me," Yang muttered. "Anyhows." Her smile returned. "I just realized I barely know anything about you! Do you have any siblings?"

"Seven sisters."

Yang burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, that's just… so typical." She snickered. "I can't imagine that going well."

"Yes. It can be a struggle."

"I bet. How old is the youngest?"

"5."

"They're so cute that age, I'm jealous," Yang cooed. "Ruby -my sister- won't even let me brush her hair. We used to be so close."

"I think I should get to bed."

Yang's smile wavered. "I thought you were already in bed."

Jaune nodded. "Yeah, you know what I mean. Talk to you later?"

"…oh, sure." Yang nodded slowly. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Alright, night."

"Happy dreams, blondie."

Jaune turned off his scroll and slipped out of bed. Down the stairs to the living room. He stood there in darkness, listening. When he couldn't hear anyone for several breaths, he tiptoed to the basement, opening the door and turning on the ugly, yellow lights. He counted steps, making sure to skip the squeaking one.

The floor of the cellar was freezing cold and dusty, and he had to resist the urge to rub his feet together. Instead, Jaune sneezed, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work.

It was grueling, combing through boxes crammed with ornate ceramic dishes, gardening tools, worn fabrics, and swing-arm lamps. He shoved aside furniture, kicked open the jammed door of a ceiling-high cabinet, and tripped over a broomstick, flailing for balance and almost collapsing a shelf.

The Arc family kept three barrels full of household Dust for emergencies. The substance was inert and was regarded as quite safe and stable. But examining the grimy wood, covered with cracks and mold, Jaune had to critically consider how smart it would be to roll those things. In the end, he only dragged them, metal fittings at the bottom of the kegs scraped against the floor, to reveal a wide display case, leaning against the wall.

Behind the glass, veiled under layers of dust, was Crocea Mors. The family sword, passed down through generations from his great-great-grandfather.

Ozpin had returned only the blade. The shield-transforming sheath had been lost, he had said.

Jaune pulled the sword out of its case with trembling hands.

It was heavy. Even after all his training, Jaune could barely lift it with both of his arms straining and veins on his neck bulging.

Yet he did.

A dreadful weapon, by all accounts. Maybe a century ago, one could have seen elegance in it, but the years had chipped away at its beauty, permitting only brutal efficiency to survive. The blue of the handle was stained with red dots. The cross-guard, once golden, was a grooves-streaked greyish hunk of unevenly curved metal.

Nicholas Arc wasn't blessed with a combat-oriented Semblance. All his father could rely on was his Aura and this blade.

And so, it was a tool his father had spent countless hours mastering. In Nicholas' hands, it had dueled the cannibal Albert Helm to a stalemate, held the bridge of Karl Hadom for three days and three nights until reinforcement arrived, and led the survivors of the butchered town of Argus to safety.

It had taken the lives of bandits, deadly criminals, rogue huntsmen and huntresses, ancient Grimm of terrifying intelligence and cruelty, and of course, that of its final victim. Its owner. Nicholas Arc.

Jaune didn't know how long he'd stood there, in the cold and dust, as rough, yellow lights were buzzing and slowly blinking dimmer.

He fought to keep the blade in the air.

When the tip of Crocea Mors inevitably touched ground, he let go, dropping over it to his knees.

Jaune Arc broke down in tears.