Author's Note: Hello all...305 of you! I realized a little late on the last chapter that I hadn't really done one of these (though considering I haven't been on this website as a writer in...ten years (yeesh, I don't want to remember that cringe)) I figured I should fix it here. So welcome to those of you returning to my story and for first readers I hope you enjoy. I honestly don't really know why I thought of doing this story if I'm entirely honest. Not to say I haven't written RWBY fiction before (I am elsewhere but that's another beast entirely) but I see a number of flaws and wasted potential in the show and I figured I'd take a shot at a more long format fiction project.

To that end there will be a few things unique to this 'Alternate' RWBY I suppose; Though those will be slight for now. At its heart this story will follow a more 'real' Jaune Arc, someone who has lost a partner, close friend, would-be lover and more; And what he is willing to do to make amends, even if they are impossible. Anyways I think I've rambled enough for now, so with that said let's get back into the story.

Jaune had never been more confused in his life.

When he had been given a message that Ms. Goodwitch's 'associate' would be in contact he had expected a few days. What he had not expected was that twenty minutes after getting the message some stranger would show up, drag him out of his tent with him still in his pajamas and introduce himself. Yet sure enough he was now face to face with such a scenario, the aforementioned figure standing just a few feet ahead of the bewildered blonde.

While the stranger was not much taller than Jaune himself, perhaps no more than half a head or so, he opposite the teen in almost every way. Where Jaune's blonde locks and almost sapphire eyes stood out from his pale skin, the figures was the farthest from it; His hair a dull gray, eyes a tarnished green and his skin tanned from no doubt days in the sun. Even the way the two held themselves was a polar opposite, with Jaunes tense and almost frightened stance a stark contrast to the relaxed, if irritated one.

"So you're Jaune, huh?" The stranger asked, a hint of a smirk ghosting across his face.

"Y-yep, that's me, Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls of th-."

"Yeah, yeah that's great kid. Drop and give me twenty."

"What?" Jaune questions, the word slipping from his lips.

"Drop and give me twenty, you know...push-ups?" The grey haired man explains, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "When Glynda had said you needed a crash course I did not think she had meant it so literally."

Ouch.

Deciding it would be best to not further agitate the person that Jaune could now confirm was the aforementioned 'associate', he quickly set about doing the requested task. While an empty stomach and cold muscles were not a recipe for good exercise, the Blonde stowed his concerns and focused himself on tension and release of his muscles as his body went through what had become a common routine during Beacon's more hands on courses.

"So...who are you anyway?" Jaune asked at the height of his eighth repetition, his nerves finally deciding to cut through the silence.

"I'll tell you who I am when you prove to me you're worth the effort of telling you." He responds before the feeling of a foot on his back and a sudden increase in weight became apparent to Jaune.

Message clear: Stop talking and do what you're told, Jaune.

Finishing the set of push-ups the Blonde Knight moves to stand but is interrupted by another instruction.

"Crunches, fifty."

This would set the tone for the following hour as Jaune was put through his paces. From Jumping Jacks to laps around the clearing he had brought to and more, the stranger was quick to put him not only through his paces and beyond them. When it finally ended and the Huntsman-in-Training was given a break his body felt like lead. Painful, sluggish, angry lead. Wiping the sweat from his brow and savoring the lungfuls of cool, refreshing air Jaune was simply thankful for a moment of stillness.

"Not bad, kid. Not great, but not terrible either." The figure praises? Chastises? Jaune isn't entirely sure.

"You...still haven't...told me your name." Jaune countered, hoping for an answer of some kind.

Seeing the figure snort, he had a sinking feeling this was not going to be the case.

"Well kid, we're not done yet and while you're promising; You still haven't made it worth my while." He responds nonchalantly, getting a growl out of the teen.

"Glynda told me someone would be in contact! If you're here to train me then train me already." He muttered, the light sting of muscle pain replaced with the warmth of anger.

Whereas most of his questions and barbs had gotten nothing to this point, this one did.

The Stranger's eyes hardened and in an instant what frustrations the teen had died, replaced with the cold and slightly familiar feeling of dread. Jaune felt like he needed to run, to get away but his already sore and tired body would not listen; The only sign of his fear being the slight tremor of his hands. Such was his focus on his own fear that the voice of the Stranger had managed to catch him off guard.

"That may be what she has told you, and you are right. I am here to train you. But until I see you in full where I decide to start isn't set in stone. You've got an hour; Take a break, get a meal, I don't care. Just make sure that you bring whatever weapons and armor you use with you." He says, slowly and with the message made clear:

Don't ask me again.

With little aplomb and well aware that in reality he had half an hour at most, Jaune did not argue further. Instead busying himself with returning to camp, Jaune felt the slight cooling sensation of his aura trickling to his worn muscles. He was still not used to the sensation, even after two years of having it as his disposal there were times that he would forget it existed. Having lived almost his entire life without it and having virtually no training in it once he had awakened it; Jaune did not look at his Aura like most other huntsmen did.

In his mind it wasn't an inherent part of who he was, but a tool to be used (and forgotten). This came insomuch from the fact that he did not grow up with the enhanced strength, speed, reflexes or regeneration such a boon had; So often a cut was just that. Something to put a bandage on and be mindful of it for a few days. The fact that with a bit of concentration such a wound was now little more than a few seconds of irritation often escaped him. Though now as he took off to hopefully get at least something in his stomach, Jaune was thankful for it.

Another thing Pyrrha gave you, Jaune.

Arsenal had to admit, Glynda may have actually picked a good one.

Watching the teen leave the clearing in silence, the Huntsman let himself relax; If only slightly. While he had not done very much in the long run with the boy, the real test was on the horizon. He had not expected to be pulled off patrol that morning nor a request from his old teacher to throw together a training regimen for some kid. Yet sure enough here he was, spending his early afternoon running some wanna be huntsman through some 'light' exercise to see how he would do. And the results had been...surprising. At first glance most people and even some hunters would see it as pathetic, that he was a sweating and panting mess. But most huntsmen never factored in their aura use, something Jaune had completely foregone in the exercises.

That was a good thing, at least for the moment.

What he could actually do with his aura remained to be seen, but at least in terms of physical health he was okay. Better than most the kids in his class, if he had to guess, but that wasn't the point of this...or at least it didn't feel like it was. Taking a seat at the base of the tree Arsenal sighed, letting his body relax as he set his mind to work. What could it be? Of course he could ask, but knowing the assistant dean whatever purpose she had was not one she would give easily.

Arsenal could not be bothered..

Reaching into a pocket the huntsman retrieves a small capsule from it. No larger than a fingernail he quickly slips it into his mouth and swallows it, grimacing as the bitter chalky texture registered in his brain. When it finally paced and his muscles relaxed from their unconscious spasms he takes a long, shaky breath. He hated the concoction with every inch of his being but it was a needed evil; And like any good huntsman, Arsenal Gray was not a stranger to necessary evil. Checking his scroll and seeing that there was still a good thirty minutes until the boy would return, Arsenal got to his feet and started preparing for the next phase of the test: The Combat Trial.

Glynda may have picked a good one, but that was yet to be seen in its entirely.

It was amazing to Jaune how quickly an hour could pass.

Sure it had been maybe ten minutes in total of walking to and from camp, but it was surprising to see just how much time it could take to eat and equip oneself. However feeling the comforting weight of Crocea Mors on his hip and armor on his body made the fact that he was walking to a fight evident. It was no mystery to everyone at Beacon that Jaune was not a great fighter, be it Grimm or other classmates. So what chance could he possibly have against a full fledged huntsman? That was the question that plagued the Blonde as he finally returned to the clearing and found that the figure standing there, having seemingly not moved from where he had been standing prior.

Was he just waiting there like that? Jaune had to wonder, though seeing the slight smile on the Strangers face was enough for the Knight to stow his thoughts.

"Gotta say kid, I thought I was out of date in the weapons department; But you really take the cake." He teases.

"What's wrong with Crocea Mors?" Jaune defended.

"Nothing." The Stranger replies "Simply saying that you're walking around with a relic like it's the next step in weapons." He teases, before reaching up and undoing the clasp of the full length cloak the figure had been clad in since Jaune had met him.

With little fanfare the figure cast the garment aside and for the first time the Blonde Knight saw what the Stranger wore beneath. At first it appeared to be some kind of body glove, black as night and broke up by patches of muted grey along the arms, legs and sides. However upon a more focused look it was revealed that sure enough the figure was wearing some kind of armor, though it lacked any real similarity to his own. Whereas Jaune's armor was focused primarily on the arms and torso, the stranger was clad from the neck down; Though not only was the armor more covering, it appeared to be thinner, with overlapping plates along the chest and shoulders.

It was like something out of a movie.

Watching the figure move the slight rustle of his armor was broken up by a slight rattle. It was then that the Blonde Knight saw his potential mentor's weapon. Hanging from his left hip and curving out behind him was a singular sword. Clearly thinner given the narrow sheath it rested within, which itself was a dark wood polished to a near perfect shine. Engraved along its side was some sort of design, but seeing the strangers hand grip the hilt at its neck drew Jaune from his observations.

"So, gonna make this real simple: No Semblances. Fifteen Minutes. Anything goes. Any questions?" He asks.

Uh…

"N-" The word begins to leave his lips but the glint in the strangers eyes sets off instincts he had begun to pick up at his time at Beacon.

Pressing all of his weight onto his right foot the Blonde Knight pushes off, pivoting away as a flash of silver and a black clad arm moved through the space he once occupied.

"Start." The figure says, the cheer in his voice taunting the teen as Jaune's hand wrapped around the hilt of Crocea Mors and drew it in a rising cut, only for the figure to have...vanished?

How did he do that?

Stowing his question the teen slips his left hand down to remove and equip his scabbard shield. Sliding the grip into his hand and releasing the catch the shield popped open in time for something to slam against it with force. Deflecting the blow away from him for a brief moment Jaune saw the dull green eyes and the reflection of silver as he caught a glimpse of what must have been a nearly two foot curved blade. Though this time the Stranger did not vanish as he had before and instead followed up his first strike with a second, though this time Jaune was prepared. Planting his foot and leaning into the strike, watching as the blade slid harmly across the shield's concave surface. Bring his sword down again Jaune watched this time as the huntsman withdrew his blade and with a single kick vanished back into the surrounding trees.

So that's his game.

Aura was such a miracle sometimes.

Tightening his grip on his weapons, the Blonde Knight felt the slight warmth of his aura beginning to spread out from his core. As the feeling began to spread up past his neck and to his ears the sudden increase in his senses was enough to hear the slight draw and release of breath. While he was no expert Jaune knew it was close and...Behind! Spinning in place, his arm cocked back, Jaune brought his blade around only for a shower of sparks to fill the air between him and the stranger; His thinner, curved blade redirecting Jaune's own blade away from the Stranger. Before Jaune could attempt to capitalize on catching his foe the figure again repeated his previous disengagement, leaping away.

Not this time. Jaune thought, gritting his teeth.

Focusing his aura down his legs the Blonde kicked off the ground, the force of the action magnified by his aura. In a moment he was airborne, the figure's green eyes locked onto Jaune's own in seeming bemusement. Watching as the Stranger touched down in the parched dirt Jaune went over the next tentative steps.

Remember, don't lock up. Keep your stance wide and transfer the energy of the jump into your swing. He told himself, even as the dust kicked up ahead of both him and his target.

Though it was then that his eye caught something: The stranger had something in his once free left hand. Barely smaller than a clenched fist the most immediate reaction was the one that overtook the Knight.

A bomb?!

His feet skidding along the dirt, Jaune brought up Crocea Mors's shield in preparation for the oncoming outcome. However when something finally DID hit the shield it did not come with the sudden shockwave of force he had expected, instead the Blonde Knight found himself in a hazy cloud of light brown smoke. Even as his mind processed what trick he had just fallen for the familiar bite and warmth of blood as the Strangers blade caught him in the upper thigh. Wincing as the now wounded limb screamed in protest, Jaune immediately set his aura about fixing the wound. Though hearing the echoing laugh of the Stranger, Jaune turned to face the sound, putting his currently injured leg behind him and bracing himself behind his shield.

"First blood goes to me it seems, though I must say you catch on quickly...sometimes." The Stranger admits, slipping his sword into both hands.

"And you're better than anyone I've had a spar with, that's for sure." Jaune admits, his eyes not leaving the figure in case he attempted to rush him.

"You can beat yourself up later, focus on the moment." The stranger advices, and in another surge of Aura, sure enough the Stranger came.

This time Jaune was ready.

Square your feet, brace and as they land the blow cut across. The Blonde told himself, reminding himself of one of the first lessons the Invincible Girl had taught him.

Though as the Stranger prepared his blow, cutting diagonally in an attempted to cut from the left shoulder to right hip. Bringing his shield up and cutting the attack off Jaune was certain this would along the midline if things had gone to plan the Stranger would have tasted the steel of his sword. But what Jaune had not expected was for the Stranger to have let go of his weapon; Instead using his now free hand to maneuver the shield out of the way before slamming a clenched fist into the Knights jaw. Staggering back, Jaune was instead pulled forward as the Strangers grip on his shield pulled him closer. Suddenly the force revered and with his footing completely broken the Blonde was assisted to the ground by a rapid right cross.

Jaune was floored; Literally and Figuratively.

"You need to stop thinking kid. You're so busy trying to walk yourself through the fight that you're going to get beaten. I'm not a Grimm kid." The Stranger Warns.

How would that help? I'm a student going up against a full fledged Huntsman. Jaune thought to himself, though he shrugged that off. The Stranger had told him to focus on the fight and looking up at the figure as he stood over the fallen Knight.

Stop thinking. Just do.

Gripping the strap of his shield tighter, Jaune prepared himself to do the one thing Pyrrha taught him not to do. To that end the Knight threw his arm forward, launching the shield at the Figure he then threw his aura into his arm, slamming it back into the ground and sending him up and right of his foe. Seeing the Strangers green eyes sparkle in amusement, Jaune felt his face scrunch as he glared back. Watching as he ducked beneath the shield and rolled for his sword, Jaune saw his opportunity and with another surge of aura he flipped Crocea Mors in his hands before javelin throwing it at his still diving opponent.

Watching the worn blade cut through the air, it occured to the Blonde that such a thing could easily kill. How the thought had not entered his mind escaped him for a moment, but as his adrenaline and aura enhanced mind raced to understand the impulse the answer became clearer...at least hypothetically. But that would have to wait, as the choice had been made; Though Jaune knew that one thing would bother him 'was it the right choice?'

He didn't know, but it was certainly not something he had ever felt before; Fighting in a spar or fighting Grimm.

During this however the Stranger was not idle, and as he curled around his hilt of his blade he brought it up with surprising speed, managing to dig through the ground to clear the arc, revealing the force behind the blow as the shockwave cut through the kicked up dust. Hearing the ring of metal on metal Jaune watched his blade was knocked higher into the air. Even as he touched down Jaune already had charged his aura once more into his legs and with a grunt lept skyward. Within seconds he had managed to catch up to his sword, his fingers wrapping around its worn hilt before the pull of gravity once more made itself known. Looking down at the forest floor rapidly coming up to meet him it appeared that the Stranger had been waiting, his sword held back and ready to strike.

It seemed that it came down to this.

Gripping the blade in both hands Jaune drew upon his aura once more, not to just shield his body from the impact with the ground but to put whatever strength he could behind the blade when they clashed. Seeing the dust bloom around the Stranger's feet and the shimmer of aura Jaune felt his heart tighten and his muscles further tighten as the figure prepared. By this point the wind was whistling in Jaune's ears as he fell back to earth faster and faster. In a split second it happened and was over, but for both fighters it felt like an eternity.

Jaune would never forget it.

At first the sound was that of screaming metal as the blades clashed between the two, though it was quickly replaced with the sound of something akin to shattering glass. Then it was the impact of the Strangers blade slamming into Jaune's torso. While it had not damaged the armor in any way, it felt akin to being slammed in the chest by Nora's mighty Magnhild. Third was the dry heave the Knight was forced to do as the air was knocked from his lungs. But lastly was the sound of steel rain as the exploded fragments of Crocea Mors shattered blade rained down around the duo.

It would be a pregnant few seconds of silence before The Stranger's Scroll was kind enough to let out a tone indicating that fifteen minutes were up.

Jaune however, could care less.

While he was aware that Crocea Mors was his great-great-grandfathers weapon during the war, the thought that time and age could wear the weapon down never crossed the Arc's mind. Even if it was nearly three centuries old it had held up against the sort of day to day abuse any Huntsman's weapon did. So to see the once solid blade in a few hundred pieces was something that hit harder than the blow he had suffered. The family's relic was nothing more than a hilt and a scabbard now.