"Huntsman! Huntsman! Huntsman!" Jaune Arc screamed angrily as he threw his ancestral blade across the clearing.

The blade clanged against a tree and fell to the ground with a soft thump. In an almost blind fury, Jaune stomped over to his blade and began to stomp on while his foot flashed with aura. His mother had chased after her son as he was once again punished by his father and ran out of the house to find some solace. She bit her lip and waited for her son to beat some frustrations out.

Maybe if the damn weapon broke his father would give up.

At first, things had been wonderful when it was discovered that he had a huge aura and had a knack for theory of applied tactics. Her husband was sure that he would be a powerful huntsman, making the Arc name great once again. But Jaune was never able to wield Crocea Mors with the same amount of skill his predecessors had shown. No matter how hard he tried, he complained that the ancestral weapon never felt right in his grasp, it would never feel natural.

In time, his father grew more and more furious at his son's denial of the ancestral weapon that was 'meant' for him. His mother once had shown her son her old huntress weapons, and Jaune was enchanted with the Cestus made out of carved obsidian, running his hands reverently over the sleek black gloves that were outlined in white ivory. Sliding his arms in to the segmented stones that covered his arms from elbow to fingers to protect them from harm. Hoping to appease his father's expectations by wielding some weapon, he trained. He took to hand-to-hand like a fish to water, never needing to learn how to grasp anything and simply needing to learn how to fight with his fists.

If anything, it only made his father angrier that he son wasn't able to fight as well with what should have been 'his' true weapon.

Jaune, out of pure spite and growing anger, began to train with his Cestus whenever he wasn't under his father's eye. And when with his mother, he shamefully explained he didn't want to even be a huntsman, that the legacy on his head as the sole male son was nothing but a curse.

He wanted to learn how to craft and create, not kill and destroy.

His mother gave no argument but simply held her son as she accepted his choice.

Jaune sank to his knees and tangled his fingers into his hair as he began to sob. His mother - his beautiful loving mother - quickly swept up her son into her arms and tightly held him as he wailed.

"Shhhh..." She soothed as she began to run her hand over his head, "It's okay Jaune."

"I-it's n-n-not!" He hiccuped, "I don't want to be a huntsman! I don't want to fight monsters! I don't want a sword! I don't want any of it!"

"I know, honey." She whispered.

He sagged against her, energy spent as he let out heavy and stuttering breaths.

"What do I do?" He whispered.

Jaune's mother hesitated.

Dare she say it?

Could he do it?

Would his father let him go?

Her gaze hardened as it fell on her broken son.

He could do it, if there was one thing her son had inherited from his father, it was stubbornly doing what he wanted no matter what.

"You need to get out." She said softly.

Jaune stiffened and looked up at her, "What?"

"Run away, Jaune." She said, cupping his cheek and pressing her forehead against his, "Leave and make sure that you find what makes you happy. Don't neglect your training but never use it for what you don't want. Be free."

Jaune swallowed and looked deep into his mother's eyes - searching for deceit - and slowly nodded.

She took him to a smith and he took a small apprenticeship, sneaking in to learn whenever he could. He soaked the knowledge as though he were a sponge, if he couldn't make this work, he would never get a second chance. Finally his mentor taught him what he deemed enough and gave Jaune a small sum of money for all the work Jaune had assisted and helped with while there.

A year of careful planning and preparation later, Jaune ran.

He ran and ran till he was sure his legs would give and his lungs would shrivel and die. His aura healed him only for him to get to his feet and begin to run as far as he could. The sun slipped across the sky as he fled from the cage of his legacy, every fiber of his being screaming that this was his only chance to be free. His body ached in exhaustion and he had already begun to see darkness encroach on the edges of his sight. He finally collapsed and panted for air as his nearly vanished aura flickered weakly in attempt to soothe away his pain. He held onto his pack with his cestus-clad hands, desperately trying to anchor himself to his fading consciousness.

He made sure he followed the path that his mother had carefully discussed with him in the many long nights that they spent together refining his route. His father had been out on a two-day long mission and was to be back tomorrow night at the latest, but his mother said she would make a call to someone he could trust to take him away before there was a chance to jail him again.

He didn't waste time to thank her with what could have filled a book - trying to convey what he felt when he pressed a small kiss to his mother's cheek - and he left.

Had he finally escaped?

A beam of light shot in front of him and illuminated his face, he covered his eyes and saw a man approach.

"Are you their kid?" A voice asked.

Jaune winced at the thought that he might take him back to his father.

But the grizzled cloak-clad man simply said, "Are you Jaune Arc?"

Jaune managed a nod.

The man seemed to purse his lips and carefully scooped up the exhausted boy in his arms.

"My name is Qrow." The grizzled man said quietly, "Don't worry kid. You'll never go back."

Jaune breath hitched in wonder and he managed a whimper, "Promise?"

Qrow's eyes locked with his as he began to walk away from Jaune's past home, "I promise, kid."

Jaune would've cried in relief and joy had he let himself slip into the darkness of unconsciousness.