-(=RWBY=)-

Chapter 26

-(=RWBY=)-

The days passed, each no different from the last. All his time was spent underground, the darkness all-consuming and the silence crushing. His mood, unfortunately, matched his living circumstances – a man less honest than he would have called it melancholy; but he disliked self-deception, and so named it depression.

It was no surprise, really. There was plenty of reasons for why he was feeling like life had lost all hope – like the colour had drained from his world, and like everything was ashes in his mouth.

In the first instance, he had made the mistake of opening some internet forum threads, when he was out at night and had access to public wifi. His thought was that this would give him something to read later, thus reducing the tedium of being stuck underground. And he had to admit, he was morbidly curious as to what the whole world was saying about him. Except, fairly predictably –

They hated him – absolutely, and with an intensity usually reserved for rapists and Grimm cultists. A thousand toxic comments all expressed similar sentiments –

Terrorist. Murderer. Turncoat. Traitor. Disgrace to his family, to his heroic ancestors.

And it never stopped; day after day, the comments poured in, in response to continuous, round-the-clock coverage of the manhunt.

He shouldn't have let it bother him. He knew he was in the right, having only done what was necessary to save more lives – and besides, there was no reason why anyone's opinion of him should make him feel anything, one way or another.

And yet, it got to him anyway. No matter how he much he tried to reason himself out of it, the unadulterated abhorrence stung; and his mood, predictably, sunk.

Not helping matters was being stuck underground. Jaune remembered enough to know that the psychiatrists called it seasonal affective disorder. It was a condition where a lack of light caused chemical imbalances within the body, which in turn led to low mood and depression. It was especially bad for Atlas in the winter, given Solitas's high latitude, but at least the Atlesians got some light, even during the longest nights around the winter solstice. Jaune, in contrast, had the joy of darkness, all day, every day, his feeble and only reprieve being the nights, when he got to experience moon and lamplight.

He truly wasn't in the best state of mind right now – and making things worse, Professor Ozpin hadn't managed to set up a communications channel between him and Weiss.

Weiss.

It had occurred to Jaune that his murder of the Ace-Ops had not just changed public opinion; but could also – far more importantly – have changed hers.

Of everyone in the world, Weiss probably understood him best. No one – not Ozpin, not Team RVLY, and not even his estranged father – knew him as well. She knew his general backstory from Domremy, of how the loss of his family had driven him to desperately want to be a hero and huntsman. She knew the way he thought, of how he saw the world through the prism of his brilliance. She knew his little tics, his idiosyncrasies, the way his lips would quirk for laughter or thin for anger. She knew all that, and more –

– but she did not know, the deepest, darkest truth there was; of the final layer of tragedy buried under the other horrors of Domremy; of the evil he had committed, so profound it made his actions now seem innocuous.

Weiss had no idea of any of that – and so did not know what he was capable of, did not know how willing and able he was, to harm the few to save the many. She had seen him cut down the White Fang during their kidnapping attempt on her, and then subsequently do the same to Rainart at Rothenburg. She also knew that he had attacked innocent huntsmen, during the airbase raid. However, the Fang and Rainart were dangerous criminals, and the huntsmen at the airbase he had gone out of his way to spare. In contrast, this time with the Ace-Ops, Jaune had just outright murdered innocents – and not just any innocents, but huntsman, and people her own sister Winter would had personally known.

Did Jaune have the right to be surprised, then, if it turned out that Weiss now thought far less of him? If she no longer liked him? If her feelings, if they ever existed, had faded, like the last snow come spring?

It was an idea too horrible to even think.

Thus, his psychological state, already brought low by endless darkness and Valean hate, crumbled even further –

– and it was in a condition of low-grade depression that Jaune now spent his time as a fugitive. He ate, but took no pleasure in food; and he trained, but his heart wasn't into it. Once, he had taken pride in his swordwork, and found excitement, in refining his powerful semblance – but now, whether it was practising his shields and blasts of fire one day, or training his flame-propelled flight another, all his joy was dust.

Sleep was his only recourse, for hiding away from his own dark and despondent thoughts. Naturally, he took it, and as often as he could – but try as he might, Jaune couldn't sleep more than twelve hours a day, which meant he still had to stay up half the time, and live with his own misery and melancholy.

It had been a full week since he had been forced into hiding, and as the seventh day turned to the eighth, it was past midnight once more, and time for his daily sally outside, to check for messages and get supplies. It was a mild relief, to be able to get out and about. Doing that was a distraction, even if temporary, from his dark thoughts and even darker feelings.

Using his scroll as a torch, Jaune gathered his backpack, and then headed towards the stairwell, before making his way up to ground level.

As ever, his eyes hurt upon seeing the light after so long in the darkness, no matter that the glow of the moon was soft and gentle. Blinking away the disorientation, Jaune activated his aura senses to keep track of his surroundings, and then quickly made for the exit of the train terminal's abandoned office building.

Once out, Jaune set a quick pace upon the now-familiar path to the community centre.

Upon reaching the building, Jaune connected the public wifi as usual, and checked for any dead drop messages from Ozpin or direct emails from Watts.

The headmaster had sent another message since last night, to provide two things – updated details on the ongoing manhunt, as well as an apology. The latter Ozpin gave, while explaining that his next scheduled trip to Atlas was the following month, with that being the only time he could meet Weiss Schnee in private, and hand her instructions on how she could contact him. The headmaster wasn't willing to risk communicating anything via less secure online channels; he feared that their messages and conversations, which contained dangerous information implicating Jaune as a double agent, could be intercepted.

Given Watts's incomparable mastery of the digital realm, the headmaster was probably justified in his paranoia – though it didn't make Jaune any less despondent. He really wanted to speak to Weiss, to reassure her that he was fine, and to assure himself that she still liked him despite his crimes.

In any case, Jaune sent a reply to the headmaster, thanking him for the manhunt details as usual, and also extending his gratitude for helping put him in touch with Weiss. It wasn't the old man's fault that utmost secrecy was necessary; if even the slightest hint of Jaune being a double agent for Ozpin came out, the mission was dead, and their chances of saving the world with it.

And as for Watts –

The man had sent a short email in response to a previous query from Jaune, about whether they would seek to avoid sending him on missions right now, to allow the heat to die down.

[Dear Mr Arc,]

[Whilst I agree that it is better to avoid attracting attention at this present moment, there may be emergencies that require your talent, and I cannot promise that you will not be called into action. Please remain in the city while keeping a low profile, and be ready for a potential mission.]

[Yours, Dr Watts]

Jaune read the man's reply; it was what he expected, more or less. There was nothing more to discuss, and so Jaune sent a brief but polite note of acknowledgement to Watts, before turning off the screen of his scroll.

Slipping his scroll back into his pocket, Jaune started off towards the Mistralian quarter, and the supermarket that was his target. Jaune had been rotating through three supermarkets in the area for the past week, and stealing from each one every three days. This helped minimize the chances of the loss of stock being noticed and the owners being put on guard for a thief stealing in at the dead of night.

When Jaune arrived at the enclave, passing under the ornate Mistralian gate of dancing dragons and golden glyphs, he made a beeline for the very first supermarket he had broken into – the one owned by the old couple, and favoured by Ren when he did his grocery runs for traditional Mistralian foodstuff.

Upon arriving at the supermarket, Jaune did what he did on his previous visit here – go around the back, pick the lock on the door, then enter shophouse to begin gathering his supplies.

He fell into the routine established by his previous visits, which meant grabbing some drinks first – not tea, nor cola, as he had done in his earlier supply runs, but rather some uncaffeinated soft drinks. Too much caffeine, he had learnt, kept him up awake, unable to sink into the blissful embrace of sleep as escape from the torture that was his own thoughts and feelings.

Once the drinks were gathered into his backpack, Jaune moved on to collecting some canned food, and dumping them into a plastic bag.

All that done, he went to charge his scroll, using the charger the store owners were in the habit of leaving out on the counter.

After that, there was only waiting left to do.

Jaune glanced at the alcohol section, not too far from where he was by the counter.

He had been trying to limit his alcohol intake to once a week, Weiss having nagged him about his drinking, at the party they had with Team RVLY and Penny. And even beyond looking after his own health, Jaune wanted to do better for her – he knew her mother was an alcoholic, and didn't want to inflict that same kind of pain on Weiss through his own behavior.

And yet...

He was depressed, and lonely, and tired, unable to summon the strength of will to be disciplined right now.

Getting up, Jaune snagged a small bottle of Mistralian white spirit, and then returned to the counter, where he slid down onto the floor.

Leaning back onto the counter, and unscrewing the bottle, he downed it.

It was strong, and sweet, the taste of fruits in summer and of flowers in spring.

The pleasure burned his throat and tongue, as he emptied the whole bottle. And even better, as the moments passed, and seconds turned to minutes, he could feel his mind entering a pleasant state of numbness.

It was, finally, peaceful and tranquil in his own head. There were no niggling thoughts to worry him, nor dark upswells of emotions to drown in.

Jaune closed his eyes, at peace with himself and feeling grateful for it.

And though it was a false peace, and a hollow tranquillity, even pleasant lies were preferable to an immutable sorrow where your mind ate itself.

The minutes trickled by, and Jaune eventually felt compelled to get a second drink – which he did, by scooting over to the alcohol section, grabbing another small bottle of that excellent Mistralian white spirit, and draining it.

Jaune couldn't call himself happy, but he was content –

– which of course meant it couldn't last. Nothing good ever did, for the last son of Arc.

The lights in the supermarket came on, burning his eyes and causing panic to sear through him.

Biting back a curse, Jaune activated his aura, to accelerate his healing and purge the alcohol from his system. It was far from immediate, however, and for the next minute or so his judgement would still be impaired – potentially fatally.

With his aura now active, he could now sense the presence of another person at the back of the room – a civilian, by their aura signature, and definitely one of the owners, given that there was only one aura signature currently in the house upstairs.

Fuck.

This disaster was entirely on him; him, and his poor judgement and ill discipline. If he hadn't let himself get drunk, he wouldn't have forgotten to continue scanning his environment with aura, wouldn't have failed to notice one of the owners getting up, and heading not for the washroom but for the stairs leading down to the ground floor. With that advance notice, Jaune would have had more time to prepare, and hence an easier time getting out, but as it was...

Springing to his feet, Jaune snatched his scroll from the counter, hefted his backpack full of stolen goods onto his back, and then grabbed his plastic bag full of canned food, being careful not to let the cans make any noise. As he did so, he decided on the only plan that presented itself – that of staying out of sight by hiding behind the supermarket shelves, and then sneaking out without being noticed.

The owner – whom Jaune was still tracking with his aura sense, albeit with difficulty born of inebriation – was walking across the back of the store, passing one aisle after another. Very soon, he would reach the first aisle, and be able to see Jaune by the counter at the front of the store. However, if Jaune timed it right –

Jaune padded silently to a shelf halfway down the supermarket, and pressed up against it, all the while doing his best to position himself such that neither his body nor his plastic bag nor his bulky backpack were peeking out.

Keeping his breathing light and as inconspicuous as possible, Jaune kept as still as stone.

When the owner stopped – and at the opposite end of the shelf he was currently hiding, no less, – Jaune's heart clenched, at he thought that he had been caught.

The owner merely coughed, however – the deep sound of which told Jaune it was the old man rather than his wife. And after his small coughing fit subsided, the owner continued on his way, passing Jaune's shelf and likely heading towards the front counter.

Once the old man was safely past the shelf he was hiding behind, Jaune started moving again, his haste propelling him –

Wait.

Dismay nearly made him hiss, before he checked himself.

The two empty bottles of Mistralian white spirit – he had left them behind, on the ground, clear evidence that someone had been here, trespassing and thieving.

Jaune ground his teeth, and doubled back. Moving quickly, he closed the distance between himself and the front counter as much as he dared – up to the point where but the width of a single shelf hid him from the old man's sight, if the latter ever turned in his direction.

As the old man continued making his way across the supermarket, Jaune shadowed him, always taking care to be a step behind, and always keeping out of sight.

He had just one shot at this, and could not let it go to waste. As the old man walked past the final shelf before the aisle leading down to the front counter, Jaune pounced forward, crossing the penultimate aisle and reaching past the final shelf, to grasp desperately at the two empty bottles on the floor by the front counter.

It should have worked – would have worked. Jaune was a huntsman, the best of the best, his speed unmatched and skill without compare. He could certainly execute a quick dash forward to grab two items, and then dart out, before a geriatric old man could round a shelf.

Could, and should, and would – but didn't.

A bottle fell out from his backpack, the failure to fully zip up the bag and Jaune bending over conspiring to let gravity have its way.

In the stillness of the night, the thud of the bottle hitting the ground might as well have been an Atlesian gunship firing a full broadside.

Jaune winced, and in so doing, he hesitated, pausing even while bent over and exposed in the open aisle.

It was his last mistake in a night full of them.

The old man rounded the corner, and if he wasn't suspicious enough from hearing the unexpected noise from earlier, he was now treated to the sight of a stranger bent over by his own counter.

"贼!"

Jaune didn't speak East Mistralian, but he didn't need to, to know what the old man was shouting in outrage.

Thief.

Abandoning his now pointless attempt to retrieve the bottles, Jaune pushed off from his crouch, and made a break for it.

Making sure not to use his aura-enhanced speed at all, Jaune ran for the exit. As he raced past the aisles, he patted his beanie and hoodie, to make sure they still covered his blond hair and face well enough. Only once he was satisfied that the old man couldn't possibly get a good look at his face, did Jaune burst out past the final shelf on the far side of the room.

He barreled through the door into the backend storeroom, and then proceeded to push open the back entrance, and escape out into the night.

Jaune ran, his feet pounding the pavement.

He didn't let up, until he was a considerable distance from the Mistralian enclave. Only once he was well out of reach of any local huntsmen responding to the burglary, did he stop, and catch his breath.

By this time, the alcohol was purged from his system, and his mind was clear once more. That clarity, however, brought with it only blame and self-loathing.

He had certainly screwed up, and fairly substantially so – in almost getting caught, and in almost risking letting the old man get a good look at his face. The Mistralian enclave wasn't that far from the disused train terminal, and if he had been seen here, there was a small but real risk of the authorities realizing his hiding spot.

And what if the old couple calls the police, and they do a thorough dust for fingerprints?

That possibility suddenly occurred to Jaune, and for a moment he felt a surge of alarm – before reminding himself that the old couple distrusted the authorities, as was typical of Mistralian immigrants, and would not call in the police so much as rely on themselves and their community to ward off further burglaries. And besides, even if the police were called, Jaune doubted that they would dust for fingerprints – the chances of distinguishing the burglar's prints from any other customers throughout the day would be too low as to justify the effort. And last but not least, Jaune didn't think the authorities had his fingerprints in their database for comparison against – they wouldn't have bothered getting his fingerprints from his house, since you only did that to identify an unknown suspect, and it wasn't as if the whole world didn't already know Jaune for the terrorist he was.

Jaune gave a sigh of relief.

That was one problem he didn't have to worry about, perhaps – but still, there were other challenges remaining, as a result of his mistake.

At the very least, Jaune would have to switch to robbing supermarkets outside the Mistralian enclave; the place would be too alert for him to try his luck here again.

It would have been much simpler, if Ozpin could just provide him the supplies he needed, by getting someone to drop them off at pre-arranged spots for Jaune to later collect. However, this just wasn't feasible, the need for secrecy being too great; it was imperative that they avoid providing Salem even the slightest reason to suspect that he was a spy. If Ozpin wanted to do such supply runs, he could only trust Cinder and Weiss to carry them out, but both out them were out of the city on their own missions; and of course, the headmaster couldn't trust the other members of his inner circle, for fear that they were the traitor; nor could he trust other huntsmen under his command, for fear that they would find out about Jaune receiving aid from Beacon. Against this, there was but the marginal risk of Jaune getting caught while out thieving – which really shouldn't be happening, excepting extraordinary screwups like tonight. All in all, it was far riskier for Ozpin to try and get supplies to Jaune, than for Jaune to get them himself – which was why Jaune was currently being left to his own devices.

And while Ozpin could theoretically recall Cinder or Weiss to help Jaune for the duration of the manhunt, their missions – thinning the Grimm herds, for Cinder, and taking over the SDC, for Weiss – were far more important tasks than helping Jaune avoid the small risk of getting caught.

Jaune sighed. He was on his own – and that meant he had to make the best decisions he could. Incidents like tonight were unacceptable – and he had to make sure that no such thing ever happened again.

He made his way back to the disused train terminal, without fanfare. His backpack filled with drinks and his plastic bag full of food weighing him down, Jaune entered the abandoned terminal building and headed underground.

There was not much to do after that, save to return to his bleak, buried existence.

Over the course of the next day, he engaged in his usual, lifeless routine. He ate his stolen food, without joy. He trained, with both sword and semblance, though without enthusiasm. After enough of the day had passed, he tried to sleep, though in practice that just ended up with him staring up into the darkness, trapped in the miasma of his own thoughts.

Eventually, though, he must have dozed off.

...

The sound of footsteps, and of combat boots on metal stairs, woke him.

Jaune blinked, and even as the usual melancholy rushed in to wash away his post-sleep sense of inner peace, he noticed faint light coming from the stairwell on the far side of the abandoned terminal.

Confusion soon gave way to alarm, and he was vaulting to his feet.

He'd been found, and he was going to have to fight his way out.

Jaune grabbed Crocea Mors, and drew the blade from its sheath, even as he was activating his aura and pushing his awareness out.

He could pick out four individuals coming down the stairs, and –

No. Impossible.

Their auras stood out to him, clear as day, and familiar as friendship.

One red as roses, and another burning gold. A third the pink of scattered flowers, and the last its twin, but bubbly and scintillating.

There was absolutely no mistaking them, especially not when their voices floated faintly down to him.

Upon hearing his friends, after so long with only silence as his companion, Jaune's breath caught.

"– sense him?"

"Don't get your hopes up too high, sis. This is just a shot in the dark – literally."

"Remember the plan, Rennie! You hold him down, and I break his knees until he explains himself!"

"Please, Nora, I need to focus. And –"

Jaune was concentrating entirely on his friends, enough so that their emotions radiated out at him. And so he felt it, when Ren, who was leading them down the stairs, shifted in mood – from worry, to surprise, and then to relief and elation.

"He's here!"

He could feel the joy spark to life within the souls of his friends, and the cacophony which came next resounded through the dark terminal.

"Jaune!"

"You down there, Arc?"

"Get him!"

They rushed down the final few flights of stairs, and Jaune was there to meet them, a strange feeling in his heart.

This was all an epic, unmitigated disaster – he had been discovered, and now his secret was at risk; his mission, in jeopardy; and the world itself, exposed to true calamity.

But even so – he felt glad. Glad that someone had come looking for him, down in the darkness. Glad that his friends, defying all reason, seemed to love him still, instead of hating him, as they should have been.

Jaune winced a bit, as his friends reached the floor of the underground terminal, and the harsh light from the lamp that Yang was hoisting aloft forced him to bring his left hand up to cover his sensitive eyes.

As he squinted against the glare, he said the first thing that came to mind –

"You should not be here. How did you even find me?"

Ren stepped up to the plate. Even while restraining a Nora that seemed ready to jump on him – whether to hug him or to punch him, Jaune didn't know – the Mistralian boy explained,

"That Mistralian supermarket we once visited together – it was you stealing from them, wasn't it? The uncle and auntie who own the place told me about the intruder from last night, and I surmised that you were hiding in the city, and stealing their food and water to survive. It puzzled me, that you had not yet been found via aura detection, but then I remembered that certain places have aura shielding – like the abandoned train terminal to Mountain Glenn not far from the Mistralian enclave.

"We decided to track you down, and get answers from you ourselves. Don't worry – we've turned the tracking on our scrolls off, so we would not be detected breaking curfew. No one is following us, and we can speak in peace."

Ren looked solemn – as did Ruby look painfully earnest, when she said,

"Jaune. We're your friends, and we know you're not a bad guy. So just tell us what's going on. There's a misunderstanding, right? You aren't working with the White Fang, and you didn't really kill those Atlesian huntsmen, did you? Or maybe –"

She seemed more hesitant here.

"– you did, but it's for some good reason? They were doing some bad thing, and you stopped them? You can trust us, Jaune; please, just tell us."

It was a plea – a plea for Jaune to vindicate himself in their eyes; to show himself to be the good guy. After all, she and her team could not bear to think that their friend was a wanton murderer, or an accursed traitor. Then again –

While Ruby, Ren and Nora were all looking at him with ill-concealed hope, Yang alone looked cool, and assessing. That also made Jaune realize that she was the one person that he hadn't detected elation from earlier, when RVLY had found him.

She distrusts me, at least a little – and she's right to.

And with the initial elation and uplift of seeing his friends passing, Jaune was forced to confront the grim and terrible reality – that he was on the precipice of being exposed to the authorities, and of botching his life-or-death infiltration mission.

Jaune's mind raced through the possibilities, and evaluated them accordingly – before settling on the only feasible option, which was lying blatantly.

"I..."

He let false reluctance colour his voice, and only after a long seconds of apparent prevarication, did he pretend to let resolve stiffen him, and to make it seem like he had arrived at a decision.

"Fine. I'll tell you all the truth, but you have to keep this to yourself – or innocent people die, do you understand?"

He fixed each and everyone of them a steely look – and they all nodded in turn, while also voicing their acquiescence. Team RVLY – even flighty Nora – solemnly swore to keep the secret, and once that was done, Jaune explained,

"After I got expelled from Beacon, I got recruited by the Vale Bureau of Investigation to infiltrate the White Fang. I've been doing missions with the terrorists, to gain their trust, and I've learnt that they're planning an attack on Vale – a big one, which if successfully will cause the fall of the city and the death of millions. I'm still trying to get more information, so that we can stop it, but obviously, I have to stay in their good graces, and sometimes... that means doing horrible things, things that only a terrorist will do, like attacking innocents and killing huntsmen. I'm not proud of what I did, but it was necessary – to protect you, to protect this city. And –"

Seeing the still-sceptical look in Yang's eyes, Jaune added,

"If you don't believe me about all this – and you shouldn't, not without evidence – I can provide official documentation of my status as a VBI agent. Sounds good?"

He made that offer, knowing the whole story was a lie spun from air and imagination, and that the evidence proffered would not be legitimate paperwork from a real VBI handler but rather a forgery he would request from the headmaster.

Ruby, as expected, was all too eager to swallow his deception whole. The worried look on her face had been fading all the while he had been talking, as his comforting lie brushed away monstrous reality. Radiating relief, and now in the highest of spirits, Ruby answered him with –

"I knew it! You were a good guy all along, trying to fight the terrorists, even if, you know..."

Her smile faded a bit, as she all but stumbled over the issue of the dead Ace-Ops, but she recovered quickly enough, and said,

"... but I'm sure the Valean authorities have their reasons to order you to do what you did."

Ren and Nora, too, were much like Ruby in accepting his lie wholesale, even if the former was calm and the latter enthusiastic about it.

"If it's not too much trouble, we would certainly be curious to see any official documentation you can –"

"Oooo, can we really see your super-secret agent card? And oh, oh, and do you have like spy gadgets? Infrared glasses? Knife that pops out from your shoe? Bulletproof umbrella? Exploding grenade pen?"

Her infectious enthusiasm made her stoic partner smile, and made Ruby laugh without reserve; and that just left –

Yang. It was unusual, really; she was easy-going by nature, but now she was deadly serious. With her eyes sharp and fixed upon him, she said, with deceptive casualness,

"It's cool that you're working with the VBI, Jaune. Mind if I ask Uncle Qrow about it?"

Uncle Qrow.

Jaune didn't get it for a while, before understanding hit him.

Qrow was a Champion of Vale, and responsible for its defence against those who would threaten it, whether Grimm or terrorists. As part of that, he would have access to classified national security information, and could easily find out whether Jaune truly was a VBI agent sent to infiltrate the White Fang.

This was an angle Jaune had not considered, when constructing his lie. And after suppressing an initial spike of panic, Jaune set his mind whirling, in an attempt to come up with a way of dissuading Yang from this course of action, lest his lie be exposed – the consequences of which would inevitably mean the betrayal of his hiding place and the might of the Kingdom's huntsmen forces converging to destroy him.

Ruby, meanwhile, seemed annoyed with her sister. Her face scrunched up in a way that would have seemed cute at any other time, and with an attempt at a whisper that nonetheless carried, she huffed,

"Yang! It's rude to keep doubting Jaune – why do you want to keep asking him about this?"

"Sis, some people are cruel and selfish, willing to hurt others for no good reason. You can't assume otherwise, just because you love them."

Those words were ground out between gritted teeth; where before Yang seemed composed, now emotions blazed from her lilac eyes.

It appeared that she was talking about him, but Jaune knew better; it was her mother that was in her mind, the mother that had abandoned her for the dream of conquest by murder.

But this aside, a bright idea came to mind, and Jaune realized how he could persuade Yang not to go to her uncle. With an apologetic smile, Jaune said,

"It's fine, Ruby, I'm not offended. Anyway, Yang – you really shouldn't talk to your uncle about it. This is top secret stuff that no one knows about except my direct handler and the VBI Director. We can't risk it getting out, or my position being compromised. Just imagine if I fail, and we don't get the information we need to stop that big, upcoming White Fang attack on Vale. And, sorry to say, your uncle is a bit of a drunk, and known for publicly talking about stuff he shouldn't be talking about."

Yang's head was quirked to the side as he spoke, her eyes never leaving his. And as he was done with his attempt at persuading her on why talking to Qrow was a bad idea, she nodded, as if she found what he had just said eminently reasonable.

"Yeah... true... ol' Uncle Qrow does like to say stuff when he's hammered that he regrets when he's sober. Probably best we don't ask him about this."

Her words should have reassured him, made him relax –

– but they didn't.

They didn't, because while her words said one thing, her body said another. Throughout their conversation, her eyes smouldered with raw emotion; and when Jaune activated his aura sense, he confirmed, to his dread and dismay, that billowing off her soul –

There was despair, and grief; pain, and utter anguish. There was white-hot rage, at his evil, fading into a cold, abiding hate, at his betrayal.

She knew. She knew, and he was lost. The moment he let Team RVLY walk away, she was going to go to her uncle, to the authorities.

His mind immediately went to the possibility of beating them up and imprisoning them down here – before he dismissed that idea as stupid, and impossible. He couldn't watch them all the time, given the need to sleep, let alone to go out and get supplies. They would escape, eventually, and bring the wrath of Vale down upon his head.

But if that was true, then there was no alternative; no way, to salvage his mission, and save the world from destruction, except –

– except to kill them.

His horror threatened to consume him.

No. Never. I would rather die a thousand painful deaths, than betray my friends.

He said that, to himself. His soul insisted, on the idea that even he had limits; that for him the greater good could not triumph friendship.

But saying something didn't make it true, and as the cold, clear-eyed part of himself pointed out –

You moral imbecile. You've done things far, far worse. Remember Domremy. Remember right and wrong. Remember the price paid, the sacrifices made, and the lives you thereby saved.

He had no choice, and though he knew his heart would break –

Gods forgive me.

A coldness settled upon him. He tightened his grip on the hilt of Crocea Mors, which he was still holding his hand.

His killing intent leaked out into the world, and Team RVLY reacted, instantly.

Their skill and training showed, Jaune was bitterly proud to notice. No matter their terror and bewilderment, they reached for their weapons, and readied themselves for an attack that they had never thought possible, from a man who only ever repaid love with betrayal.

The world shifted, then.

! ! !

Jaune felt the danger coming, felt his aura whisper a dire warning.

He turned, and barely got his sword around in time to smash aside the blade that would have severed his spine.

The attacker leapt back, before he could counterattack – but it wasn't as if he was in any position to, his shock leaving him unable to think clearly and act decisively.

Her eyes were red as blood, her long hair black as night, and her skin a pale, milk-white.

Mother. Murderer. Maiden. Monster.

Raven Branwen was here.

"Well, well. What do we have here? A schoolyard fight? Or something more serious?"

Her voice was light, and her tone amused.

Jaune swallowed.

Raven Branwen's semblance was well-documented; her so-called Kindred Link allowed her to create portals next to people she had a close emotional connection with, and to travel to them instantaneously. It was one reason why the Branwen tribe was so powerful – they could assert control over vast amounts of territory, by scattering Raven's closest lieutenants far and wide, and bring the woman and all her might to support them if fights against Champions or other powerful opponents broke out.

Jaune did not expect her to still be attached to the daughter she had long abandoned, but here they were, and now Jaune's mind was working overtime to calculate the best way of avoiding a deathmatch with a woman who was, Salem excepted, possibly the strongest being in existence. For all his own power, he had but a coinflip's chance of victory, and those were odds too poor to be gambled upon.

Even as he was trying to think his way out of this latest catastrophe, most of Team RVLY were spreading out, and starting the beginnings of a flanking maneuver against Raven, as per standard huntsmen doctrine.

You brave, heroic fools. I don't deserve friends like you.

RVLY were treating Raven as the enemy, and Jaune as their ally, and it wasn't too hard to figure out thought that killing intent from earlier wasn't his, but hers. Raven attacking him before he could do anything only reinforced that perception. And of course – it remained that he was their friend, and she a Mistralian warlord.

"Get back here, all of you. I can't protect you otherwise, once the elemental attacks start flying."

Jaune bit out that harsh plea, even as the sheer irony choked him. Here he was, trying to protect his friends from becoming casualties in Maiden-level combat, when just a moment ago he was thinking of doing the unspeakable to them.

He was inconstant even in his disloyalty, but then again, the situation was so strange that it made him fall back on old habits – and for a huntsman there was no habit more familiar than that of fighting beside your friends, and of standing shoulder to shoulder, to face down your enemies together.

Thankfully, RVLY heeded his instructions, and retreated to his sides – or at least, three of them did.

Yang stood stock still; she had not moved an inch, nor joined her team in that flanking maneuver. Yang knew, of course, that Jaune was the aggressor, and Raven the one who had saved her – but it wasn't as if such things mattered to Yang Xiao Long now.

"Mom...?"

Joy and anger, confusion and fear – they were all writ across her face, as she stared at the woman who had long ago forsaken her.

Raven, on her part, only looked at her daughter without a trace of emotion on her face. And then, the woman's eyes narrowed, and before Jaune could call out a warning, or do anything –

A wave of killing intent, thick and choking and potent unlike anything he had ever experienced, blanketed the area.

It was a near physical thing, her desire to rend them limb from limb, and so strong, it drove RVLY to their knees and left them hyperventilating.

But for Jaune –

His was a soul forged by fire, and quenched by tragedy. He was not some mewling child, to be cowed by someone wanting to kill him.

Grimacing but otherwise unaffected, he could recognize Raven's spiritual attack for what it was – an actual swordfighting technique, meant to distract an opponent and leave them open to a surprise attack. Raising his own sword, Jaune prepared for combat.

The anticipated attack never came, however – instead, the pressure let up, as Raven released her daughter and the rest of RVLY from the crushing pressure of her murderous soul.

Utterly at ease, and her infamous Omen held loosely in hand, she shook her hand.

"How disappointing, daughter of mine. So weak. So pathetic. As for you, boy –"

She raised one eyebrow at him.

"I'm not here to fight. So put down your sword, and you get to walk away alive. Or attack me, if you want to, in which case I kill you, like I've killed everyone else who've ever challenged me."

Her words gave him pause.

Raven Branwen was a killer, but she hadn't come to rule southern Mistral simply through brute strength and raw power. In pursuit of her empire, she made war when needed, and made peace where advantageous.

Here, she gained nothing from killing him, and the trying only risked death or serious injury for herself; no matter the vastness of the Maiden's powers, no one fought the likes of Jaune without taking a grave risk. It made no sense to attack him, and Raven Branwen – a woman who had carved an empire out of the great Kingdom of Mistral – was too prudent for that.

Jaune let his sword fall, and Raven nodded.

"Good. Now, a second piece of advice –"

She gave a sharp smile, and spoke even sharper words.

"– don't ever think of hurting my daughter again. Or I'll be back, and next time there will no mercy – just a quick death, if you're lucky; and a slow one, if you're not. The is girl worthless, but she's mine, and has her uses."

Jaune saw immediately what she meant; and wanting to reassure Raven that he was no threat to her interests, Jaune moved to acknowledge the value of her daughter to a woman conspicuously absent of maternal love.

"I... understand. She's a permanent doorway to Vale, isn't she? Gives you the ability to threaten the city, and dissuade Ozpin from ever moving against you. And it's not like the old man can do anything about it, if he wants to keep your brother's loyalty. I promise I'll keep my distance."

Him backing off might not have surprised Raven – but his reasoning certainly did. Now looking intrigued, she said,

"Yes. Clever boy, aren't you? Not just a sword and a powerful semblance, I see."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Arc. After you got expelled by Ozpin, why did you quit being a huntsman altogether? The other Academies might have taken you, and the lesser schools definitely would. Why instead join up my protégé Adam and his White Fang, and why kill Ironwood's toy soldiers? You have a taste for murder, do you?"

Those were good questions, and unexpected. Jaune couldn't tell the truth of his being undercover for Ozpin, for fear it would get out to Salem's faction. Nor, however, could he default to the lie he had told RVLY earlier of being undercover for the VBI, since that could well make Raven decide that he was a threat to the White Fang and Adam Taurus – a man who was, apparently, her protégé. He could certainly see the similarities in their weapons and fighting styles, and he did recall that Taurus had spent years of his life in the bandit-infested Mistralian wilderness, where he could well have fallen in with the Branwen tribe.

As for where that left him –

Recalling what little Ozpin had told him of Raven Branwen, and the woman's personality and motivations, Jaune came up with another lie, one that would sound plausible to the woman before him. Giving an ironic smile, he said,

"My reasons are the same as yours, I imagine. My last mission as a huntsman was to Rothenburg. I killed Hazel Rainart, and then got attacked by a seer – during which I saw her. You and I both know who I'm talking about."

Raven's eyes widened, her face betraying her surprise. She recovered quickly, though, and answered.

"The Queen..."

"Yes. And I decided then that I didn't want to fight and die in a futile war."

Raven Branwen laughed. It was a wild laugh, full of delight and vindication. And when she got her glee under control, she said,

"Yes. Of course. No clear-thinking person would want to fight a pointless fight and die a meaningless death. But that doesn't explain joining up with Adam, or killing those soldiers."

Jaune shrugged.

"Thought it'll be interesting. I have all this strength, all this power, and I just wanted to... test it. See if I'm equal to the world, and if not, die trying – but on my own terms, not in someone else's war. You of all people must understand."

It was a sociopath's logic; the logic of might made right; of the idea that the weak died and the strong survived. It was the logic of queens and bandits alike.

And so of course Raven drank in his words. How could she not, her being what she was? The delight from earlier had faded; now, there was only a bright, clear eagerness.

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then seemed to come to a decision.

"I have an offer for you, Arc. Join my tribe. Whatever you want, you'll have it. Safety from Ozpin, and the Queen. Freedom, to do whatever you like, and take whatever you want. Wealth, and women, and power, and anything else you might desire. All you need to do is serve me, and help me build my empire."

The offer came out of left field, and Jaune was too taken aback to immediately respond. Treating that as scepticism, Raven chose to add –

"You're a wanted man; if Ozpin catches you, you're dead. But under my protection, you'll be safe. There is no one in this world more powerful than me. My strength has brought Mistral to its knees, and even the likes of Ozpin and the Queen have to let me do as I please. The Queen, in fact, is eager for my support against Ozpin..."

Raven gave an amused smile, and said, more to herself than anything, like an inside joke only she could understand,

"... because they think my semblance useful for getting into some vaults or something."

Time seemed to freeze.

And the world faded around him, the sights and sounds of existence paling into insignificance.

And all his attention, all his being, was focused on just one thing; one thing, whose implication was devastating.

... they think my semblance useful to get into some vaults...

Exhilaration and terror threatened to undo him.

This was it – this was the way Salem intended to steal the Relics. Raven Branwen could not enter the vaults herself without an anchor already inside, but if she allied with Salem and allowed the Queen to study her semblance, Salem could well develop her own magical spell for teleportation, unbound by the need for human anchors. All of Ozpin's insurmountable locks and powerful defences would be for nought. The Queen could bypass them all, enter the vaults, steal the Relics, and use their godlike power to trigger Armageddon and annihilate all Remnant.

And that could never be allowed to happen.

Jaune's entire being screamed at him – to attack, now. To kill Raven Branwen, and utterly extinguish the possibility of her semblance aiding Salem. To end the threat to the world, and make good his mission.

But he didn't. He was frozen, unable to act, consumed as he was by the sheer uncertainty.

For all his strength, Raven Branwen was a Maiden, and the strongest of them by virtue of her skill and experience. He had just as good a chance of failing as he had of succeeding, and...

Frustration boiled up, and his old self-loathing with it.

Was his own life so precious that he would not risk it, even to kill a woman whose existence allowed Armageddon? Was his own death so fearsome, that he would not embrace it, to save untold millions from annihilation?

You coward. You utter hypocrite. How dare you sacrifice others, but shy away when it you whose death is demanded?

He smelt Domremy burning, heard his victims screaming.

Jaune opened his mouth, ready to scream himself, to summon forth a searing blast of flame to consume his enemy, even if it killed him in the doing –

– but at the last moment, cold reason asserted itself –

– and shuddering, Jaune closed his mouth.

Forcing himself to calm down, and to think logically, he saw that he could not afford to be reckless, here; could not afford to throw his life away – not because of selfishness or cowardice, but because there was too much at stake.

If he failed and died, the truth of how Salem intended to steal the Relics died with him, and Salem would have a clear path to victory.

Immediate violence was not the only option, let alone the best one. The better way of thwarting Salem's plans was to just take up Raven's offer, and then try to kill her from within the tribe.

It seemed so obvious, now that he thought about it.

And, lips dry, Jaune felt a shadow of dread at how close he had been to gambling the fate of the world on direct combat, just to exorcise his own demons.

Unbidden, Jaune recalled what Ozpin had said to him at the cliffs of Beacon the night before initiation.

"Anyone can fight, Mr Arc, and warriors are as commonplace as the grains of sand in the desert. What is one more person with a sword? Will that truly make a difference, or build a better world, or change the arc of history? It is thinkers that we need, and those, I fear, are in short supply."

Heroism, true heroism, meant wielding cunning and brilliance, not just sword and semblance.

Jaune gave a cold smile, and finally, answered an impatient-looking Raven Branwen.

"I accept your offer."

To the wordless horror of Team RVLY, Jaune sheathed Crocea Mors, and then stepped forward, towards a beckoning Raven.

The bandit-queen of Mistral slashed the air, summoning forth a swirling oval portal of scarlet and sable, of crimson and black.

Jaune stepped in, never looking back.

-(=RWBY=)-

A/N: Next chapter will be especially long – definitely the longest chapter so far, and may even go up to 20,000 words. It'll take a lot more time, but hopefully I can get it out before the end of next month.