Right - the bag. He had to check the bag. He turned to his bag and ruffled through the contents. Motion sickness medicine check. Flashlight check. Whatever remained of his lien check. Some basic camping gear and bandages check. That should be everything
That should be everything. He looked into the mirror one last time, just to assess his state - not ideal, but good enough. He wore a simple black sweatshirt (he had long lost his bunny hoodie to one of his sisters- Jade, he was certain, though she'd never admit to it), and simple black joggers with a combat belt wrapped around. The combat belt held a white sheath - gold tipped with a couple of golden arcs running along the sheath.
Crocea Mors - the weapon he'd be stealing. The weapon his own father had denied him. No.
To him, it would not be stealing per se. It would be…claiming what was rightfully his own. His father had denied him the training, he'd denied him the chance. And now - after his seventeenth birthday - his father would deny him his own weapon.
Tradition, as it were, claimed that the weapon Crocea Mors would be passed down to each Arc heir once they reach the age of seventeen. It was the age in which they were sent to be warriors - Huntsmen of Legends.
His father had done so, and his grandfather and his grandfather's father before him - and yet, when it was his turn to claim glory, his father would deny him.
So it was with that Jaune Arc rationalized, it wasn't stealing. It was reclaiming.
With that, his preparations were done. It was time to head out of home, and into the night. He'd have to sneak by the gate's guards, but they were lazy enough that he'd learned they would often fall asleep on duty. Tin was a quiet town, after all. It wasn't large enough for bandits to target, and it was so small that they could never really attract many Grimm in the first place.
He tiptoed out of his own room, attempting to be as stealthy as he could manage. Taking slow and steady steps, he tried to remain undetected. His heart raced as the door creaked moments before it finally closed shut.
Jaune resolved himself. This would not be easy. Tin was small - so there were no Bullhead stations nearby. But he knew that the next town over - he didn't quite know it's name - did have a Bullhead docking station.
There, he could get himself a ticket to Vale and use his forged transcripts to apply for Beacon - a prestigious, huntsman training school- before the new year began.
He wanted to make sure that no one would hear him leave; that no curious eyes would rest upon him as he took his leave in the dead of night. He moved with a deliberate purpose and caution, every move made with precision in order to stay undetected.
Once he'd applied, Jaune would take on a part-time job or two - something to keep him occupied while he practices his swordwork somewhere vacant. He'd have to figure out housing first though.
He made his way cautiously towards the living room door; his room was situated on the ground floor, and he needed to traverse the kitchen to get there. His heart raced as each footstep brought him closer, but he didn't allow himself to be deterred. He took a deep breath and carried on, trying not to make any noise that might alert anyone else in the house. Sweat beaded down his brow as he picked up speed; time was of the essence and he couldn't afford to waste any.
It was the perfect plan. It was the plan he'd hedged his bets on, and damn it, it was the plan that he couldn't fail.
Finally, he made it to the door; this was it. This was the moment he'd waited for. It was his turn to uphold his family legacy. It was with that thought that Jaune Arc opened the door, quietly, and stepped out.
Into the dark of the night, Jaune stepped out. It was windy today - he could feel the wind on his face more clearly than usual. He took his first step forward and started on the path through Tin.
Jaune walked along the path, recognizing the various shops that had grown so familiar over the years. He would call out Slate's Bakery, Hunter's Butchery, and Ivory's Jewelry in his head as he passed each one.
He remembered running errands for his family here on this street when he was young, and despite it being late at night - none of the stores seemed to retain any of their characteristic liveliness like they do during the morning hours.
It was almost sad that he wouldn't be here in the morning, to see them return to that lively state. But, this was his dream. He wouldn't give up on it now.
So he continued along the path to the gate, going over his plan a few more times - just to make sure he knew what he was doing. He'd take the marked path through Redwood Forest to the next town over, which should be relatively safe, even at night.
There, he'd quietly pay for a bullhead over to Vale - because there was definitely going to be a bullhead going over to Vale. It was a capital, and Tin was some backwater, there was no doubt there was a bullhead going over.
In the bullhead, he planned to take motion sickness medicine- he'd learned from his mistakes years earlier in his life when he was nothing but a boy. His father had taken his family on a vacation to Vale a couple of times, and both times he'd felt horribly queasy on the bullhead there and back.
Once he'd taken the motion sickness medicine, he should be able to hold out for the journey. Once he'd reached Vale, he would have to search for some sort of housing; there, he'd practice his swordwork himself. Once Beacon starts accepting applications, Jaune would use the rest of his money to apply using some forged transcripts. As much as he loathed the idea, it was his only way in right now; he'd never been allowed to enter a combat school when younger after all.
The path ended suddenly, as did his train of thought. He was surprised he was already near the gate - he hadn't felt like much time had passed. It must have been quite some time, though.
He looked to the guard on night shift - it was Tanner today. Perfect. Tanner was the laziest of them all, always sleeping on the job. It was only due to his incredible combat skills that he hasn't been fired yet.
This was a lucky break, Tanner already looked to be asleep. All he had to do now was to sneak past him, get through the gate, and then finally, finally, he'd start on his path as a Huntsman.
Jaune silently maneuvered his way around Tanner, who was fast asleep on guard duty. Careful not to wake him, Jaune steadily made it through the gate and bolted out of sight into the red forest ahead of him. He was ready, this is what he had been waiting for - this is it!
Into the forest, he went, unaware of the dangers that must follow. For all the forest did boon to man, it was a danger unparalleled that he would enter into a territory that the Grimm knew far better than he.
Far too unaware, Jaune ventured into the forest under the cover of night.
As Jaune stepped into the darkness of the night, the dirt path winding deeper into the forest, he couldn't help but take a deep breath, savoring the cool caress of the wind on his face. The nocturnal choir of nature enveloped him, its symphony of chirping insects and whispering leaves harmonizing with each step he took. In this moment, nature's embrace seemed to lighten his spirit, infusing him with renewed purpose.
The path ahead was deceptively simple - just a dirt trail leading to the next town, a couple of days' journey away. Jaune had packed camping gear, prepared to embrace the wild if needed. Sleeping under the stars or setting up a tent would be a familiar task, considering his previous experiences.
Minutes had passed since he left the gates of Tin, and anticipation swelled within him. He knew he was ready, or at least he believed so. And even if doubts whispered in the back of his mind, he vowed to press on. His dream called to him, beckoning him forward, and he would answer its call with unwavering determination.
As he continued along the dirt path, the occasional crunch of leaves beneath his feet, Jaune found himself relaxing into the rhythm of the forest. Each step became a testament to his resolve, solidifying his commitment to his chosen path. Though the journey ahead was long and uncertain, he had taken the first step, and he would keep forging ahead. With every stride, he silently willed the pieces of his dream to fall into place.
As Jaune treads through the depths of the forest, he finds himself reflecting back on his earlier days. Days when he would try to train himself in secret - days he wondered if he could even succeed. Now, Jaune was determined to prove that anything was possible.
The night had dragged on for what felt like hours, and Jaune was starting to feel the strain of it all. He had been walking for a while now, hoping to reach an outpost or settlement before the morning light revealed his presence. A part of him wished there was someone who could accompany him on this journey - someone who could share in his optimism and enthusiasm. Alas, such hopes were all but dashed as he trudged further into the unknown.
At this point, he was certain he was definitely far enough that he wouldn't be found immediately. Jaune figured it was time for him to set up camp, though, considering how tired he was after several hours of walking.
As the night air began to cool, Jaune made his way to a secluded area of the forest. He had chosen an old tree on which to set up camp. With a few quick movements, he unloaded his bag and began setting up for the night.
He unpacked some tents, ropes, and blankets from within his bag. He then proceeded to arrange them towards the base of the tree. He established two different fire pits for warmth and light - one near the edge of the tree and another at its center.
Once all was prepared, he sat back against his bag and breathed a sigh of relief. It was good work. He had planned well enough that he felt comfortable sleeping outdoors tonight without fear of being discovered. Now all that remained was rest - something Jaune desperately needed after such a long trek through unfamiliar territory.
But not before one last check-in with himself: What had he achieved so far? He had taken his first steps on this journey - a journey fueled by courage rather than fear; driven by determination rather than doubt; driven by passion instead of apathy.. his journey to becoming a Huntsman had just begun.
It was at this time that Jaune started to drift off - he'd been walking all night and the weariness was beginning to overwhelm him. Maybe it was time for him to get some rest in his tent, after the effort of setting it up. He paused, thinking about how comfortable his bedroll would feel and how cozy the warmth of his sleeping bag would be.
Jaune made his way to the tent, his mind still weary from the long journey. As he unzipped the entryway, a sudden rustling caught his attention. Startled, Jaune whirled around, ready to defend himself in case of an attack.
The sound came from the tree he'd set up camp near. There, crouched in the shadows was a Beowolf - its eyes glowing with a fierce intensity as it glared at Jaune. Instinctively, Jaune reached for his weapon – Crocea Mors – and readied himself for battle.
He had no time to even unsheathe his weapon before the Beowolf leaped forward and scored a powerful hit against him, sending him flying through the air and smashing into a tree trunk. He lay dazed and hurting on the ground, struggling to rise again as he felt warm blood flow down his chest from the deep gash created by claws against armour.
His left arm shaking from shock and pain, Jaune desperately drew Crocea Mors from its sheath - determined to fight until either he or this creature would lay defeated. The Beowolf was upon him again in an instant - slamming down upon him with wild abandon - striking out at him with powerful claws that pounded against Jaune's shoulder blades like thunderbolts of pain. The force of these blows sent a jolt of agony through Jaune's body; numbing his left arm while pushing all breath out of him in an agonized gasp.
The Beowolf's eyes glow a fiery red, its glossy black fur glistening with fresh blood and saliva dripping from its red, gaping maw. The Beowolf is a dark mass of pulsing flesh, muscles, and tendons, covered in bristling fur and sharp claws, its red eyes burning like red-hot coals. Its teeth gleam in the darkness like a thousand orange eyes. The Beowolf's red eyes gleamed as they locked onto Jaune. Its bloodthirsty growl was like the rumble of thunder, its clawed hands outstretched to slash at him.
The Beowolf's growl is a relentless thunder, rolling through the forest and shaking the trees. Its claws tear into the ground, raking dry leaves and spreading loose soil like a multitude of wild horses galloping to war.
The Beowolf's claws tear through the air like tearing metal, it's mouth opening to release a series of ferocious howls.
For a moment, the Beowolf is far from him; Jaune thinks he may have a chance.
'Alright, just gotta stick it with the pointy end right? Can't be that har-' his thoughts were interrupted by an agonizing pain, exploding throughout his body.
Its claws tear into Jaune's skin, leaving wounds that burn with pain.
First was his chest - a deep gash left across his chest from the cruel, sharp claws of the Beowolf. Next, his left shoulder - rendered useless, crushed beneath the paws of a beast such as the Beowolf.
No matter how much he wanted to fight back, Jaune knew he was no trained warrior. He was just a young boy, wielding the family sword with little more than determination - and the little he had tried to train into himself, with no available resources. He had no formal combat training - only what he had gleaned from working himself to the bone in his family yard and watching countless battles on his scroll.
But it was that same determination that drove him now. With a fierce roar, Jaune brought up Crocea Mors in a feeble attempt to block the Beowolf's attack. Sparks flew as metal clashed against claws; the blade of the sword became coated with dark red liquid - Jaune's own blood - as it carved through the Beowolf's hide. Jaune cried out in pain as the claws of the beast scored off layers of muscle tissue and skin, but he refused to give up; fighting on until his only arm could take no more or until one of them lay defeated on the ground.
Every ounce of Jaune's being screamed for him to fight back. His desperation thrust him into a battle cry as he swung Crocea Mors up in front of him in a desperate attempt to block the Beowolf's attack. The blade missed - with no formal training, he had no chance. It was the next few strikes that determined the battle to be over. His chest was once again slashed - another deep gash now gushing his blood.
His right leg is next - the Beowolfs claw cuts deeply into it, rendering it completely useless before he is violently launched into a tree, his head impacting it - and there he once again lay upon the bark of a tree.
Yet this time, he would not be thinking of a positive future - but, a painful, bitter end in sight instead of his dream.
Jaune lay there in pain and exhaustion, blood staining his clothes as he clutched tightly onto his sword. He felt helpless against such a powerful opponent - he had never faced such a formidable enemy before. He thought of the training he had received at Beacon Academy and how inadequate it seemed against this savage creature. He was on the brink of defeat - all hope seemed lost.
His ears were ringing. He could hear the sound of heavy breathing from the Beowolf; heaving, ragged breaths. He heard the sound of his own breath; shallow, quiet, and weak. He heard nothing else. His mind was still clouded by the pain.
The only thing he could smell was blood - his own. Jaune tasted the metallic tang of blood upon his lips. The blood gushed from his shoulder with every breath he took, and his chest shook with pain. His blood was hot, clean, and flowed like lava. Jaune smelled blood, he smelled sweat, he smelled the air he breathed as he struggled and failed to stand. He smelled the Beowolf. But he could smell nothing else.
Jaune could not feel his arm; not the sword, not the ground he lay upon, nor the pain thumping through his body. It was a touch of softness that penetrated the haze of his mind only for a moment. Cold hands on his face, a gentle touch, a caress. He tried to grasp it but the haze of pain and darkness closed in and took it away.
He grasped for it desperately as the Beowolf neared; he wasn't sure why. If you were to ask him later, he'd say that it felt safe. It felt like home, in a way - like everything would be okay. So, he kept trying and kept praying.
As he lay upon the ground, his arms lifeless save for the grip on Crocea Mors; his blood flowing from his head, shoulder, and chest freely, and it was as he lay upon this ground that his blade would begin to shine.
But of course, he doesn't have the strength to sit up and see - to look at his blade, now a gruesome instrument of his own demise, stained with the putrid residue of his failures.
So there Jaune lies, swallowed by the abyss of his remorse. His right hand - trembling - clutches Crocea Mors, its once gleaming surface marred by his very own blood. He mutters silently, a prayer mingled with bitter resignation, knowing that his wounds won't magically vanish, that time won't rewind. There will be no second chance, no redemption for his foolhardy pursuit. The crushing weight of his own inadequacy engulfs him.
Now, the truth he dreaded from the beginning seeps into his bones. He torments himself with the realization that he could have done this better, that - that he could have done this safely. The chilling reality gnashes at him, mocking his misplaced bravery. He is nothing more than a pitiful pawn, a blind victim of his own hubris.
"I shouldn't have let this happen," he rasps, his voice a feeble echo in the desolate surroundings.
So here Jaune sits, surrendering to his wretched destiny. He comprehends the futility of hope, knowing no rescue will come to save him. He deliberately concealed his camp far from the dirt path, an act of self-imposed isolation. So nobody would find him.
So he could continue on his journey - unimpeded by his family's - likely - pursuit. So that he could make it to Beacon - make a bunch of friends, and find himself a nice girl. So that he could become a Huntsman of unparalleled strength, respected by all. So he could live up to his legacy - so that he wouldn't disappoint his ancestors.
So that he could make his father proud.
So again, here Jaune sits. And with the last of his remaining strength, Jaune would turn his head ever so slightly, so he could gaze upon the blade he thought was his - Crocea Mors - where he found it to be shining, a beautiful gold.
'Ah.' he'd think to himself. 'This blade of mine...it looks so beautiful.'
Then, his world would gradually begin to fade to black...
Except...
'Poor child. His family had deigned to keep him from danger, yet they could not know what he was destined for.' A disembodied, gentle voice would speak in his head.
A strange, disembodied voice echoed in his head.
'This danger was inevitable. It always is. He will not survive here. If I were to bring him over...he may just.'
Again, he could hear it.
If Jaune were in a better state, he'd be wondering why he wasn't quite feeling the pain- and if he wasn't quite so injured, he'd wonder why the Beowolf hadn't finished him off yet. If Jaune could move- if Jaune were to look up, he'd see that the world around him had greyed, yet his blade Crocea Mors would shine the brightest gold he had ever seen.
'Very well. Far be it from me to resign my very own wielder to such a grisly fate. This will take quite a bit, but it should be fine.'
The world around him slowed to a stop- his injuries would cease bleeding. His body would stop hurting, yet it was still, undoubtedly, wounded. His mind could not keep up.
His body would start to feel again - and the moment he could feel, he was once again in a world of hurt. His left arm ached, the claw marks on his chest would draw a guttural scream from him and his left leg would not stop hurting.
Then, suddenly -
'Endure, young wielder. Endure.'
The disembodied voice spoke into his head once more, and then his world began to warp. A small void would appear before him in the shape of a sphere. The Beowolf was still a few meters from him, lunging at him in complete slow motion.
Before it could get near him though, his body seemed to twist. His world would shift as he got pulled into the vortex, his body spinning - as he held Crocea Mors in a vice grip, unwilling to let his only safety go.
Suddenly, his body was no longer twisted- it was back as it was before the void appeared. Heavily bleeding, heavily injured, incredibly painful. And yet, his body would shine - an ethereal white glow coming off it, and some of his wounds would begin to slowly mend.
'What is…any of this?!'
It was just about all Jaune could manage to keep a grip on his sword, as his world faded to black.
It was precisely at this moment, that the destiny of a world - and a boy - began to shift. No longer was Remnant the same, and no longer was this new land the same.
Today would be marked as the day a famed weapon - Crocea Mors - and a young boy disappeared off the face of Remnant.
And today, the year marked S. 1202, the destiny of Zemuria as a whole has shifted. Where it was set in stone, where certain heroes would be the ones to save humanity - a new, unexpected element has arrived.
At precisely S. 1202/1/1, Jaune Arc arrived to the world of Zemuria, unconscious and heavily injured.
The year is S. 1202 - it's been a long, difficult year for the Capua siblings. What was once a wealthy, well-known noble family was little more than a sorry sight of highway bandits today.
How the proud have fallen.
There wasn't any point in dwelling over the fact right now, though. The Capua trio had landed nearby, cooking up a plan to scam somebody else - they needed the money to live, after all.
And yet, before they could begin to think of anything, they find a boy who looked to roughly be of the same age as their youngest. They find a boy, sprawled on the ground - bleeding from so many different injuries they could almost imagine he was already dead.
Josette would scan him, kneeling next to him. He seemed to be breathing - good.
"He looks alive. This brainless one probably bit off more than he could chew, jumping into a fight like some idiot."
She'd look over to an imposing figure - a large, well-built man in his thirties, with a beard and a scar on his left eye. He wore a green shirt, sleeveless purple fur-lined jacket, brown trousers, and numerous scarlet armor plates.
The large man would lean over the boy's unconscious form, "He's certainly a sorry sight, that's for sure. But we can't leave him like this."
He levels a hard stare at the boy, wondering what they might be able to do for him.
A younger, yet still male voice pops in - a lean man, wearing a similar get-up to the large imposing man would speak up.
"He certainly should've paid more attention," he'd say with a smirk. "But if we want to help him, we might as well just try to use some Arts to heal him, no?"
"Isn't that quite expensive though? You can only use so many Arts a day. This brainless one doesn't even look like he can repay us anytime soon."
"Perhaps we could make him work it off? Have him help us out here and there, see if he can use that sword he's holding?"
"Hah! You look at him and tell me if you think he can use that sword half-decently. He clearly wouldn't be in this situation if he could."
"It could have been a surprise attack. It's entirely plausible that he was just caught off guard."
It was with this that Don had heard enough.
"Enough! We will take the boy with us, after using Tear to alleviate some of his pain. It looks like that…weird white glow around him will do the brunt of the work anyway," he had decided that this would be the safest course of action - the only one that wouldn't leave this boy vulnerable. "We can just take him with us, tell him we saved him - then, we will simply have him work for us as part of our bandit group. Once he's worked enough, we'll just let him go."
Neither Josette nor Kyle would argue against this, and Don would find himself carrying the boy over one shoulder. They had tried to separate him from his sword - but his grip on it was ridiculous. He refused to let go of it, even in his state.
Eventually, though, they'd loaded the boy onto the Bobcat, they'd wrapped up his wounds and finally, it was time to use an Art on him.
Josette stood before his prone form, her hand holding an old Orbment - held in the boy's direction. An energy from within Josette poured into the Orbment, and a blue glow seemed to shine from the Orbment as she called out the name of the Art.
"Tear!"
The boy was enveloped in a blue glow, his body seeming to heal just that little bit faster - the white Aura around his body would latch onto the foreign energy and would heal him even faster.
The Capua siblings watched as his wounds would stitch themselves together faster than one could imagine. Tear wasn't this strong. Not even remotely. But, as they watched on in fascination, they could not deny that the boy was healing in mere moments.
Later, a pair of eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling.
"…Where…Am I?" he'd ask, confused. He was certain he'd died. He was certain that nothing could save him. Even now, he could still feel Crocea Mors in his hand - so, he really had been attacked by a Grimm.
Did someone save him?
Though it was a struggle, Jaune forced himself upwards, only to find he was only in a pair of pants, and that his chest was tightly wrapped. He was in a room of sorts - he'd never seen one like this though.
And…what was that absolutely unpleasant feeling rising up in his gut? He looked to his left- he saw a window- and he saw that he was in the air. Flying. On a ship.
Jaune turned, and frantically searched for his bag before he realized -
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"
He'd realized he didn't have his bag. Whoever saved him did not do the same for his bag, and they'd put him on a flying deathtrap without his motion sickness medicine!
A door opened, and a trio of people walked in. It was three people, all with blue hair.
One was a young girl - about his age, he'd guess. Another was a large, imposing man who looked to be in his thirties, and the last was a laid-back-looking man.
Truly, he would have introduced himself. Really. He would have. If he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to vomit rise up in his throat.
Staying silent was all he could do to fight it.
The three were nearing his bed now, and he only just realized they all wore some sort of uniform or something. They all wore similar outfits is what he meant.
The first he'd noticed was the girl - she wore a green shirt with several metal clasps and a short taupe shirt, as well as a sleeveless green jacket with a fur-lined collar and orange shoulder guards. She also wore green boots with matching orange guards and fingerless gloves as well. Her hair was short - her hair fell to the base of her neck, and was somewhat spiky.
The imposing man wore a green shirt, sleeveless purple fur-lined jacket, brown trousers, and numerous scarlet armor plates. This one had a beard, and his hair was slicked back. He had a scar over his left eye.
The young, lean man wore a green and brown fur-lined flak jacket, shirt, trousers, and armored boots. He also wore long red gloves and orange shoulder guards.
Of the three, it was the youngest that spoke up first.
"About time, sleeping beauty. Took you long enough." she'd snort as she spoke as if to mock the very fact he was asleep as long as he was.
"You gave us a bit of a scare, kid. How are you feeling?"
The eldest, imposing as he looked, spoke kindly. It almost reminded him of his own father.
"I'm…better," he spoke, a little slowly. The flying had more effect on him than he'd expected it might. "Who…are you?"
The youngest would snort again, "Took you long enough to ask. I'm Josette Capua. You better thank me, because I'm the one who found your sorry little corpse in Mistwald forest."
The laid-back man would look at the newly identified Josette, "He may be brainless, but give him a break. I'm sure he's somewhat useful."
He would then look to Jaune, "I'm Kyle Capua, you could call me the voice of reason around here."
The imposing one would answer next.
"I'm Don Capua, the eldest of the three. And you, you're now formally inducted into the Capua Sky Bandits to repay us for saving your life!"
With that, Jaune would only fall into greater confusion.
Just where the hell is he, right now?!
No, scratch that.
Just what the hell is happening?!
Hey everyone! This is something I thought of, and I just couldn't get it out of my head. It keeps popping into my head several times a day, and I ended up writing this by complete accident.
I think I'll be focusing on this series now, though I've no idea how often I'll release chapters.
In any case, hope you enjoyed it. Please leave any comments, criticism, or anything really, in Reviews! See yall in the next chapter!