An: I asked for your guys' thoughts last chapter, and from the responses it looks like not many people were fans of the fourth wall breaks. I thought they would be funny and add a little more mystery to the caretakers like they knew way more than they should, but it seems that was a mistake. I'll refrain for doing them from now on.

I also had a few reviews accusing me of bashing Jaune, mostly because of his fight with the misfit. I would like to make it clear that it is not my intention to bash Jaune, it would be weird to make an entire story around him if I did. The purpose of that fight was to show how different things were in this new profession. Jaune isn't any weaker than he is in canon, he was able to kill the misfit in one hit, the problem was getting to it in the first place. That was the problem he had to overcome, not the fight itself.

It had taken many sleepless night, but Jaune had done it. Held in his hands was a thick pocket journal with everything of note from Roman's book transcript within. No longer would Jaune have to search through that mess of pages, he had painstakingly organized everything with tabs poking out the side, glorious and easy to use tabs. The content inside may still mostly be a mystery, but now those concepts fit into nice little categorizes that could easy be picked out when the need arose. There was even enough room for him to add his own notes. This would be as big a step for him as the CCT towers were for civilization.

Jaune rubbed his fingers over the cover of his masterpiece. It was an unassuming thing covered in brown leather with only a small symbol of an apple that had a bite taken out of it in the bottom right hand corner. Jaune had asked about it when he had got it from the thrift store, but the shopkeeper was just as clueless, saying it was probably just some company logo. It didn't really matter. He was just happy he was able to find something that could hold a lot of information but still fit into his back pocket. It was thick and a little awkward to push in and out but it fit.

Jaune wandered to his window and looked outside. It was still the same horrid view, but for some reason, it seemed so much nicer today. The club was nearly done, and soon Jaune would be able to go back to his regular job. It was a nice feeling for things to finally be looking up.

On his bed, his scroll started ringing. He walked over to see who it was, and saw It was his mother. Jaune almost declined on instinct but stopped himself. She was just worried about him. Maybe it was time to talk to her.

He answered the phone. "Jaune Miles Arc! Do you know what I've been going through!"

Yep, she was pissed. "Hi mom, how's your day been?"

"Don't you 'hi mom' me young man! I've been worried sick. You just disappear one day and the only thing we hear back from you is one lousy text saying you're fine. I swear, if it wasn't for you father, I would have filed a missing person report and spanked you in front of the cops that brought you back. You could have been dead and some crazy person could have been using your phone for all I knew, and what about your sisters do you know what they've gone through? Not a day passes without one of them asking what happened to you!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're going to be a lot more than sorry! When you get back here, you're going to be drowning in chores, all under my watchful eye."

"I'm not coming back," Jaune said.

The line went quiet, and Jaune could practically feel the frustration building on the other end, but it all went away in one deep sigh. "You father did say you wouldn't come home so easily, not after you took Crocea Mors. I just didn't want to believe it." Jaune felt terrible hearing his mother sound so defeated.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "but I'm only sorry for how I left, not why I left."

That was another long sigh. "I'm not going to say what you did was okay or that I understand, but you father did try to explain it. You tried to get into Beacon, right?"

"Yeah."

"How did that go?"

"I got rejected."

"Are you surprised by that? Jaune, you're not a huntsman. You don't have any training."

"That's not my fault!" Jaune barked. "How many times did I ask dad to teach me, and how many times did he say no?"

"He wanted to keep you—keep all of us—safe."

"I don't see how not teaching me how to defend myself makes me safer."

"That's a talk you're going to have to take up with him."

"I guess it is." There was a long pause where he took the time to cool off, and his mom waited for him to do so. Even with seven other children, she always seemed to know the best way to handle each of them when they got angry or upset. She must have gone through the motions a thousand times at this point. "I understand what I did wasn't right, and it wasn't fair to any of you, but I'm not coming home."

"Why not? You said it yourself, you didn't get into Beacon. If you're worried about coming home after what you did, don't be. I won't actually drown you in chores, probably."

Jaune couldn't help but chuckle. "I much as that thought terrifies me, that's not the reason. I can't really explain it, but let's just say, I found a substitutive for Beacon. It's not what I envisioned myself doing, and truthfully, I'm not very good at it yet, but I came to Vale to be the person I've always wanted to be. I want you all to be proud of me, but most importantly I want to be proud of myself."

"Men and their stupid pride. Why does your glory have to rest on everyone else's worry? Can't you just be happy with who you are now?"

"Sorry, but the males of the Arc family don't seem capable of living in the everyday world."

"So, there's really no way I convince you to come back?"

"Afraid not."

"Ugh, I hate it when your father's right especially about you kids. Fine, I don't like it but you're seventeen, officially an adult now, so I can't force you even if I know whatever you've gotten yourself into is probably really stupid and dangerous. Just promise you mother you'll be careful."

"I promise I'll try to be careful."

"Yep, definitely you're father's son. He used to say the same thing to me before going off on missions, back in the day."

"What can I say, as the only other male in the house, I took a lot from him."

"Then maybe you'll remember this little line he has 'don't go looking for something new if you've don't want to lose what you've already found.' There's a lot of people in this world that find their dreams turning into nightmares. I don't want you to end up one of them."

"Doesn't he also say that 'the things you fight for are the only things worth having?'"

"That's hardly his wisdom. That's a crappy pick-up line he once used on me. I honestly wish you forgot about that type of knowledge."

"Hey, it worked in the end, didn't it?"

"On the list of reasons on why I married you father his pick-up lines are near the bottom, right next to him constantly leaning on my head like I'm a living elbow rest, but yes, it did work in the end."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jaune."

"Say 'hi' to the girls for me."

"You should do that yourself. It's not like you don't have your sisters' numbers."

"I'll think about it, goodbye." Jaune hung up the phone and sat down on his bed.

It had been nice talking to his mom. She had been surprising understanding about the whole thing. He wondered what his dad had told her. It was weird, his dad had always been the one most against Jaune wanting to be a huntsman, despite being one himself, but now that Jaune had gone and run away, he seemed to be the only one not trying to get him back. What had changed?

Jaune looked over at Crocea Mors—the sword he stole. Nearly every one of his dreams had featured that sword. To Jaune it had always been inevitable that he would hold that sword. That one day his dad would see that he was serious about his dream and recognize his potential, but years went by and he never got any closer to wielding Crocea Mors.

Jaune looked at his hands. He didn't like to admit it but Crocea Mors didn't feel quite right. It wasn't his sword, after all. It was his dad's, he was just the thief who stole it. Why had his dad not demanded his weapon back? Why was he letting him chase his dream after denying him for so long?

Jaune grabbed Crocea Mors and examined the blade as if it had all the answers. This blade had so much history behind it. It had been in the Arc family for as long as anyone could remember, yet it didn't show any signs of aging. What had his dad thought of this blade when his father passed it down to him?

It only now occurred to Jaune that he had never asked his farther why he became a huntsman.

Jaune put the sword back and got up from his bed. It didn't really matter what Crocea Mors' pervious wielders had wanted. It might not be his sword, but it was in his possession, so it served his whims. Jaune hadn't taken it out of spite, he had taken it to prove himself. Whether his dad approved or disapproved was a null point. This was his goal, and he was going to make it work.

With a renewed vigor, Jaune grabbed a newspaper off his dresser. Yes, an actual physical newspaper. After being inducted into this new world, Jaune had taken it upon himself to stay more informed. His first two encounters had happened on him, but he couldn't rely on his luck forever. The internet had been his first choice for research, but the web was focused on more global issues, so Jaune had switched over to the old local newspaper. He was probably the only person under fifty to read them, but newspapers were a lot easier to shift through, and had stories that didn't make their way into the web search bar. Jaune would also be lying if he said he didn't learn a bunch of new things about Vale in general.

The paper always had a bunch of ads, and most of the news related section was talking about Beacon's newest graduates and how they were keeping humanity safe now that they were actual huntsmen and huntresses. There was also some speculation about the incoming students. Rumors that both Weiss Schnee and Pyrrha Nikos were choosing to attend Beacon rather than their home academies were front page. Jaune felt a tinge of sadness as he read that, but he quickly moved passed it. He had a new path now.

There was one story that caught Jaune's eye. It was a small story barely talking up one-eightieth of a page, but it might be just the story he was looking for. It was about a school playground going missing. It was certainly weird, but police thought someone might have dismantled it in the middle of the night to sell for scrap mental. It wouldn't be the strangest thing people have done.

Jaune wasn't so sure. This seemed like just the type of thing that could have a supernatural cause. He didn't have any other leads, so he might as well give it a shot. The worst that could happen is he's wrong.

Jaune was aware how suspicious he looked climbing over the fence of a middle school wearing a black Pumpkin Pete hoodie and an old beat-up backpack that he had owned for years, which had also been his luggage when he came to Vale. Add the sword strapped to his waist, and he wouldn't be convincing anyone of his innocence.

He hopped down on the other side of the fence and wandered over to where the playground should have been, but all that was left was a large tub of wood chips. He dropped his backpack on the ground and dug out a piece of cardboard along with a light blue chalk stick. It was time to see if all his practicing with etches had paid off. He laid the cardboard on the ground and started drawing his etch. He had switched to chalk instead of pens and markers for two reason. The first being that it was easier to make bigger etches, and he could erase a section if he messed up instead of redoing the whole etch. The second was that chalk could be used on other surfaces besides paper like concrete or stone, something Jaune might need if he had to draw an etch in a pinch. If he was more confidence in his abilities, he might have been able to draw on the woodchips themselves, but on the cardboard, he was able to do it on the first attempt, although he still needed to use a reference.

The etch glowed slightly before a ring of fog formed around the playground. It wasn't great cover and if anyone decided to investigate the isolated instance of fog they would quickly find him, but it was better than being out in the open, and it was unlikely any passerby would notice the strange occurrence.

Jaune examined the etch seeing the chalk outline starting to fade slightly. He probably had about 20 minutes before the etch completely disappeared along with his cover. He could make another one if he needed to so it wasn't a hard limit, but Jaune had discovered that repeating an etch right after using one, in the same area, gave significantly dismissed returns. Jaune's theory was that the gas-like dust particles the etch needed to create its effect was acting as fuel for the etch and needed to replenish itself before it could be used in full again. It also would explain why the longevity of any continuous etch was completely random. Some areas were just denser with dust than others.

Apparently, there were whole fields entirely dedicated to studying the so called "dust cloud" that covered all of Remnant, but all Jaune knew was that it made his etches work, and that was good enough for now.

Getting back into why he was here, Jaune examined the empty playground. He could easily imagine were the metallic monkey bars and plastic slide had been from the small areas that showed were supports had dug into the ground. Jaune examined these spots closer. They were almost all perfectly circular or rectangular areas that lacked any woodchips. Jaune wasn't an expert, but even he knew that if the human had removed the playground they would have accidently kicked at least some chips into the now unoccupied space as they dismantled the thing piece by piece. From what Jaune was seeing, it seemed like the whole structure had been taken all at once without disturbing anything else.

It was looking like Jaune hadn't been chasing a dead lead. He had actually been a little afraid that he was becoming too paranoid. After his encounter with the misfit, there had been a few days where he couldn't even stub his toe without looking around for one. Still, even if he was fairly certain there was a supernatural cause that didn't tell him what it was or how to fix it.

Jaune continued his investigation, but the problem with disappearances was there was nothing to investigate. Even his new beautifully organized pocket journal wasn't of much help because, just like with the misfit, disappearance was too board a term. The playground could have been levitated away by another caretaker, vaporized by a sight seeker, warped to the other side of remnant, or any number of other things.

Knowing he didn't have the means or the time to test any of his speculations, and not wanting to have another burger flipping epiphany, Jaune decided to use his first call to Roman.

"You're going to need a transdimensional plate."

"A trans—what?"

"A transdimensional plate," Roman repeated. "Your little playground got swallowed by the Abyss. It's the only thing that could have caused this without leaving a trance. The Abyss is another dimensional layer that's constantly gobbling things up from this layer. Think about all the things you've lost over your life that you were never able to find again. A large portion of those items were likely caused by you being dumb and irresponsible, but it possible that some were lost to the Abyss. Normally smaller and more mundane items fall into the Abyss, but every so often it takes something more public."

"Why does it do that?"

"The answer would cost you another phone call, but I wouldn't worry about the what or why. All you need to know is that it did, and you're going to need a transdimensional plate to fix it."

"Am I going to have to go into the Abyss and get the playground out myself?" Jaune asked not very fond of the idea of dimension hopping.

"No, the Abyss isn't a place meant for humans, or anything else born in this world for that matter. The transdimensional plate couldn't take a living being to the Abyss on its own, anyways. All you need to do is get the thing, go back to where the playground was, and use it. The abyss will be forced to cough the playground back up if you do."

"Got it, so where can I find one?"

"You're in luck because it just so happens that Vale's Ancient Civilization Museum has one on display right now."

"But, how am I actually supposed to get it?"

"Take some inspiration from me," Roman said before cutting the call.

Yeah, real funny, Roman. As if I could do what you do, Jaune thought as he stood in front of a glass display inside Vale's Ancient Civilization Museum, sometime later. He had actually been here once before on his first round of trying to find supernatural objects or events. He could even remember walking right through this particular exhibit. Never would he have guess that the little thing in front of him could have contained any abilities, though.

It was a wooden rod stuck through four CD-like disks. On one end of the rod there was an extrusion that keep the disk from falling off while the other ended in a hemisphere that would have allowed the disks to be removed and put back on. The bottom disk was completely transparent. The one above that was black, so dark that it seemed to swallow all the light around it. Second from the top was a plan grey disk that looked to be made from clay, and at the very top was a pure white disk that seemed to shimmer slightly.

The plague below the object had a brief description.

Recovered from the outskirts of the ruined city Cryphilictal. Dating back to before any of the four kingdoms were founded, this artifact is in remarkable condition. Although its exact purpose remains unknown, it's believed to be a children's toy, perhaps to teach them about patterns or light reflection.

Cryphilictal sounded familiar. Jaune was sure that some of the entries in the book had reference the city. He skimmed his journal and soon enough he found a mention of it. There wasn't much. The writer only talked of it in passing as a possible connection to the Biling Sea, whatever that was. All Jaune knew was it wouldn't be helping him get the transdimensional plate.

That was the crux of the issues, though. The tool he needed was under a locked box and guarded by twenty-four-hour security. Jaune wasn't a criminal, magic powers or not, he didn't have a chance of taking it without anyone noticing. Putting the morality of stealing a probably priceless artifact from a museum aside, Jaune wouldn't even know where to begin. Was the room trapped with invisible lasers at night like in the movies. How thick was the glass? Would an alarm go off him he tried to smash it? How would he even get into the museum in the first place? Could he hide out somewhere and wait for the museum to close?

Far too many question and far too many risks.

As much as Jaune didn't want to, because it would mean wasting a call to Roman, he might just have to abandon this job. The only thing at stake was a children's playground. It wasn't worth going to jail over.

He reluctantly left the museum, frustrated that he still lacked the skills to do much of anything. Roman, or even Junior, could have gotten that thing easily, but Jaune was still just a novice with the only thing to his name being a sword he barely knew how to use and some pretty, magical designs.

Junior had given him a call, later that day, offering a side job to earn a little extra money. When he arrived at the night club, Junior was waiting for him. It wasn't a difficult job, just a delivery to another shop. Anyone could have done it, but Jaune wasn't doing anything so it might as well be him.

Junior gave him a plain white envelope, told him not to open it, and gave him the address. Jaune made his way to his destination, which was still in the shady part of town, but much less rundown and had more foot traffic than the area he operated in.

The address took him to a small hole-in-the-wall junk shop. What Junior could want from this place was beyond him, but he wasn't about to question Junior's motives. What the boss said goes, even Jaune, as the measly cook, knew that.

A bell chimed as the door open, but Jaune hadn't been the one to do it. A girl walked out of the store and accidentally bumped into him. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

"It's no big deal," Jaune assured, "I shouldn't have been standing in front of the entrance like that."

The girl gave him a cute simile, making Jaune blush slightly, before giggling and heading off. Jaune found himself watching her until she turned a corner, but quickly shook those thoughts out of his head. He was here to work, and besides, perving on every girl he saw made him feel like a creep. He needed to get his own life in order before thinking about entering a relationship.

The inside of the shop was exactly like how he imagined. It was cluttered with all sort of things stacked from floor to ceiling with small pathways dugout between the somewhat differentiated groups of items. The air had this dusty feel and smell to it like he had just entered a long-forgotten room.

Jaune had to squeeze through the walkways to get to the counter, which was unhelpfully on the far side of the store. It was just as cluttered as the rest of the store with a bunch of miniature statues looking out at him. The man behind the counter was going bald and had on a pair of glasses that seemed to have slid too far down his nose to be useful. His eyes themselves were half shut giving him a very tried look and made it very difficult to pick out any emotions. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulder Jaune might have mistaken him for a wax figure.

"Hello, I'm here to make a delivery," Jaune said, holding out the envelope. The only indication that the man had heard him was the slight shift of his pupils towards Jaune's face. "Um…it's from junior." The clerk took the envelope from him and roughly opened it to reveal the letter. His pupils never left Jaune's face, but the clerk must have somehow been reading the letter because after a minute he put it in his pocket and walked through a door to the back.

"So, are you getting something for me, or should I just go?" He asked the empty space. Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Jaune slumped his shoulders and sighed. Today was turning out great.

Jaune waited by the counter for a few minutes before getting bored and wandering off to explore the store. There were some interesting things in the form of fancy antiquities and odd half-working contraptions, but nothing Jaune could see anyone actually purchasing. It was like a tourist shop with novity items that were fun to take pictures of and tell your friends about, but you'd never use it anywhere else.

Jaune found a deck of tarot cards on one of the selves. They didn't look anything like the one's Roman had and they felt filmily. He put them back. The next thing he picked up was a rectangular wooden box that had some illegible cursive craved into the top. When he opened it, he discovered it was a music box with a human female and a faunus male holding hands as they spun on a pestle. Jaune had never heard the song that was playing, but it sounded like a lullaby. He quickly shut it feeling the music taking effect.

He briefly wondered if it was more than just the lullaby and the box was enchanted to make him drowsy, but he dismissed that thought. Just because something was old didn't mean it was supernatural. Everyone who entered this shop would walk away a caretaker if that were the case. That said, this shop was too cluttered with odd items for there not to be at least some mythical things. Jaune wasn't willing to dig through the whole store to find them, however.

He entered the book section where there was a big bin off to one side with a sigh saying "free" written in big red letters taped to the side. Jaune picked one out just to see what books could be so bad that the owner was forced to give them away.

The Extraordinary Tales and Telling's of Peter Port,

Vol. VI: The First Expedition into the Grimmlands,

Part 2: The Huntsman, The Grimm and The Girl!

Jaune put the book back feeling his sanity slip just from holding it. What kind of person had the time, or the ego, to publishes their entire life? On second thought, it would probably be best not to know.

Jaune left the book aisle, feeling the need to put as much distance between him and that bin as possible which lead him to the back wall of the store. About a dozen or so paintings were hung on the wall each with their own price tag. One was depicting a tea party with a young girl, a rabbit and a man with a very large top hat. Another was an empty, rainy road with only a single streetlight on. The lamppost was bent so the beam of light actually shot up into a second story window revealing a human-like silhouette. There was also a landscape painting of a lake full of fire with a red rock coast leading to a town of pointed house made from bone, but among all the strange pictures, there was one that caught Jaune's attention above all else.

It wasn't framed like the other. It was painted on a tapestry that had definitely seen better days. The pigment, however, was still bright and clear as day. There were four girls, each painted in a single color: blue, purple, orange and green. They sat in a circle, holding hands, around a small campfire that lit up the center as dark grimm-shaped shadows creeped in from the surrounding forest. The girls looked unafraid as they all looked up to a bright, unbroken, moon. The moon cast a sliver light over the sky and sometimes cut through the pitch-black shadows.

It was beautiful. Jaune couldn't take his eyes off it, but there was something unnerving about it. While the girls didn't look afraid, they didn't look happy. If anything, they seemed to be in reluctant acceptance like whatever was happing couldn't be avoid. Jaune had no way to know for sure, but he felt, that those girls would be dead if this painting progressed in time. It wouldn't be the surround grimm, though. No, it would something far more destructive and grotesques. An entity whose existence was just out of sight, but whose presence radiate throughout the picture and swept into the room like a suffocating fog.

A total of three, but they forgot about me.

Something grabbed Jaune's shoulder and suddenly the otherworldly pressure of the painting disappeared like it was never there. The fate of the four girls was no longer apparent. The image of irreversible change and otherworldly forces were gone, lost to the outer edges of the tapestry, and no matter how hard Jaune tried, he couldn't bring it back.

The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Jaune turned to see the shopkeeper behind him. He handed Jaune a brown paper bag, and returned to the counter without a word. "Do I need to pay for this, or dose Junior have like a tab?" No response. "Would it kill you to say something?"

"If you're not here to buy something, get out."

Jaune slumped forward, taking one last look at the tapestry before walking out. He refused to believe that he had just imagined those feelings. There was something wrong about that painting. Maybe his journal could tell him something.

Jaune reached into his back pocket only to find air. He checked his other pocket just to make sure he hadn't accidently switched it, but that pocket was empty too. Jaune went pale. His journal was missing!

Alright think, when was the last time he knew he had it? It was when Junior had given him the letter. He specifically remembered that he tried to put the enveloped in his back pocket only to realize his journal was now occupying that space. After that, he had gone straight to the store. He had gone at a leisurely pace, so there was no way it fell out. The only time he even stumbled was when he bumped into that person leaving the store.

The reality hit Jaune hard, and he sprinted down the sidewalk.

Emerald Sustrai was kicking herself. What had been such an easy target had turned out to be a complete bust. Instead of grabbing his wallet, she had taken his stupid dairy. Emerald knocked a trashcan down in frustration. Looks like it would be another night without food. Even as a master pickpocket, emerald was finding It hard to survive on the streets. People just didn't carry as much lien on them as they used to, all preferring to carry around plastic cards that could be cancel at moment's notice. That along with that bastard Roman taking all the big heists and throwing the police into overdrive while doing so, made Emerald's life especially miserable as of late.

She would have left Vale if she could afford it, but the problem with hot money was you had to spend it quickly. If she had a place to hide it, it would be a different story, but every time she tried the vultures, who spied on other criminals because they couldn't do the stealing themselves, always found her stash when she was away. Didn't matter if she used her semblance or set traps, they took it all the same. On the street, the only things you ever truly owned were the things that never left your body.

No home, no family, no friends, and tonight, no food. Emerald wondered how much longer she could live like this. As a kid, it had actually been easier. You could tell yourself that is was going to get better. When you grew up things would chance, but years went by and nothing changed, in fact, they got worse. People were a little more generous to children because they pitied them, but as you got older charity gain a price. "I'll do this for you if you do this for me." It was always a rotten deal that expected way more from you than it did them. That was even if they follow through with it. Half the time you do what they ask and they'd disappear, or walk away laughing.

There had been a chance to leave this life behind. About a year ago a woman had seen Emerald use her semblance to take a ring from a jeweler. She had cornered her in an alley. Asked if she wanted to come with her, be powerful, be feared, be full. It had been so tempting to accept. The woman standing in front of her was the person Emerald always wanted to be, but life on the streets made you learn to judge people quickly. That woman didn't want the help of Emerald Sustrai. She wanted the help of Emerald Sustrai's semblance. She wanted to use her just like all the rest. Well, Emerald had been used before and she was tired of it. Even if her life was awful and going nowhere fast, it was still hers.

The lady in red had not taken her rejection kindly. Emerald still shuttered at the fight they had, the flames, the lighting quick swords, the wailing of the sirens in the distance. Emerald was lucky to be alive. If it wasn't for the police and brief distraction with her semblance, she wouldn't be.

As Emerald was reminiscing, she heard the stomping of feet rushing towards her. She griped the twin blades, behind her back, but didn't deploy them just in case the runner would just pass her by.

No luck. The minute the blond-haired boy rounded the corner and saw her he ran right for her. Emerald recognized him as the person she had stolen the diary from. His hair was matted to his face from sweat and by the time he stooped he front of her, he was bent over trying to catch his breath. "Give me back my journal," he panted.

"And what if I don't want to," Emerald said fully deploying her weapons.

The boy stood up to his full height, which was quite a bit taller than her, and stared at her with desperate eyes. Emerald tensed. Her opponent didn't look practically threating, she would even say he looked like a dork, but she knew that look. It was the look she, and other street rats, sometimes gave when they were willing to do anything for food. Desperation like that could be more dangerous than any weapon. What the hell could be inside that book to make a man act like this.

The boy took one step forward and Emerald found herself taking one step back. "If you don't give it back," he said, "you're really going to be in trouble."

Emerald got into her stance knowing this could only end one way.

Excerpt from the book

Caretakers often use magical or enchanted items to assist them, but hardly, if at all, do we question where these items came from. Some are created by humans, using our knowledge of the unknown world, but this disturbingly seems to make up only a small percentage of these items. It's possibly that the majority of these items were crafted by ancient humans and the knowledge has since been lost, but this does not explain the more modern incarnations of these items. I have personally come into contact with an everyday, mass produced, pencil that was capable of regenerating itself. A small thing I know, but this clearly demonstrates that magical properties can manifest anywhere. They might grow more powerful with age. The question is, do these items acquire these properties when they are first created, or are the absorbed at a later date? If the answer is the former then it must either be the process or the martials themselves that bring out the dormant power. If it's the latter, and I believe it is, the cause becomes much harder to pinpoint. There doesn't necessarily have to be a single cause for the creation of these items, but supposes there is some divine architect out there that decides what will be imbued with power. Can we really trust the tools we use if that is the case? Can we trust our tools if that isn't the case because like it or not they come from the same world we are constantly fighting? Are they perhaps the things controlling us? And what about the items that are recorded to have been destroyed only to reappear decades later? Why do they need to exist? What plan do they have for us?

The passage continues with these types of question until it abruptly cuts off, and is picked up a couple lines down with different handwriting.

It would seem my uncle has died from a heart attack. In honor of his memory, I will not erase his last entry, but I advise future readers to disregard it. The old man seems to have lost his grasp on sanity after confronting Mr. Bedlam. I had warned him not the chase the mad hatter, but I was ignored. I would like to make a point that my uncle wasn't complete unfounded in his suspicion of magical objects but taking it to the extremes, as he did, is frankly ridiculous. They are no more unusual than anything else we deal with. They will come and go as they please just like any other creature of the unknown world. Regardless of how they come to be, these tools of the unknown world produce their intended effect without any negative consequence. It is foolish to imagine that a divine being of such power, as my uncle has described, would care enough about a race of hairless apes to hand-pick items to either help or destroy them. If a rabbit learned how to use a rife, would it not be absurd for it to think it an elaborate trap being used against him. The rabbit would be much better off firing it back at the hunters than setting it aside out of fear.

An: The other tagged character is finally introduced, a little of Jaune's past is revealed and whole lot of allusions to other things that may or may not appear further down the line. We'll just have to see.