"I'm serious." Jaune Arc spoke to the sheathed sword hanging over the fireplace.
"…" The sheathed sword didn't speak.
"It is still my dream."
"…" The sheathed sword didn't say anything.
"I can't do that!" He held back his shout, careful to not wake up anybody in the Arc household.
"…" The sheathed sword wasn't alive.
"You're not being serious, are you? Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I did that?"
"…" The sheathed sword didn't think.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure my father, my 'you're no son of mine if you keep whispering to weapons in the middle of the night' father would just love to hear me tell him 'Oh, well Crocea Mors said it was okay.', I would get in so much trouble."
"…" The sheathed sword was named Crocea Mors, and it hadn't said anything.
"I shouldn't!" His life was at a crossroads, and this could change the entire trajectory of his life, he needed time to think over every outcome.
"…" Crocea Mors was a sword used by the Arc family for generations to fight for honor and dignity.
"Fine, I will hitch a ride to Vale, then I'll find a way to get my hands of forged transcripts and sneak my way into the elite academy of Huntsman, Beacon, but only because you begged me, so if we get caught, you're going to be scrap metal." Jaune said as he reached up and stole Crocea Mors from its place on the mantle.
And the story of how he went about coercing two crooks into getting him fake transcripts, is one for another day.