-(=RWBY=)-
Queen of Air and Darkness
Part II
City of Light and Shadow
-(=RWBY=)-
Chapter 10
-(=RWBY=)-
For Pyrrha Nikos's death, the sky itself wept.
The rain came down in cascading sheets, in a torrent as endless as grief.
Jaune Arc was drenched to the bone, and for all that he was surrounded by friends and fellow mourners, he had never felt so alone.
For the funeral of his partner, Jaune had been permitted the honour of a seat on the front row, alongside Pyrrha's bereaved family. To his left, across the aisle, Alexander and Helena Nikos stood in stoic silence, even as the former's clenched fists and the latter's rain-washed tears betrayed the true extent of their heartbreak and misery.
To Jaune's right, meanwhile, where his team ought to have been, there were only empty chairs.
Weiss Schnee was gone, spirited away to Atlas, called back by her father, and on a mission for Ozpin besides.
Blake Belladonna was lying comatose in a hospital bed, barely alive, and even now it was unclear whether she would survive.
And as for Pyrrha –
Her body rested atop the unlit funeral pyre not ten meters away; clad in magnificent armour of crimson-and-gold, and with her right hand grasping Miló and her left hand holding Akoúo̱, his partner was resplendent even in death.
She died as she lived, glorious and brave –
But dead is dead, and glory imperishable is not a fair trade. Not for me, not for her family, and not for Pyrrha Nikos especially.
Jaune felt numb. His hate had burnt itself out in Rothenburg, during that desperate fight against Hazel Rainart. Sorrow, meanwhile, was beyond him, too exhausted as he was to even grieve. Instead, he felt empty; he was empty, a void in his heart and a hole in the world where once there was his partner.
It was strange, in so many ways; he hadn't even known Pyrrha for that long, and when his partner was alive he would never have thought her death would hit him so hard.
Yet her passing crushed him, all the same. Somewhere along the line, his team had become a part of his life – so much so that the absence of his partner only called forth a screaming wrongness, with her death a loss Jaune would give anything to revert.
An impossibility, of course.
Jaune could vaguely remember some old poetry his sister Saphron used to love; the lines came back now, clear and harrowing.
The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a single word of it.
Jaune would have wept, but he was too familiar to loss and tragedy to do something like that.
In accordance with the ancient funeral traditions of western Mistral that the Nikos family still kept to, athletic games had been held earlier that day in honour of the deceased warrior. Ruby had won the foot-race, and Nora the weightlifting, and while Jaune had acquitted himself well enough by participating in and sweeping the single combat tournament, his heart hadn't been in it. Indeed, with his mind so overwhelmed – both with the truth, and with what Ozpin was asking of him – he would gladly have sat out these meaningless games, had the headmaster not reminded him that his absence would have been a grave insult, to Pyrrha's proud and honour-obsessed family.
Of course, they hated him anyway. As the day drew to a close, and as the headmaster stood in front of the assembled mourners to give a final funeral oration extolling Pyrrha and the heroic sacrifices demanded of a huntress, he could feel the loathing for him wafting over from Pyrrha's extended family. Even worse, however, were the cold, hard stares from his Beacon schoolmates boring holes into his back.
Jaune did not blame them; he could not blame them. Of Rothenburg, and what happened there, they only knew what Ozpin told them, and what Ozpin told them was as far from the truth as the sun was from the moon.
The necessity of the lie rankled him, but Jaune tamped down on his resentment; his pride and personal hang-ups mattered not in the least, when weighed against the threat that was the Queen of the Grimm.
That made Jaune think back – again, and always – to the enormity of the task that Ozpin had recently laid upon his shoulders. It was a burden he had to bear alone, too, and it was only his greater terror at failure that let him not balk at the horror that Ozpin was asking of him as a favour.
The headmaster knew how to choose his tools well, Jaune had to admit. How could he say no, after all he'd seen?
In his nightmares, Jaune dreamt of a darkness without a dawn.
The Grimm came, ferocious monsters all, innumerable as the stars and just as unending.
Jaune fought them, of course, his shining silver sword cutting a swath through the beasts, but for every one that fell another two took its place.
And at last, Jaune's vaunted skill failed him; he missed one strike, and the enemy Beowolf pounced upon him.
Its fellows followed, and in no time at all Jaune found himself dogpiled by a dozen snarling monsters, whose claws were daggers, and whose fangs were swords.
Jaune couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Help me.
He prayed. Desperately, as Jaune struggled against his fate, he begged for anyone and anything to lend him aid.
But in the end, neither gods nor men answered his cries for help.
Except a single solitary soul – his own.
A memory that was not his came, unbidden, to mind.
Maid. Martyr. Saint. Saviour.
Joan of Arc was tied to the stake, and wreathed in fire, but she did not burn in the least. The world, however, did, as all around her, creation was reduced to ash and cinder.
Fire was in her blood, and in his.
Jaune Arc breathed in, and then out. And while it was air that entered, it was fire that he expelled.
! ! !
Jaune awoke.
He was in the Beacon medical centre, and his bed was afire.
"Jaune!"
Weiss had been dozing off on a chair by his bedside, but the moment the fire started she was awake and alert, with Myrtenaster already drawn. A whirling noise signalled the cycling of the chamber in her multi-action dust rapier, and once her ice dust was primed and in position, she flourished.
A blast of icy wind exploded from her blade, and instantly extinguished the spreading flames.
It was at that moment that a nurse burst into the room, summoned by the commotion.
"Miss Schnee! What is going on here? Explain yourself!"
Weiss spared the nurse a disdainful glance, before giving a curt explanation.
"Your patient just triggered his semblance, and almost burnt himself alive. I saved him, though perhaps that would not have been necessary, if the medical staff at this establishment had been doing their job, and watching their patients."
The nurse reddened, and snapped,
"That's enough of your cheek, Miss Schnee –"
Jaune was groggy, and far from lucid, but he managed to remember the only thing that mattered.
Salem.
"Weiss."
Jaune interrupted the nurse just as she was about to reprimand his teammate. He would ordinarily not have been so discourteous, but given the stakes, civility was as important to him as having nipples on his breastplate.
"We have to see the headmaster. Ozpin needs to know everything that happened at Rothenburg."
Even as he said that, Jaune was sliding off the bed –
– except a sudden fit of dizziness overcame him, and he almost fell, but for Weiss reaching out and holding him up.
"Jaune, you need to rest. Rothenburg is safe. You killed Rainart, and after your collapse, Qrow Branwen and my sister drove off whatever Grimm remained. Blake's alive, too, though Pyrrha... she's..."
Jaune knew what Weiss was about to say.
"Pyrrha's dead. I know."
The words were hard to say. Acknowledging the fact of Pyrrha's death somehow – absurdly, irrationally, unreasonably – made it feel like he was condoning it.
As for Blake – he had thought her dead, but that was clearly a mistake, and one he was overwhelmingly relieved to have made. He supposed it was not too implausible that, between her near-death state and his own emotional turmoil, he had failed to sense her aura signature at the village gate.
Jaune shook his head. It was good that Blake was alive, but he had to focus. The dizziness having passed, he extricated himself from Weiss, to stand on his own two feet. His ribs still hurt, badly, from Rainart's hammer blow to his chest, but there was nothing to do but grit his teeth and bear it.
"Mr Arc."
The nurse chose that moment to interject.
"The headmaster did leave a request that you meet him in his office immediately upon waking."
Weiss's eyes sharpened to flints, and she said, dangerously,
"And you countenance that, even if your patient is clearly still injured and unwell?"
The nurse looked uncomfortable; Weiss's words had clearly cut deep, and she herself did not seem too enamoured with the headmaster prioritizing operational needs over the health of his students.
"Weiss. I can rest after we speak to Ozpin. Come on."
His friend frowned, her scar scrunching up as she did, and she replied,
"If you collapse again, I'll bring you back here, and freeze you to your bed."
Jaune gave a small smile.
"Deal."
After sending a short message to Ozpin, telling the man that Jaune was awake and on his way to his office, Jaune began slipping his feet into his shoes at the foot of the bed, before strapping Crocea Mors – which Weiss handed to him – to his waist.
It was only then that he – belatedly – realized he had just unlocked his semblance, the trauma from his nightmares seemingly forcing the power within his soul to materialize.
Ordinarily, this would have been a momentous achievement, and one worth celebrating – but right now, Jaune had more important things to care about; nor could he shake off his bitterness, at a power so useless it only came to him after the battle was over.
Fat lot of good you were, when Pyrrha was being murdered, and Blake getting skewered.
Jaune began heading out of the door, giving the nurse a nod of acknowledgement as he did so.
Weiss followed, keeping close to him, her worry that he would keel over very apparent.
"Relax, Weiss. I'm fine. Rainart only broke some ribs, and the Seer... it just forced some unpleasant visions into my mind, that's all."
Weiss's face tightened, and for a terrible moment, Jaune thought she was about to cry.
Instead, she snapped,
"I was worried sick, Arc. The doctors said you were asleep, not comatose, but I feared that even after you awoke... Before you collapsed, you were half-mad and ranting, and I... Seers have driven people mad, don't you understand? Their victims are fine one day, and then on the next..."
Jaune could hear the anguish in her voice; and so, on instinct, he took her hand in his, to squeeze it reassuringly.
"Weiss, I promise you, I'm perfectly sane. A lot of things happened yesterday in Rothenburg, and I need to tell the headmaster. Everything will make sense once I explain them, I swear."
His friend looked away, but did not immediately pull her hand away from his.
Seeing that she had calmed down somewhat, Jaune released her hand, and then, in silence, the two of them made their way from the medical centre to Beacon Tower.
In doing so, they passed the library, and crossed the large open area around Beacon Tower. Ordinarily, at this time of day, the school would have been bustling with life, but right now the vast majority of the student body was still on their end of semester training missions, and the school was eerily empty.
Entering Beacon Tower, and making their way up, Jaune and Weiss traced a familiar path to the headmaster's office.
Their lift ride up to the floor where Ozpin had his office was a quick one, though the walk to the office itself took longer.
And at last, they approached their destination.
Impatient to tell Ozpin the truth he had discovered – a truth he suspected the man already knew – Jaune activated the intercom by the door, and announced,
"Headmaster. It's Jaune and Weiss, here to see you."
Instantly, an audible click sounded, as the door was unlocked; simultaneously, the headmaster's voice echoed over through the intercom.
"Mr Arc. Miss Schnee. Do please come in."
Jaune pulled open one side of the double doors that served as an entrance to the headmaster's office, and let Weiss enter first before stepping in himself.
"Good morning, the two of you. I hope you are feeling better, Mr Arc; my apologies for summoning you here so urgently, but some things cannot wait. Please, sit."
The headmaster looked tired, and even his usually sharp eyes seemed a tad duller this morning.
As Jaune and Weiss took their seats, the headmaster put away his scroll, before saying,
"Mr Arc, I need you to tell me, fully and to the greatest possible detail, the events you were involved in yesterday."
Jaune nodded, before launching into an explanation of what transpired in Rothenburg, mentioning everything and excluding nothing –
The day starting out well, with he and Weiss visiting shops, hunting Grimm and having dinner at the inn, where they saw Hazel Rainart – not knowing, then, what madness he had planned.
Jaune training at the gym, blissfully unaware of the coming storm. The sirens going off, and his mad rush to the village gate, where he found dead huntsmen and the portcullis raised. Fighting the Grimm, first alone, and then with his team, before he had to go off and hunt the Necrovalock by himself – only to return, and find Pyrrha –
Jaune almost choked up at that point, but with an effort of will he forced himself to continue.
– dead and Blake skewered, with Hazel Rainart's arms crimson up to the elbows with their blood. Attacking Rainart, only to get smashed. Getting up, and fighting the man across the village. Standing his ground, at the edge of the historic village centre, and managing to draw out enough strength to best Rainart and stab him in the heart. Being blindsided by the Seer thereafter, and seeing visions of her. Further investigation and reasoning on his part, which led him to conclude –
"This Salem – she exists, headmaster. I saw her with my own two eyes, and the Seer could not have possibly deluded me or made me hallucinate a lie – because I checked the top of the bullheads, and found this distinctive star-shaped scar that I saw in one of the visions, and which I could not possibly have known about otherwise. And Rainart – he said much the same. And then there was the conversation I heard my father have with Rainart five years ago, about this Queen, only for the village to be attacked by Grimm shortly after. Every piece of evidence points towards there being an immortal Queen of the Grimm, Headmaster Ozpin – no matter how mad it sounds, or how impossible it seems."
Jaune finished his long tale, and then waited with bated breath for the response.
To his side, Weiss looked half-terrified and half-pitying.
She thinks I'm mad.
It was what Ozpin thought that counted, however, and there –
The headmaster was deep in thought, and long seconds passed, before he seemingly arrived to a decision. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, the man sighed.
"I would have spared the two of you the terrible burden of this truth, for a few more years at least, but it seems the enemy has left me no choice.."
The headmaster steepled his hands, and looked deadly serious.
"Jaune Arc. Weiss Schnee. I am about to disclose to you the most dangerous secret on Remnant, and I require your utmost discretion. You must never, even under the pain of death, reveal to others what I am about to tell, because if the secret spreads, the world itself will be at risk of annihilation. This is not hyperbole; this is not an exaggeration. If you want to know the truth, swear to me on whatever you hold dear, that you will keep this secret safe."
The headmaster's words – grave in content, and said with dangerous conviction – made Jaune feel wary, even as he understood why such secrecy was being demanded. Were the world to learn that an immortal Queen of the Grimm existed, the resulting panic could trigger titan-class Grimm invasions on a global scale – a catastrophe Jaune could barely even begin to imagine.
"I promise to keep this secret safe, sir... on my honour as a huntsman."
Weiss glanced at him, then. She looked far less convinced than him, but with the headmaster's actions implying the truthfulness of Jaune's words, she was far too involved now to let herself to back out.
"I promise too, headmaster – upon my family's honour."
Ozpin nodded, satisfied.
"Good. To be very blunt – Mr Arc is right. There does exist a woman named Salem, whose power it is to command the Grimm. She resides in the Evernight Castle, on Dragonterre, protected by vast armies of Grimm, while her servants – like the late Hazel Rainart, whom you've met – make mischief upon the wider world. And to further complicate matters, Salem is immortal, with neither sword nor semblance capable of killing her."
That final line, about, Salem's immortality, drew a sharp intake of breath from Weiss.
"Immortal?"
The disbelief and the despair leaked from her words into the world, and Jaune – though already aware of this dark truth – found himself beset by a sudden attack of hopelessness; and against his will, he found his fists tightening, in helplessness and impotence.
The headmaster, however, seemed undaunted.
Smiling gently, he said,
"Despair not, Miss Schnee – nor you, Mr Arc. Tell me, when you decided to become huntsmen and huntresses, did you think you would one day defeat the Grimm?"
The question brought Jaune – and Weiss beside him – up short.
And as realization dawned on him, so too did hope spring anew.
Weiss, having come to the same conclusion, excitedly exclaimed,
"No, headmaster! But we can hold them at bay – hold her at bay – is that what you're suggesting?"
The headmaster gave a firm nod.
"Precisely, Miss Schnee. We might not be able to kill this Queen, but what of it? As with the Grimm, so with her. It does not matter that such threats cannot be permanently eliminated, so long as they are always contained, and so long as generations after generations of people can live their lives safe and free and happy as can be. Is that not a goal worth fighting for? Indeed, is that not a world we have already achieved, and which we need only defend against those who dare threaten it?"
The headmaster was animated, much more so than Jaune had ever seen him; and his spirit was infectious, moving both he and Weiss to nod, enthusiastically, and to voice their agreement.
"That's right!"
"Well said, headmaster!"
Ozpin was not done, however, and continued by saying,
"Moreover, Salem does not stand unopposed. The Champions of Vale, as well as the headmasters of the other Huntsman Academies, are all privy to Salem's existence, and under my leadership, we coordinate our efforts to oppose her."
Jaune nodded.
It was reassuring, that the most powerful people in the world were fighting the problem that was the Queen of the Grimm; and all of a sudden, the burden of knowing of Salem's existence did not feel so crushing.
Weiss, too, looked vastly heartened; doubtlessly she was reassured by General Ironwood being involved. If nothing else, the man had a reputation for an iron will and incredible competence – a combination much desired in a fight against the Queen of the Grimm.
Meanwhile, the headmaster had more to say about his peers.
Tapping his table with two fingers, as if to emphasize his next words, Ozpin said,
"It is especially important that the headmasters know the truth, because the Academies are home to the Relics – magical objects of godlike power, each one capable of such feats like making the sky rain fire, or throwing up mountains and gouging out rivers. There are four of these Relics, with each symbolizing a particular concept – creation, destruction, knowledge and choice. And all throughout history, these Relics have been key to the defence of humanity.
"Two thousand years ago, when humanity was still in its infancy, Salem chose to call upon all the world's Grimm and made open war upon every human settlement on Remnant. A good third of humanity died in those dark days, and yet more would have perished, had the Relic of Destruction not been used to mow down the Grimm in their billions.
"And when Salem and her servants fed the fires of expansionistic nationalism, and turned the Kingdoms against each other in the Great War, it was the Relics that the Last King of Vale used to quell the violence. Wielding destruction in one hand and creation in the other, the King destroyed the Mistralian and Mantlean armies, and put an end to a war which had already claimed millions of lives."
Jaune absorbed all this information in silence. This talk of magical relics would have been hard to swallow – except Jaune had already accepted the existence of an immortal Queen of the Grimm, and once such a thing was admitted, nothing else seemed a bridge too far to believe.
"All these failures have taught Salem something. She now understands that so long as humanity has the Relics, she will never win; hence, she is conspiring to steal our greatest weapons right out from under us. And while the Relics are hidden in vaults within each Academy, and protected by insurmountable locks and powerful defences, credible reports – coming by way of a defector from Salem's inner circle – suggest that the Queen believes herself on the verge of acquiring the Relics. How she will accomplish this, we do not know – the acquisition of a servant with a teleportation semblance, perhaps, or even a traitor within our ranks. Our need for information is dire, regardless – and that is where you, Mr Arc, come in."
Jaune had been absorbed in thought, but upon hearing his name mentioned, he looked up.
"Me, sir?"
"Indeed. Salem expressed interest in recruiting you, and I have a mind to turn that interest against her – by sending you in as a spy, to gain her trust even while you work to thwart her."
Jaune was, for the lack of a better word, taken aback – and quickly, he moved to protest.
"Sir, I don't think I'll be a good spy. I might be clever, but I'm not particularly good at deceiving others."
Ozpin dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand.
"Deception can be learnt. Of greater importance is whether Salem is inclined to accept you – which she is. She was certainly observing your performance against the Necrovalock, and would have – I suspect – pieced together enough of the truth about Domremy to be suitably impressed. As it happens, the Queen is not one for half-measures, and is quite the admirer of ruthlessness."
Jaune had stiffened, at the mention of his hometown.
Weiss was looking at him with concern, but also with some curiosity. She knew part of the truth, but not all of it –
– though the same could not be said of Ozpin, who would have been told the full story of Domremy by Goodwitch.
Even so –
"With all due respect, headmaster, Salem killed my family. How is it believable that I would willingly join her, after that?"
Ozpin looked untroubled by the point Jaune was raising, and in reply, he said,
"Hazel Rainart's sister was killed by the Grimm too, and still he serves Salem – moved, as he is, by a powerful desire of revenge against me. Have no fear – so long as you have a plausible reason for pledging your sword to her, Salem will accept you into her circle.
Jaune was doubtful.
"And what reason would that be, sir?"
The headmaster smiled, humourlessly.
"Why, the most human reason there is. Love, in all its magnificence and tragedy. Men have done great and terrible things for it, and why should you be any different? When you establish contact with Salem, you will make this offer – neutrality on your part in the war between the Queen and me, in return for her allowing you and your lover Weiss Schnee to live out your lives in peace."
Upon hearing the headmaster's plan, Jaune gave a little cough of embarrassment, while beside him, Weiss made a strangled noise. Unsurprising, she objected to this scheme –
"Headmaster, this is a rather flimsy plan, is it not?"
"Indeed not. Salem is, shall we say, the romantic sort. She likes men who show love and loyalty to their women, and mislikes those who exhibit faithlessness and indifference. A queer characteristic for the Queen of the Grimm to have, I know, but we all have our eccentricities."
The headmaster took hold of his cane, before standing, and starting to pace about.
He seemed agitated, though for the life of him Jaune could not discern the reason for the headmaster's disquiet.
The man's voice was pensive, when he went on to say,
"Yes, the things we do for love... Your father made much the same choice, Mr Arc. He once worked for me, against the Queen, but after the Domremy Collapse, he took up Salem's offer of peace in return for the Arcs' neutrality. I was disappointed, but not unsympathetic – you were all your father had left, Mr Arc, and he wanted to protect you at all costs."
Jaune shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He had no great love for his father, and it had been a half a year since they last spoke. Indeed, they were all but estranged, ever since the Torchwick incident. After Jaune had been plastered all over the news, it was inevitable that his father had learnt of his getting into Beacon; and once that happened, the man was utterly relentless in sending threatening emails and angry messages demanding that Jaune give up the huntsman life and quit Beacon. Jaune had eventually grown tired of this – and had gone as far as blocking the man on his scroll.
Of course, Jaune had never doubted that his father cared for him, but...
If he can't respect my choice to be a huntsman and to put others before myself, we have nothing to say to each other.
At this juncture, Ozpin had stopped pacing. He took his seat once more, before saying,
"But I digress. To return to the point – if you fear that Salem will find your change in loyalties hard to believe, we can give her even more reason to think you have been alienated from me. Events in Rothenburg have yet to become public knowledge, and when we do tell the world what happened there, we can tell them this. That you were hungry for glory, and recklessly went off alone to hunt a Necrovalock – even though your team was struggling against an endless tide of Grimm, and even though there were Grimm cultists at large, ready to ambush and kill your team, as indeed they did."
Even before the headmaster was done describing the lie he wanted to put out to the world, Jaune was shaking his head, and laughing – derisively, and in disbelief. Weiss too, looked outraged, and ready to protest. The headmaster, however, held up one hand to forestall any disagreement; and instead, unruffled as ever, he continued outlining his duplicitous scheme.
"Salem, of course, might wonder why the headmaster of Beacon is willing to throw one of his most promising students under the proverbial bus – but for good or ill, she is always prepared to believe the worst of me. In the aftermath of a near-Collapse, and with so many huntsmen dead, it will be useful to have a individual scapegoat that the public can blame, so that they do not have their faith in the larger system shaken, and so they do not question how such Grimm cultists have been allowed to run amok unchallenged. That being so, Salem would find it eminently plausible that I hung you, specifically, out to dry. Every other huntsman or huntress involved is dead, and it plays poorly with the public to blame those who died bravely in battle. That leaves only yourself, Miss Schnee and Miss Belladonna – and since shaming your teammates would risk relations with the SDC, Atlas and Menagerie, you are the obvious choice for blame."
Jaune was nodding; not in agreement, but in resentful admiration. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure to see the headmaster's formidable intellect at work, and to observe his ruthless nature emerge. And while Jaune was the last person to want his good name dragged through the mud, he had to admit – there was a cruel beauty to the headmaster's scheme.
He was distracted from his ambivalence, however, when Weiss said,
"Menagerie?"
Jaune winced, suddenly aware of what was coming. The headmaster, heedless of the delicacy of team dynamics, was frank in his answer.
"You did not know, Miss Schnee? Miss Belladonna's father is the Chieftain of Menagerie."
Weiss gave a hiss, her dismay and displeasure clear for all to see.
"But... that means Blake is a faunus!"
Then she turned to Jaune, whose lack of surprise at the revelation spoke volumes.
"You! You knew, and didn't tell me!"
Jaune shrugged, helplessly.
"I only figured it out by accident. Belladonna's a pretty common surname in Mistral, and I only managed to join the dots because I happened to have been reading a news article about Ghira and Kali Belladonna that day we arrived at Beacon. Blake looks a lot like her mother, and once I noticed their resemblance it was easy to figure out the rest. When I mentioned Menagerie and implied I knew about her heritage, however, she was furious, and made me promise not to tell anyone else... and so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry for that, but it's her secret to tell, and anyway, with everything that's happened, does this still really matter?"
Weiss shook her head and looked away.
Jaune exhaled; this was something he and Weiss had to talk through, later – but for now, there were more pressing matters.
The headmaster clearly agreed, for he said,
"Mr Arc, Miss Schnee, let us not be distracted by trivialities. The issue remains – to thwart Salem's plan to steal the Relics, we sorely need a spy in Salem's inner circle. You, Mr Arc, are the only one who can do this. Once you extend your offer of neutrality to Salem, you will be subject to tests of loyalty, and as you successfully prove to Salem your willing to betray humanity, she will – subtly, but surely – work to bring you around fully to her way of thinking. You will, of course, feign agreement, and eventually swear yourself to her service – putting you in a position to find out how she intends to steal the Relics, and how best we can stop her.
"I will not deceive you; I will not lie. This task will not merely be dangerous, but dishonourable and heinous. To earn Salem's trust, you will need to aid her evil plans, and harm the innocent rather than protect them.
"Nonetheless, it is vital you do this, for the world depends upon it."
Jaune brought a hand up to massage his temples.
For the greater good of the world...
He saw the necessity of it.
... but the brutality and the evil...
There were grave doubts he harboured.
... Domremy. It always comes back to Domremy.
Jaune laughed, bitterly.
"I don't have a choice, do I, Professor? I can't give any answer but yes, and you know that. That's why it's me you're asking this of, and not anyone else."
The headmaster looked curious.
"Mr Arc, I confess, your reluctance puzzles me. I would have that thought you of all people would understand the need for sacrifice, and the reality that sometimes salvation comes at a price. You wanted to be a huntsman, and a hero. Well, Mr Arc, here is your chance, the best you will ever get. And if it means dirtying your hands – what of it? Do you want to be a hero, or merely seem like one? If the latter, then admitting you into Beacon was a dreadful mistake. And if the former; well, grit your teeth, do your duty, and remember – that a hero is not some knight in shining armour, but a person who chooses the good of the world over his own personal honour."
The headmaster's condescension grated at him, and Jaune snapped –
"I understand that, sir. Please, spare me the lecture."
Standing, Jaune started to pace about; he was too restless and riled up to sit still.
Weiss was upset, and worried for him – Jaune could tell as much, from her face and general demeanour. The headmaster, meanwhile, did not chastise him for his rudeness, instead being content to let Jaune pace, and think, and work off his anger.
In truth, however, Jaune did not have to consider matters for long.
All it took to bring him to his decision, was closing his eyes, and remembering –
The burning village, and the curling smoke. The dead bodies, and the screams as familiar as family.
Jaune opened his eyes. Where before there was doubt, now there was only certainty, and cold resolve.
"I'll do it."
Something flashed in the headmaster's eyes. Softly, he said,
"Good. Very good.
His face was otherwise expressionless, but from him Jaune sensed quiet satisfaction – like that felt by a clockmaker watching his latest creation work to his exact specifications.
"Now –"
The headmaster looked away for a moment, to check something on his scroll, before looking up again, and saying to his students,
"– I fear our meeting will have to end here, for I have many other urgent matters to attend to. We will speak more tonight, and I will explain, among other things, the task I have in mind for you, Miss Schnee."
Weiss nodded, as did Jaune.
"Yes, headmaster."
"Understood, sir."
The headmaster stood, and begun walking them to the door. Before he let them out, however, he had a final thing to say –
"Remember the need for secrecy. Do not mention any of what we discussed to an outsider – even if they are a beloved family member or trusted friend. Nor should you make any notes in your scroll, or correspond electronically about our secret. You should only ever discuss Salem and our plans in person – and even then, I trust you will take the necessary precautions so that there are no eavesdroppers."
The headmaster frowned.
"And another thing. Do not speak of Salem or of our plans to Professor Goodwitch, Mr Branwen, or any of the others whom I've mentioned as already being aware of Salem's existence. Professor Fall is the exception – you may wish to consult with her, Mr Arc, for your coming espionage mission."
Jaune and Weiss traded a glance, at this. She had arrived at the same suspicion, Jaune knew; and doubtlessly, she too recalled what the headmaster had said earlier, about Salem's plan to steal the relics.
'How she will accomplish this, we do not know – the acquisition of a servant with a teleportation semblance, perhaps, or even a traitor within our ranks.'
Jaune felt cold.
Small wonder the headmaster had decided to send a spy to infiltrate Salem's ranks, when he suspected the converse was already true.
Jaune exhaled, shakily. The burden of responsibility, and the weight of the task he was facing, had never felt more crushing.
Indeed – even now, a week later, in the midst of his partner's funeral, Jaune could not stop his mind returning, obsessively, to the infiltration mission against Salem that was his responsibility.
"... and so I exhort all of us who remain..."
He had been so distracted, in fact, that he had tuned out much of Headmaster Ozpin's funeral oration. Forcing himself to focus, Jaune lent his ear to the headmaster's speech, which seemed almost at its end.
"... to be steadfast, and remember that the lives of all humanity depend on us huntsmen doing our duty. Let us hold true to these words, passed down through generations of Nikos, from the greatest warriors of old to the most promising huntsmen of today. For it is in death that we achieve immortality. No man lives forever, but what we do in life can echo to eternity, and the good we do today is all that we leave behind, once we have shaken off this mortal coil. Miss Nikos is dead, but her memory lives on, and we should honour her in the only way we can – by fighting the Grimm, and making the world a place so safe, heroes like her will never have to give their lives for it again."
It was an fine speech, and eloquently said. Jaune was genuinely impressed at how the headmaster could identify hope even in the midst of despair, and so, with sincerity, Jaune joined the rest of the mourners in clapping.
Once the clapping died away, Ozpin looked to Alexander Nikos.
The man nodded his assent, and so, with a gesture of his hand, the headmaster summoned Cinder Fall to the fore.
Jaune's former professor stepped forward. Immaculate despite the rain, she held aloft a wooden torch, wet and sodden from the storm –
– but as she handed it over to Alexander Nikos, its end erupted into fire. A fierce blaze came to life, so bright one could not help but avert one's eyes, and so hot it made the rain itself steam away.
There were inadvertent gasps of appreciation from the crowd; but where they thought this was just Vale's newest Champion invoking her unparalleled dust sorcery, Jaune Arc knew better.
Slowly, and almost painfully, Alexander Nikos advanced towards the wooden pyre on which his daughter lay. As his wife sobbed, and as he himself was gripping the torch so tight his hand was white, the man laid the burning bough at his daughter's feet, atop the bed of branches and boughs.
The fire caught, and in mere seconds it had spread to all ends of the pyre, even if the rain-soaked wood should have made this impossible.
Pyrrha's body was consumed by fire – a literal blaze of glory, as befitting the Invincible Girl.
Jaune had seen enough.
Turning upon his heels, he marched down the aisle.
No one stopped him; no one cared.
At a brisk pace, Jaune left the sprawling gardens of the private estate where the funeral had been held.
The estate was located in the upper-class district in the north-western part of Vale, far from the places ordinary people frequented, and under-served by public transport besides.
To get back to the city proper, Jaune was forced to brave the freezing winter rain and walk a fair distance – passing by the giant mansions and vast estates of the ultra-rich – to merely get to a bus stop.
Through a stroke of luck, the bus arrived just as he reached the stop, obviating the need to wait. Ignoring the glance of recognition from the bus driver, Jaune boarded, before settling his cold and wet self into an empty seat. The bus was empty save for the driver and himself, something Jaune was grateful for, since it spared him yet another round of judgemental stares and disdainful looks.
The rain started slowing to a drizzle as the bus wound its way through the upper-class district. Jaune passed the journey in silence, staring out the rain-occluded windows at nothing in particular.
By the time the bus arrived at the train station, the rain had ceased. Alighting, Jaune made his way down into the underground Valean metro station.
The dingy old apartment he was renting was in a dangerous and rather disreputable part of the industrial district, and it was there he was headed to now.
The names of Vale's districts were, in many ways, misleading; though the most prestigious office skyscrapers were indeed concentrated in the commercial district, and the heavy industrial plants and large-scale public housing complexes located in the industrial and residential areas respectively, reality was rather more complex and less neatly categorized, at it often was. There were plenty of smaller office blocks in the residential district, or residential dormitories in the industrial area, or factories engaged in light manufacturing on the outskirts of the commercial precinct.
Within the metro station, Jaune got onto the Vachellia line, which would take him south, towards the industrial district and where he needed to be.
The train was largely empty, though as it moved towards the centre of the city, more and more people started filling the carriages – which also meant more and more negative attention, the closer Jaune got to his destination.
This was his life, now. It had been seven days since Rothenburg; six days, since Ozpin told him and Weiss the truth of the world; and five, since the headmaster put out the agreed-upon lie and made a dramatic announcement proclaiming the expulsion of Jaune from Beacon – on the grounds that he had caused the death of a teammate, through his terrible leadership and judgement.
At present, Jaune Arc was the talk of the town, and the favourite thing to hate, and so long as he went about with his face uncovered – let alone wearing his distinctive armour – he was going to draw glares and poisoned whispers as honey drew bees.
If it was any consolation, he wouldn't ordinarily have to suffer such constant public opprobrium; were he to wear a cap and sunglasses, he could easily be out in public but avoid recognition. It was only today that he had to be in his very recognizable armour – what with ancient Mistralian funerary customs being of the extremely martial variety, and dictating that mourners attend in combat attire as far as possible.
Closing his eyes, Jaune shut out the looks and glowers of his fellow passengers, instead letting the motion of the train sway him to and fro, in a strangely relaxing ritual.
The trains of the Valean metro were swift and smoothly-operating as ever, and in about half an hour, Jaune found himself deposited at his destination.
Exiting the train, he made his way out of the station. The neighbourhood in the immediate vicinity of the train station wasn't too rough, though it got worse the further south one went, as Jaune would have to, to get to his apartment.
The winter sky was dark, but the street lamps were bright all the same, and Jaune making the long trek back to what was going to serve as his home for the foreseeable future.
The closer to his apartment Jaune got, the rougher the streets got. With increasing frequency, groups of young men – often faunus, and all poor – could be seen loitering about. Some were obviously drunk, and yet others perfectly sober but strutting about and spoiling for a fight.
Jaune's armour might have done him a disservice on the train, by proclaiming his identity to the world and drawing the distaste and disapproval of Vale's upstanding citizens; but here, down in the gutters, it protected him – singled him out, as a huntsman, and as someone not to be not to be messed with.
One fool, drunker than his peers, came up to take a swing at him anyway, and Jaune was forced to break his arm, and then his nose.
The man's friends, wiser than him, hung back, saying nothing and doing nothing, instead letting Jaune pass in peace.
The resentment in their eyes were clear as day, however, and for the remainder of his walk down that stretch of street, Jaune kept his aura activated – just in case someone had a gun, and was angry enough to try and shoot him from behind.
Nothing of that sort happened, thankfully, and Jaune made it to the street his apartment was on without further incident – though he did have the bad luck of catching sight of a young man and an even younger girl having sex in a nearby alley.
Ignoring the copulating couple, Jaune made his way to the convenience store by the corner of the street, to grab a bottle of whiskey, the cheapest he could find. Then, he headed over to the food truck parked across the road from his apartment building, and joined the surprisingly long queue of people waiting to order.
The two young women front of Jaune were talking about one of their friends in a bad relationship, and for the lack of anything better to do, he listened in, listlessly.
One girl was venting –
"... even stay with him? He beats her, and then says sorry, and she forgives him, and believes his horseshit about it never happening again. Like, c'mon – how can she be so blind to what he is?"
The other girl shrugged.
"People believe what they want to believe."
That particular comment made Jaune's mouth twist.
How true.
Inadvertently, Jaune thought back to that difficult conversation he had had with Professor Fall a few days ago, and his mood, already poor, threatened to plummet even further.
The flame danced in tune with Jaune's will. It was first a forceful stream, then a concentrated blast, then an expansive disk, and finally –
"Put that flame away, Arc, before you set fire to the room."
Professor Fall was curt with her reproach, as she stalked into the meeting room.
Moving to comply, Jaune dismissed the flame summoned to hand by his semblance.
Since his aura had been restored to full by the healers, he had been getting some practice with his new ability – and in truth, he was far from impressed.
A layman might have been awed; after all, every child in Vale knew of Jeanne d'Arc and her legendary semblance. From Beacon's front courtyard, and its statue of Jeanne lighting the sky afire, to that folklore book Jaune had bought in Rothenburg, with its cover showing his ancestor wreathed in flames, Valean culture was replete with depictions of its national heroine and the pyrokinesis she used to bring the First King of Vale's enemies to heel. All the lords who opposed his rule had knelt, in the end, because against massive endless firestorms no army could hope to stand.
For Jaune, however... Though he could create, control and banish fire, giving him a semblance conceptually identical to his ancestor's, his power was in practice useless. Generating and manipulating even a small flame – as he was just doing – was taking a good tenth of his aura reserves, making his semblance far too costly to use in actual combat.
Well, we're not going to beat Salem by force of arms, anyway.
Professor Fall had settled into a high-backed chair across the table from Jaune, and she wasted no time in asking –
"Have you retrieved Arthur Watts's contact details from Hazel Rainart's scroll?"
The Professor's question was direct and to the point; and wasting no words of his own, Jaune replied,
"Yes, Professor."
Rainart's last words before he died had been directed towards urging Jaune to contact Arthur Watts – another servant of the Queen, and a person who could relay Jaune's request of neutrality to her.
"Very well. As promised, I will instruct you on how best to approach Watts – what to say, what to avoid, and how to exploit that man's personality."
She proceeded to do just that, with Jaune paying close attention – as if lives depended on it, which they truly did.
"One final thing, Arc. Watts is a bitter man, defined by, and consumed with resentment – against the world in general, and against General James Ironwood in particular. It is what motivated his own defection, and so, to make your own betrayal of Beacon seem convincing to him, say this –"
Jaune nodded, as the professor outlined her clever stratagem, and as he worked to commit it to memory.
One thing he did not understand, however, was –
"Professor, why do these people even serve Salem? Rainart might have been motivated by revenge, and Watts by resentment, but surely, that alone can't persuade a man to side with literal monsters, and serve the Queen that commands them? I mean – if they win, what happens then? Are they going to enjoy living in a world destroyed by the Grimm?"
Professor Fall raised one, perfect eyebrow at his question.
"You are thinking, Mr Arc – which is good. You cannot hope to infiltrate the Queen's inner circle and survive in her service if you fail to see beyond the merely obvious. And as for your question – to answer it, one must first understand the difference between what the Queen truly desires, and what she merely pretends to crave."
Here, the professor's forehead creased, just for a moment.
"According to Ozpin, Salem's grand ambition is apocalypse – the destruction of Remnant, and the death of all living things. Needless to say, this is not what the Queen tells her servants; this is not what they think she wants."
With narrowed eyes, and her lips pressed tight, Professor Fall looked intensely bitter here; a rare show of emotion, for her.
"Most people – even the likes of Arthur Watts – need to feel like decent people; and to sleep at night, they need to think that what they do is good, is right, is justified. Salem knows this, and she beguiles them with promises, fools them with lies. She says that she wishes to conquer the world, and promises that once all Remnant is one kingdom – hers – then that will mean the end of war, and the start of a peace that will last forever."
It clicked for Jaune, then, and he interjected –
"Is that why, when she and I spoke, Salem said that she wanted a world at peace – a world without suffering, a world where no orphans exist?"
"Yes. And lies though they may be, these promises work. A man like Watts can happily continue to indulge his resentments, without having to be discomfited by the withered husk of his conscience. And a man like Rainart, who does not lack for compassion or honour, can fool himself into believing that the revenge he so ardently desires is actually good for the world. Fools, all of them."
Her contempt for Watts and Rainart dripped from her lips.
"But enough of that. Now that you fully understand the enemy, are you ready to initiate contact with Watts?"
Jaune was, admittedly, apprehensive; but all the same, he nodded. Ignoring the sudden spike of burning pain in his chest, from his as-yet unhealed ribs, he affirmed,
"I am."
Retrieving his scroll, Jaune then selected Watts's scroll number, and initiated an audio-only call.
The scroll rang once, twice, thrice – and then, on the dot, someone picked up.
A voice, rich and deep and smooth, reached Jaune's ear.
"Jaune Arc, I presume."
For all that he had thought himself prepared, Jaune hesitated, for a second, before managing to reply,
"Yes. And you must be Watts."
And so the dance began.
"Arthur will be fine, though I am partial to 'Dr Watts'."
Professor Fall's advice came to mind, then.
'Flatter him.'
"Dr Watts, then."
"Ah, a polite young man. Your courtesy is appreciated. Now, Mr Arc, how may help you?"
"Dr Watts, may I presume that you, like Hazel Rainart, are an ally of Salem?"
'Call him an ally, never a servant; his pride is too fragile to accept so derogatory a term.'
"Quite so."
"Then please, convey this message to the Queen. I am willing to let bygones be bygones; she destroyed my village, killed my family, –"
Jaune let his anger enter his voice; as if he had tried to suppress it, only to fail.
'Mention Domremy, and your family. Show your anger, and betray your hostility. These will be expected, of who you are pretending to be – an angry young man, forced to make peace with the people who murdered those you love. Do not appear too calm, too eager to please – as a spy attempting infiltration would be.'
Jaune made a show of trying to control his anger, and of finally succeeding.
"– but I've had my revenge, when I killed Rainart. Now let's make a new start. I will agree not to take up arms against the Queen, if she will let me and my teammate Weiss Schnee live out our lives in peace – unmolested by Grimm attacks and free from attacks from her human servants"
"Ah."
Watts sounded sympathetic.
"I understand your position, Mr Arc. You need to protect yourself, and your... friend..."
The way Watts said that word made clear his belief that Jaune and Weiss were more than teammates, and more friends. And though the conclusion was wrong, the inference was not an unreasonable one. Weiss was rich, and beautiful, and famous, and on the other side, Jaune had been her saviour during the White Fang incident; put together with the well-known fact that huntsmen and huntresses often dated within their teams...
A man like Watts, too clever by half, had jumped to the false but obvious conclusion, and now Jaune was more than happy to take advantage of the misapprehension.
Watts was still speaking.
"... but explain to me, Mr Arc, why you are not seeking Ozpin's protection. An immortal goddess is a fearsome enemy to have, to be sure, but so is a reincarnating wizard."
A trap.
It was just as Professor Fall had warned, and even now, from where she was seated , she was shooting him a sharp look, to remind him to be on guard.
'Remember what truths you are privy to, and what secrets you could not possibly know.'
Jaune had learnt a lot from speaking with Rainart and from the Seer-induced visions, but the headmaster's utterly unfair semblance of reincarnation was not something that had come up then. Aware of the need to avoid betraying information he could only have had as a member of Ozpin's cabal, Jaune said, mildly,
"I'm afraid you've lost me, Dr Watts. Are you implying that the headmaster is a... reincarnating wizard?"
"Oh yes, my boy. Quite the powerful semblance your headmaster has... even if it has not saved him from repeated failures over the centuries, in his fight against our Queen."
There, Jaune would have to disagree, even if he could only do so privately. Humanity was alive, and the world at peace, which suggested the headmaster had been doing something right over the past two millennia.
Knowing better than to be baited into contradicting Watts, Jaune said,
"I'm not sure if I believe such a thing... though maybe it isn't that far-fetched, everything else considered. Regardless, it doesn't matter. You want to know why I haven't gone to Ozpin for help?"
"Pray tell."
"Have you seen the latest news out of Beacon, Dr Watts? Have you seen what they're saying about me?"
Jaune didn't even have to fake his anger; it came all too naturally.
Meanwhile, Watts seemed intrigued, and he replied,
"No, I haven't. But allow me a second, and I shall see what it is that you – ah."
There was a moment of silence after that; doubtlessly, Arthur Watts was quickly drinking in the latest story that would have just hit the front page of the Vales News Network.
It had been timed to perfection; it was not a coincidence that Jaune was calling now, right after Ozpin would have put out the announcement about Jaune's expulsion.
'Sing this anthem of resentment, Arc, and you will persuade Watts.'
"Do you understand now, Dr Watts? I defeated that Necrovalock. I killed Rainart. I saved Rothenburg. But now Ozpin is putting it out that I'm a glory-hunter who abandoned my team in their time of need, and who got them killed because of it. How dare he. I almost died defending that village, and this is the thanks I get? This is my reward? This –"
The resentment boiled up all at once, forming an almost physical pressure behind his eyes and nose that choked his very words off.
Jaune was, at this point, no longer sure if he was even acting.
Watts was silent, for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice had a strange tenor to it.
"I understand, Jaune Arc. I understand. Loyalty repaid by betrayal; daring rewarded with disgrace... it is painful."
Watts was silent, again – before seeming to regain his stride, and saying,
"I will convey your offer of peace to the Queen."
Game, set and match.
"Thank you."
"A word of warning. The Queen will require some proof of your sincerity – some evidence, that you have indeed forsaken Beacon and Ozpin forever, and can be trusted to keep your promise not to oppose her."
"What does that mean, exactly?"
"Not to put too fine a point on it, but you will be required to carry out some tasks – nothing too difficult, for a boy of your talents, but you must perform them out all the same. Do you agree?"
Jaune made a show of mulling it over, but there was only ever going to be one answer.
"... fine. What will these tasks be, Dr Watts?"
From that point on, things moved swiftly. Details were shared, clarifications made, and a course of action agreed upon.
Then, finally, Watts bid him a good day, and the call was at an end.
And that was that – the die was cast, the river crossed, the point of no return passed.
Jaune was apprehensive, he wasn't afraid to admit. He had felt a momentary upsurge of triumph upon his successful fooling of Watts, but once the man began describing the task Jaune was to do, his unease returned, in full force.
And it was unease he still felt now; even as he patiently queued at the food truck to get his dinner, he could not but turn the details of his upcoming task over and over in his mind.
What Watts wanted him to do was plainly criminal, and even if Jaune did his best to avoid harming innocents, there was no guarantee that everyone was going to walk away alive.
And the people he was going to have to work with...
Weiss would have blown a gasket – which was precisely why he hadn't told her.
Jaune pushed these musings out of his mind. Having reached the front of the queue, Jaune nodded to the large, grizzled Vacuon man who ran the food truck.
The migrants who had fled eastern Vacuo to make a better life in Vale had brought with them both their culture and their cuisine, and Jaune was finding that he had developed quite the taste for the latter.
"The lamb kebab, please – and some cheese fries."
It was vastly unhealthy, and the Jaune of two weeks ago – gym-going, and dedicated to sharpening his skills and maintaining his conditioning – would have been appalled.
However, right here and now, Jaune was cold, wet, tired and depressed – and just wanted something hot and good to eat.
He paid for his food, and then headed into the run-down building that was his apartment block.
The lifts were slow, and smelt of piss besides; so Jaune took the stairs, two steps at a time. Some exertion later, he reached the seventh floor; navigating to his apartment, he then opened the door, and went in.
The single-room flat was a dismal place, with a threadbare carpet, creaking furniture, and half-dead ceiling lights.
Putting his food and whiskey aside, Jaune stripped off his armour and his wet clothing, before heading into the equally decrepit bathroom, with its mould-crusted sink and a toilet that barely flushed.
The shower, at least, worked well enough, and with some relief Jaune entered the cubicle and twisted the shower taps to bring the water up to full blast.
As the scalding hot water ran down over his body, Jaune finally allowed himself to relax.
It had been a difficult day, and a cruel week. He had always thought he was the strong and resolute sort, and perhaps he was – but that strength felt brittle now, and his resolve was far from what it had been when he first entered Beacon; when he had thrown his aura-less self off a cliff, heedless to danger and without any cares in the world.
He wondered how Weiss was doing, too. The last time he had seen her...
"I don't like this, Jaune."
The training chamber was scorched and scarred; vestiges, from Jaune's testing of his semblance.
"Well, I don't like it any more than you, Weiss, but it is what it is."
One particular dummy target was still on fire, and Jaune had to direct some of his attention towards extinguishing those flames.
With that done, he sat down on a nearby bench, holding his sore ribs and wincing as he did.
Weiss, meanwhile, was pacing around, her agitation evident.
Despite his expulsion, Jaune had been given a few days' grace, and allowed to stay on campus until he managed to find his own place. In the meantime, he trained, and practised his frustratingly-limited semblance.
Today, Weiss was free enough from her other responsibilities to spend the morning with him.
"You're not taking this seriously, Jaune."
"But I am. You're the one who's worrying too much. I'll do my best not to hurt anyone, and –"
Weiss interrupted him then, a frown flashing across her face.
"It's not other people I'm worry about – it's you."
Feeling flattered that she was concerned, Jaune laughed – though that only made Weiss's frown deepen.
"Jaune, you're severely underestimating the people you will need to fight. The place Arthur Watts wants you to assault is a military base. Yes, Vale is not Atlas. Yes, huntsmen are not directly employed by the Vale Armed Forces. Nevertheless, the VAF contracts huntsmen and huntresses to guard its bases, as a hedge against this very eventuality – an attack by aura-enhanced opponents. Those you are likely to cross swords with are not going to be weak, and fighting them carries substantial risk."
Jaune ran a hand through his hair.
Weiss was not wrong. After the devastation of the Great War, the Last King of Vale had abolished the Kingdom-controlled militaries, and transferred command and oversight of the aura-capable warriors to the independent Huntsman Academies – thus allowing the Grimm to be fought, even while preventing the Kingdoms from waging war on each other using armies of superpowered soldiers.
That arrangement had kept the peace for forty years, until the Faunus Rights Revolution. For all that the faunus had legitimate grievances and a righteous cause, their victory terrified the Kingdoms, and made them painfully aware of just how vulnerable they were to rebellion and terrorism. That they subsequently remilitarized was to no one's great surprise; and while Mantle had been the most avid, all the Kingdoms moved to build some kind of standing army – with elite infantry trained, strategic bombers and submarines built, and tanks manufactured. The only restriction retained from the post-war settlement, in the end, was the rule that huntsmen could not be recruited by the armed forces.
It was a delicate balance. Many, particularly those who remembered their history, were justly hostile to huntsman involvement in the military. On the other hand, there was the real threat of terrorism, and it was not unreasonable to allow the military to contract huntsmen for specific purposes like spearheading an attack on a camp of aura-capable terrorists – though Atlas pushed this arrangement to disquieting limits, with its Specialists serving directly under General Ironwood.
And even in Vale...
"You're right, Weiss. Watts warned me as much. There'll be three teams of huntsmen stationed at the airbase we're raiding, and –"
"Three?"
Weiss looked aghast.
"Jaune, you can't beat three teams of fully-trained –"
"I can and I will. I killed Rainart, and Ozpin himself says that man was one of the strongest huntsmen on Remnant."
Weiss did not look impressed.
"Yes, you killed him – and almost died in the doing."
"True, but these huntsmen won't push me remotely as much as Rainart did. My skill and strength and durability and speed are far beyond theirs, and that's not a gap numbers can easily bridge. And besides, once I learn to use my semblance correctly –"
Weiss somehow managed to look even less impressed than before. With a raised eyebrow, she interrupted him –
"Is this the same semblance whose uselessness you've been decrying? And by decrying I mean whining piteously about."
Her snark brought a wry smile to his face.
"Look, everyone would prefer it if my semblance wasn't just a vastly inferior version of my ancestor's, but it's not the end of the world. So yes, I'm forced to draw no less than tenth of my entire aura reserves for any move, great or small; and if I don't use up all that drawn aura, the remainder goes to waste, because no matter how hard I try to retain the excess, it just dissipates after a minute."
All these Jaune had figured out through trial and error.
"But this limitation isn't necessarily a fatal flaw, is it? It just means I have to adapt, and adjust the way I use my semblance in combat, right?"
Weiss took his meaning.
"Do you intend to forgo constant use of your semblance, and instead rely on the sparing use of powerful, aura-intensive attacks and shields?"
Despite her initial scepticism, she seemed interested in engaging with him on the topic.
Jaune nodded, in answer to her question.
"Basically, yes – but beyond the straightforward matter of attack and defence, I'm thinking that I should work on my mobility and manoeuvrability."
After his fight with Rainart, Jaune had been thinking hard about how he genuinely stacked up against the strongest huntsmen and huntresses in the world. That meant scrutinizing his combat abilities – and identifying the flaws in his style that he was previously too overconfident to notice.
Weiss looked thoughtful. As she absent-mindedly fingered Myrtenaster's hilt, she said,
"Yes... I see. With your sword, putting down the enemy is not at issue; getting to them is."
"Exactly. So –"
The next hour was spent trying to get fire-propelled movement and flight right; and at the end, Jaune had more bruises than ever, courtesy of his constant collisions with the walls and ceiling and floor.
All this while, Weiss gave encouragement, and advice. As someone whose own fighting style relied heavily on the ability to accelerate through the air while changing directions on a whim, Weiss had valuable experience to share, and Jaune took all her suggestions and criticisms to heart.
Finally, though, his aura was exhausted, and that brought a hard stop to the training session.
Jaune found himself deposited on the floor in the middle of the training chamber, panting and sweating from strenuous exertion.
The click of heels on concrete signalled Weiss's approach, and from the ground, Jaune turned his head to face her.
With a tired smile, he greeted her,
"Hey."
Weiss's mouth quirked in response, before she did something Jaune did not expect; she lowered herself to the ground, and sat herself beside him.
"Aren't you afraid of getting your snow-white dress dirty?"
Weiss laughed, softly.
"It's been through worse. We've been through worse."
"Yeah..."
From the Torchwick incident to the defence of Rothenburg, Weiss and himself had indeed been through some terrible things together.
But where the former led to a vastly improved relationship between them, the latter...
Perhaps it was all in Jaune's head, but ever since Rothenburg, he could feel an increasing tension between the two of them – a painful tightness, made of things unsaid. And even as Weiss was sitting companionably by his side, he could sense that she and he were both holding something back.
Weiss turned to him.
Without embellishment, she said,
"I'm leaving for Atlas tomorrow."
Jaune was unpleasantly surprised, for a moment; but then the resignation set in. He knew Ozpin was sending her back home to re-assume her responsibilities as heiress to the SDC; he just didn't think it would be so soon.
Nodding his acknowledgement, Jaune then tried to suppress the feeling that he was being abandoned. Instead, he reminded himself that Weiss didn't want this any more than him; indeed, she hated it.
Making sure to pick his words with care, Jaune said,
"I'm sorry that you have to do this. I know you wanted to become a huntress, but now that dream is dead."
Weiss's lips curved up in a bitter smile.
"It's fine. The headmaster is right. The SDC in my father's hands is the White Fang's greatest recruitment tool. He needs to be eased out, and only I can make that happen. And for whatever it's worth... I'm sorry too, Jaune. That you need to sacrifice your reputation, risk your life..."
She trailed off, as if even describing what he was giving up was a task too unpleasant to bear.
That prompted Jaune to look at her, and smile in an attempt to be reassuring. Accompanying that, he said,
"Well, if it's to protect the world from Salem, I have no complaints."
The conversation lapsed into silence, then.
And as the awkward silence grew, the feeling that was overcoming Jaune started becoming unbearable; it was a dam in his chest, ready to burst.
Learning about Salem's existence had been so momentous that it eclipsed all else, but even so, Jaune had never forgotten that singular, transcendental moment in Rothenburg – when he realized that he loved Weiss, and when that realization gave him the power to protect both him and her.
Jaune had to tell her. He had to do his feelings justice, and with her going away, he could not afford to delay any longer.
But what if she says no?
The thought of rejection, and the prospect of their friendship ruined – that terrified him.
...
Summoning ever last ounce of courage, Jaune forced his mouth to move, and forced himself to say –
"Weiss. Do you want to date?"
She looked at him, then, her eyes inscrutable.
"A strange thing to ask about, Jaune. At Beacon, I've not had the time to worry about relationships or think about boys."
As Weiss gave her answer, Jaune didn't know whether to cry, or laugh.
She had misunderstood his question – she hadn't realized that he was asking her out, and not merely inquiring if she had considered getting into a relationship.
Or, and now the sneaking suspicion came...
... she had understood him perfectly well, and had tried to reject him with sufficient subtlety to spare him humiliation and leave him his dignity.
Jaune now utterly regretted opening his mouth at all; not only had he failed to get a positive answer, he didn't even know if he had been rejected – and now that uncertainty only festered in his chest.
Jaune hated himself, then, for being too much a coward to truly speak his heart.
Except –
Weiss spoke, again.
Softly, with a whisper barely audible, she said,
"Ask me again at the end of the year, once both our missions are done. By then, I'll have had more time to think about it... and will maybe give a different answer."
Jaune froze.
Unless he was misunderstanding, Weiss was implying –
She must be.
Weiss, Jaune realized, was in as much a bind as him. Even if she liked him, she couldn't be sure if he was asking her out, or just idly inquiring about her love life or the lack thereof.
Hence her noncommittal words, which could be anything to anyone – an encouragement to ask her out again, if he truly was interested; or just a innocuous reply to his idle question, if he wasn't. No rejection had to be risked, no awkwardness threatened.
What cowards they were, when it came to their emotions. All he and Weiss could do was dance around each other, too afraid of what might be lost to reach for their heart's desire.
In the end, all Jaune could say was,
"I'll remember to ask you at the end of the year, then."
His answer pleased Weiss, at least. A smile graced her lips, and she said,
"I'll hold to that promise."
And after a beat, she added,
"Let's go travelling, after this is all over."
Jaune laughed, lightly. Though he was he was deeply pessimistic about the war against Salem having a happily-ever-after, Weiss's optimism warmed him all the same. Gamely, he replied,
"Let's."
His agreement seemed to buoy Weiss even further, and with her eyes bright, she said,
"In Atlas, there is this place in the mountains, a week's journey from the city proper. There, a river falls from the peaks down into the vast lake beneath, and in winter that river freezes. That frozen waterfall is the most beautiful thing in the world. I'll like you to see that, one day."
The picture Weiss painted was breath-taking, and the thought of being there with her made Jaune feel elated beyond words. Without hesitation, he said,
"I'll like to see that too, with you. Let's go together, at end of this year, during the winter solstice."
The smile Weiss granted him then was a brilliant thing – brighter than the sun, and warmer than spring.
He smiled, too, without inhibition or reserve.
And in that moment, there was only him, and her, and the world they found in the eyes of each other.
"Weiss..."
Jaune could not help but say her name. And as he stood under the scalding downpour of his apartment's shower, he found himself smiling. It had been days since that moment, and the promise that ground it, yet it made him so wonderfully happy all the same.
He had enough worries to drown an ordinary person, but when Weiss was on his mind, even the world did not seem so dark a place.
And so it was with his mood far improved from its original state of melancholy and dejection, that Jaune finished up his shower. Towelling himself off, he moved with a new spring in his step, as he headed back into his room and threw on some fresh clothes.
Retrieving his food and his whiskey from beside the door, he poured himself a full glass of the latter, before downing it in one go and then pouring himself another.
Between the warm buzz of alcohol and the memory of that moment with Weiss, Jaune was happy; truly.
Expulsion and disgrace; a funeral and a partner, dead; the hordes of Grimm and the terrifying Queen at their head – all these concerns faded to nothing, and for this small sliver of eternity, Jaune Arc revelled in some uncomplicated bliss.
Even if this joy lasted but an hour, he would always have this; he could go get back to being miserable soon enough, but for now he was happy, and contented to be.
-(=RWBY=)-