Jaune found himself atop a hill, overlooking the carnage below. Countless Valean soldiers lay dead on the ground below, their corpses uncared for by the army of Faunus that slaughtered them. Jaune felt his stomach churn at the scene, the sight and smell of death invading his senses but like always, he made no outward show of his discomfort.

He could hear their celebrations at the foot of the hill, the Faunus revolutionaries reveling in the massacre of their perceived enemies. Jaune wished to shout back at them, to correct them that the King's Army was no enemy of Faunuskind. But again, whatever was deep within him remained hidden.

Jaune turned his head to behind him and saw the injured King Carolus barely hanging unto his horse, the aged royalty's breathing shallow and labored. King Carolus, Third of His Name, Warrior-King of the Great War, brought low not by a glorious battle but by an ambush as they marched home from a triumph.

Jaune broke his gaze from the weak form of the Valean King and locked eyes with one of his lieutenants beside the king. No words were spoken between them, only a nod was shared. In silence, the lieutenant led a handful of knights and escorted the king away from battle and towards Vale. Jaune watched them gallop away until he could hardly make out who was who among the group.

Jaune returned his sights back to the army below. Their celebration largely abandoned as they reorganized to finally deal the final blow. Without the army and what remained of the Royal Hussars, the enemy outnumbered Jaune's force by a large margin. There would be no escape for them who remained.

Jaune looked to his sides, seeing his knightly comrades, their faces grim but determined as well. Many of them were veterans of the Great War, thus his senior in terms of age and experience, and they knew what entailed committing to this battle, this final battle.

They all looked to Jaune, the chosen successor of the late Commander Flavius, to lead them.

"Commander Arc?" One of the knights prompted.

Jaune wished to give them some form of hope, of inspiration, of untapped vigor, but his mouth never opened. He merely returned his gaze at the enemy below before drawing his sword.

The sound of hundreds of swords being drawn quickly followed; the harsh metallic sound unusually pleasant to Jaune's ears at the moment.

Jaune watched as the revolutionaries slowly organized themselves to a march up the hill. As they did, Jaune focused on the form of one of the Faunus officers leading his regiment. Jaune saw the man look up to their position, stand frozen in his place for a few moments, before screaming to his comrades to reorganize quickly. He had realized.

Jaune raised his sword up high, the motion slow and deliberate as to catch the attention of his fellow knights. After a few silent moments, he dropped it down and suddenly, the entire hill trembled at the united gallop of a disciplined cavalry charge.

Jaune saw the Faunus soldiers scramble into position, raising their guns to shoot his group down like the rest of the army. Soon, the revolutionaries unleashed their ammunition into the Royal Hussars, but for the first few seconds, none fell. Bullets bounced off harmlessly in front of the knights, a shield of Aura protecting them as they charged down.

Even as the first several knights were gunned down as their Aura shattered under the relentless hail of bullets, those few seconds allowed Jaune and a significant number of his cavalry to crash into the first few groups of Faunus soldiers. Dozens of Faunus were killed, either by the charge or by a knight's sword, while most fled down the hill in a panic to the rest of their army.

Jaune felt bile rise up from his stomach to his throat. He heard the screams of the Faunus that was trampled under his horse's legs. He became hyperaware of the warm drops of blood that splattered on his face and hands as he cut down those near him.

And yet, Jaune did not relent. With a stoic face, Jaune banged his sword into his shield twice, the sound unnaturally resonating through the battle, catching the attention of his men. And as Jaune charged down towards the main army of the revolutionaries, so did the rest of the knights.

Unfortunately, the success of the first charge would not be replicated. Pushed to the limit by the initial barrage of bullets from the first charge, the rest of the Hussars stood no chance in surviving a second hail of bullets, much less the more fortified position of the enemy at the base of the hill.

Around Jaune, his fellow knights dropped to the ground, their Aura failing them as bullets ripped through their armor and flesh. Jaune wished to scream for them, for himself, but the cruel pattern continued, forcing him to remain silent.

Instead, Jaune pushed forward, his own Aura battered but certainly not on the brink of shattering like the rest. As he neared the entrenched Faunus revolutionaries, he leapt from his horse and into the enemy lines, uncaring that he was alone in a sea of enemies.

Jaune felt his arms move quickly, operating on sheer instinct as he cut down the unlucky few that happened to be near where he landed. As he decapitated the last one within his sword's reach, he felt the harsh strikes of bullets from all over, instead of only his front. The revolutionaries have finished off the rest of the Royal Hussars, and Jaune was the last one left.

Jaune rushed to the nearest group of soldiers, ignoring how each bullet gave a sharper sting or how he felt his Aura rapidly depleting. He drove his sword deep into the chest of the first soldier he encountered, the man's gurgled last words- or screams- were intimately heard by Jaune.

Before he could rip out the sword from the corpse and move on to the next, Jaune felt his Aura finally shatter and unimaginable pain shot through his entire body. Hundreds of bullets finally buried themselves deep in his body, while hundreds more ripped right through meat and bone alike. He felt blood fill his lungs, coughing up what he could and choking on the rest.

And yet, Jaune felt he could not die. He was still stuck in the living, barely holding on for some unknown reason, with his entire body enflamed in gory agony. His body screamed for death, for release from the pain, and yet his mind screamed louder for life.

Too weak to stand, Jaune finally dropped to his knees, blooding gushing out of every hole from his body and staining the grass. Delirious, Jaune almost didn't realize a figure loomed over him.

Jaune felt the cold steel of a pistol's barrel pressed upon his forehead. Jaune wanted to leap up and continue the fight for his survival, but even his mind cannot a body too tired and too destroyed to move anymore.

As Jaune closed his eyes in resignation, the last thought he had was of his brother, Julius.


Jaune shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. His eyes were wide in panic and fear and his breathing was rough and heavy. His eyes darted everywhere in the dark room of his dorm, taking in everything.

It was not a battlefield. It was not a death field. It was just his Beacon dorm.

Jaune's eyes steadily relaxed and his breathing gradually calmed as he understood that he was back in Beacon. When Jaune felt he was finally stable, he thought back on what he had dreamt about in his sleep.

Those nightmares. Or maybe memories. Jaune cared little for distinction when either way, they filled his heart with dread. He always had them ever since his Aura was unlocked by his generations-old grandfather, but they were few and far between, not to mention milder. But ever since he first slept in Beacon, not a single night went by that didn't have a vivid nightmare.

Jaune had asked his father and grandfather about the dreams before. They told him they were most likely just remnants of the Aura that pooled from dead ancestors. And for a long while, Jaune thought the same. The dreams before were scary, but they were vague enough to allow Jaune to disassociate himself from it when he woke up. Now, he could still faintly feel the stab of an arrow, slash of a sword, the puncture of a spear when he focused on remembering the nightmares.

'Aurelius'

The name suddenly popped into his mind as he mulled over the nightmare.

Aurelius Arc. Brother of Julius Arc, Jaune's great grandfather. Youngest Commander of the Royal Hussars in all of history. Died during the Faunus Revolution while defending the King's retreat.

'So that was his death.' Jaune reasoned to himself, both remembering and trying to forget the brutal death he had suffered in his sleep.

Jaune feared he would go mad in Beacon. There was something in Beacon that caused the nightmares to become worse. To experience vivid, painful death every night was something Jaune did not want at all. Perhaps Beacon was not for him.

Jaune's gaze suddenly turned to his right, towards the peaceful forms of his teammates. Each one of them sleeping soundly, unaware of the inner turmoil of their team leader.

And yet, Beacon might just be fine. Jaune had only known his team for little more than a week but even then, he could feel a unique bond forming between them all. It was like what he felt between him and his sisters but also unique. Weaker in intensity for now, but a great potential of its strength. He could not leave them; he didn't want to. He was their leader, and they were his team.

Vivid as they were, Jaune forced himself to reason that they were still only nightmares. He would soldier on in Beacon and become a hero on his own terms, with his team. And if the nightmares persist and worsen, he'll just speak with his grandfather. But for now, he'll go back to sleep and continue with his life in Beacon.

As Jaune closes his eyes, he still doesn't notice the faint hum in the air of Beacon.