A boy whimpers and hugs himself as he shakes in fear. The people that where throwing stones at him where chased off a few moments ago, but it didn't stop the fear.

"Hey, are you alright?" A kind voice reaches his ears and he looks up. A silhouette of a child stands before him. He could barely make out the blue of his eyes.

"Are you okay? You're bleeding." He wipes his lip and looks at the blood. Tears began to fall from his eyes until they where wiped away.

"Hey, don't cry! Everything's fine. I'm not gonna hurt you." He holds his hand out to shake his hand.

"What's your name?"

That question haunted him whenever he thought about it; 'What's your name?'. Something he thought about allot. But that wasn't really on his mind at the moment. They pressed him for answers which he continuously avoided, and simply watched everyone as they waited. He kept his blank expression as he looked ahead, past Ozpin. He cleared his mind and tightened his grip around Crocea Mors, as if his life depended on it, because it most likely did in this situation.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say..." He looked up and felt the wave of confusion, anger, sadness, and betrayal, flowing off everyone. Weiss, of course, was the one that spoke first.

"How about you start by telling us how you know that filthy Faunus scumbag!?" His breathing became unusually calm, and a glare that could send Raven herself running, was fixed on Weiss, and well as the sudden appearance of Crocea Mors on her neck. Nobody saw him move, even Ozpin saw a a misshapen blur instead of his student.

"If you ever call him that again, I'm going to cut your head off..." The tension in the room was replaced by genuine confusion. He blinked a couple of times before pulling the sword away and backing up. He sheathed the blade and set Crocea Mors down after opening the shield and looked at the Arc symbol with a far off look. He reached down into the bag Pyrrha had brought in, pulling out a few objects wrapped in a dirty rag. He placed them down on Ozpin's desk and rolled them out.

Blake and Ruby out of everyone in the group, recognized the intricate designs and pieces of what was on the table. His hands skillfully moved the pieces around, piecing others together whenever he found matching parts. It was obvious that he knew where they went, but it had been a while since he'd actually done that.

"Corcea Mors is a good weapon. But it was always too heavy for me, and I was too sloppy whenever it came to things like that." He pulled out from the bag, a collapsible blade, which shone a bright blue. He placed it on what could be seen as the grip, suddenly making it extend to its original length. It stretched out around six feet, catching everyone off guard.

He slid it back into the sheath, taking a breath.

"Flourish and Fair... I made them with him behind my parents backs. We had fun too..." He bit back bitter tears and cleared his throat. His hands wrapped around the weapons and placed it on his waist. Pulling the blade out and swinging it a few times. "I have nothing else to say to you, Ozpin. If you excuse me I have to go train."

The trek towards the training area was full of small commotions, but nothing noteworthy. People whispered about what they'd witnessed, and some racist comments where thrown around him. It didn't bother him too much. He was used to things like that, and it wasn't his place to make them stop.

He regretted not being there for the faunus. He regretted not doing anything before it was too late. His eyes narrowed as he thought about it. He wished he'd at least gotten rig of that mask, just to see his eyes one more time. But he knew that the enthusiasm that once filled his friends eyes would no longer be there.

He kept that in mid as he swung his weapon around with such speed and grace, that even the most skilled third year would feel either proud or ashamed. But three years of no practice, and brooding had left him rusty, so retraining himself was more than mandatory. There was the added benefit of being faster than before, as Crocea Mors, being much heavier, allowed him to swing his preferred weapon around much easier.

Anyone watching him train would have immediately noticed a change in the boy as a whole. His posture was beyond perfect, and the way he moved around with his imaginary opponent showed expertise that could put to shame a senior swordsman. His eyes gave away nothing about his next move and his swings were precise. This was always him. Maybe not in fighting, nor in conversations, but this was the real Jaune Arc; always precise, and careful.

Adam Taurus stared dead ahead in the direction of Beacon academy, his legs brought up to his chests. Wilt and Blush laid next to him, small scratches and scuff marks decorating it. The White Fang had lost the battle, and only a handful were left for him to command. But that wouldn't matter in the long run, not to him at least.

"Just a dark corner... no more no less... Maybe another time." He stood, gathering his weapon. He turned to look at his injured men. He would send them away to recover and leave them in better hands, and leave to search for something, or someone, to give him answers.

He would go back to where he was reborn. He was going home.