Two years, five months, two weeks, and six days ago . . .
Jaune's eyes fluttered as memories flashed in his head.
. . .
The day his parents came home with his new baby sister, June.
Back when he was small enough to sit on his Grandfather's knee while he told him old stories.
How clever he thought he'd been after finding Crocea Mors in the dusty, loft storage room.
When his whole family told him he'd never make it as a Huntsman.
The sound of his sisters laughing as they dolled him up and forced him into dresses.
The sinking fear after hearing that his uncle, aunt, and cousins were gone.
How hard he cried when he heard his grandad wouldn't stop by anymore.
The anxiety he felt when he hid Crocea Mors under his bed and his father would come in for the occasional room-check.
How nerve-wracking it was after submitting his papers to Beacon.
How he moonwalked out of the kitchen when his papers were accepted.
Setting off and the flight over.
Meeting Ruby on the campus.
The fluttering of his heart when he saw Weiss for the first time, and his unbearably laughable attempt and talking to her.
The utter gall to have even tried speaking to Pyrrha at all, and deserving to end up pinned to the locker when they first met.
The initiation.
His incident with Team CRDL.
How he treated Pyrrha after she learnt his secret.
. . .
Memory after memory struck like the blows of a boxer, each one dramatically winding up to deliver a final knockout.
With every passing second, Jaune's sense of worth dipped lower and lower. Battered and weary, he reluctantly dropped his guard, the sound faded from his ears, and his knees and feet felt unbearably weak.
The beowolves didn't matter.
The Deal didn't matter.
Being a Huntsman didn't matter.
His family's legacy didn't matter.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
What did matter now?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Nothing.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Nothing mattered anymore.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
The ground beneath him trembled, Jaune figured it was one of the beowolves closing in to finish him off, but it wasn't.
The trembling strengthened, harder than a stomp, but not enough to shake the cliff face. All the same, Jaune didn't care. Once again, he remembered his friends.
'I'm sorry guys . . .' He thought, '. . . I guess I won't be coming back after all . . .'
The tremble became a rumble, and when Jaune opened his eyes, the Grimm appeared to be slipping away from him, backwards. He was very perplexed.
"Huh?" He barely grunted.
Then he looked a yard or so ahead of his feet, and it all made sense. The ledge where Jaune had been standing wasn't very strong, and the ground had weakened in the rain, but with his weight and the beowolves trumping around too near it, the earth had cracked and given way.
"Oh, crunch." Muttered Jaune.
With a final gasp, Jaune let go of his sword and let gravity take over.
"HELLP!" He called into the night.
But of course, there was no one around to hear him. And in a flash, his world went completely dark.
Beacon Academy had turned red.
Everything was red.
The sunlight.
The distant brick walls.
The ground.
The air.
The sky, no matter where he went.
Everything but the people frantically running were red.
It wasn't an obnoxious, bright, strawberry or apple red. It wasn't a leafy, natural red either.
There was something rather . . . tainted about it.
Jaune whirled around after someone bumped into him. He could hear a deep, haunting, murmuring in the air, as if someone was casting some dark spell on him. With every light breeze, he heard an eerie, mind-scratching noise, like someone was playing a string instrument for a murder scene in a horror film.
It was overwhelming now.
"What the hell is happening?!"
He remembered . . . falling . . .
He'd been chased through a forest . . .
Off . . . off a cliff . . . by-
"JAUNE!"
"RUBY!" Jaune could never forget voices.
He tried to look for her, and when he found her, he went to help at once. The strings swelled when he made to run, building to a crescendo as he started moving as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Ruby!" He exclaimed, "What's wrong, speak to me!"
Ruby's hood had been drawn up, she was in her combat outfit and sprawled out on all fours, crawling, tears dripping from her eyes. She looked up at him, and Jaune cried in fright.
She hadn't been crying.
"I can't see . . ." Whimpered Ruby, desperately reaching towards him.
Her eyes had been slashed out. Gone were her adorable, glistening silver orbs, replaced with glaring, blood-red gashes; even the bridge of her nose had been cut.
Jaune bit his hand and tried hard to stop shuddering, before kneeling down towards her.
"Who-" He nearly choked, "Who did this to you?"
"I can't remember." Ruby feebly shook her head, "It happened too fast, I couldn't see."
It was a terrible irony. Jaune had nearly spotted a chance for a joke, but he didn't dare make it.
"I'll go get help." he promised, "I'll be back soon."
And not waiting for a reply, Jaune ran off as fast as his legs would let him; the strings and voices raising in volume, bit by bit, with every pounding step he took.
"REN!" Yet another, unforgettable voice,
"Nora!" Jaune gasped, and ran to the noise.
A few yards away, he spotted her, running for her life away from something.
But where was Ren?
Where was her hammer, Magnahild?
What was she running from?
And why was she running?
But before Jaune could reach her, there came a loud, and very sickening crack; he watched in horror as Nora clenched her teeth, screaming through them, and fell flat on her face.
"NORA!?" Cried Jaune,
"MY LEGS!" Wailed Nora.
At last, Jaune reached her and tried to help her up, but her knees buckled, and Jaune couldn't lift her on his own.
"Oh my God, what the Hell just happened?" He gasped,
"I don't know!" Cried Nora, "I can't- . . . I can't walk!"
Jaune glanced at her legs; sure enough, both of them were broken, awkwardly splayed out like the twisted branches of an old, dead tree, crunched under the foot of an explorer in the wilds.
"Oh god." He murmured delicately; with a shake of his head, Jaune recovered, "Come on, we have to help Ruby! Someone took her eyes out!"
Nora didn't respond.
"Nora?" Jaune asked,
"What're you doing here?" Nora asked back,
". . . What?" Jaune blinked,
"You need to get out here, it's not safe!" Insisted Nora,
"But- but, I can't just leave you here!" Jaune's heart dropped a little, "We're teammates! I have to get you out!"
Nora shook her head.
"You won't make it, Jaune." She told him mournfully, "I know you can't carry me, you're not strong enough."
Jaune blinked again, a sinking, horrific feeling clutched at his very core, worming its way around, and threatening to drain him completely. He'd never seen Nora act like this before, he didn't like it at all.
"No." Now Jaune shook his head, "No, I am strong enough! I can carry you-"
But when he took up the strain, Nora seemed heavier than he expected, and she wouldn't budge.
"Nora?" He tried.
Nora suddenly went limp in his arms.
How had that happened?
"Come on, Nora!" Jaune tried again, "Now's not the time, we need to-"
Nora slouched, and flopped over.
"Nora?" he asked, reaching down towards her.
Jaune recoiled as soon as he felt her skin. It was cold.
Too cold . . .
Deathly cold . . .
"No," He murmured, "No, no, no-no-no!"
Jaune began to feel as if his world was coming apart.
Nora was gone.
Then he remembered.
"RUBY!" And he raced back to where he thought she was.
He didn't find her, of course. Instead, he found Ren. His Stormflowers were out and he was firing at something, strafing around an enemy only his eyes could see.
"Ren!" he called, "Hang on, I'm coming!"
Jaune reached for Crocea Mors, only to find that he wasn't wearing it.
"What?!" He gasped, "Shit, it was there a second ago! I wondered why my hip felt lighter . . ."
"Jaune," Ren called when he spotted him, "Get the-"
But he didn't get far.
As soon as he noticed Jaune, one of his Stormflowers was knocked away, and something appeared to have stabbed him right in the chest.
"Ren, no!" Wailed Jaune.
He rushed over, just in time to catch Ren as he fell backwards. Jaune cradled Ren in his arms, laying his head on his lap and trying to soothe him.
"Ren, please, what is going on?!" Cried Jaune, "There's so much I can't see happening around me!"
Ren didn't answer right away, he just clung to Jaune, trying to breathe properly. Jaune looked where Ren had been struck. To his building horror, Ren had been stabbed twice - once between the ribs, and once in the stomach. Whatever had punctured those spots was as big as Jaune's fist, and probably as long as his arm.
"N-Nora . . ." Ren finally croaked, "Wh- . . . Where- 's N-Nora?"
Jaune's heart sank. He almost didn't have the heart to answer.
"I'm sorry." Jaune choked out, "I wasn't quick enough."
"What?" Ren strained as his eyes widened, "W-What happened?"
"I don't know, it wasn't supposed to be like this!" Jaune began to cry, "First Ruby, then Nora, now you?! Who's next, Weiss?! Actually no, I don't wanna know!"
Ren coughed.
"Keep- our friends . . . close." He warned.
Jaune felt Ren's grip on his arm slacken, and cease at once.
He really didn't know what to do.
Everything was happening all too fast.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . He wasn't strong enough . . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . He couldn't do it . . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
Jaune looked around. The murmuring at some point had turned into mixture of ominous chanting and eerie singing. The strings had subsided, playing more harmoniously in the background; an odious symphony rumbling once more to it's intended forte.
Jaune wanted to cry, it was all too much. He wanted it all to stop, he wanted to curl in on himself and let whatever dark forces surrounding him have their way with him.
'I don't want to go on without my friends . . .' He thought.
Just as he was about to curl in, Jaune felt the ground shift beneath him. He looked up, and saw that he was near the cafeteria, but the windows were smashed, and some of the wall had been torn down. The sky was dark, but still red, closer to a bloody colour now than it had been before.
Was this the future?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . Maybe . . . but then . . . if it was . . . could it be stopped?
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . . And if so, then how?
"There must be something I can do!" He wracked his brain, "But what?"
Before he could even think up a plan, another voice cut through the air.
"Blake! Blake, where are you!?"
"Yang!" Jaune jumped to his feet, just in time for Yang to rush past him, "Yang, wait-"
But as soon as he shouted it, Yang was already out of ear-shot.
"YANG!" Jaune tried to project his voice, "COME BACK!"
Yang skidded to a stop and whipped around as Jaune caught up to her.
"'The hell're you doing here?!" She barked at him, "You need to get to the docks!"
"What, why?" Jaune was confused, "What's going on?"
Yang looked at him like he'd just said something very stupid.
"What- can't you see what's going on?" She gestured wildly to their surroundings, "We're under attack!"
Now Jaune was worried.
"By who?" He had to ask,
"The Grimm, you moron!" Yang looked ready to slap him, "And Atlas, and the White Fang! They're everywhere!"
Jaune was feeling more and more afraid. He hadn't seen any Grimm since he arrived, nor anything decidedly Atlas or White Fang; it had all been blackening shadows and shades of red.
And death.
Just as he went to ask another question, there came a loud shriek.
"Agh!"
"Huh?" Yang flicked her gaze to her right, and clearly saw something that made her very angry.
Jaune looked the same way Yang had, and there he saw it. Blake lay flat on her back, bleeding from her left hip and crying. A hulking brute looming over her and turned to face them; a fiery red sword in hand, and a white, painted mask over its face, covering only its eyes. It didn't take Jaune long to figure out what had happened.
"No-" He gasped,
"Get away from her!" Yang activated her semblance with a screaming roar.
Jaune was briefly blind-sided by her flaming display, but not enough to miss the dangerous smirk on the brute's face. Once again, the music swelled.
Yang, wait!" Jaune begged, "Don't! He's-"
But it was no good. Yang had already launched herself through the gap in the wall beside them, tearing it down as she flew.
"No . . . please . . .!" Blake cried out as well.
The brute had sheathed its sword, and right when Yang was about to make contact, the blade was drawn, quicker than any of them could have expected. It cut through the air, and to Blake and Jaune's horror, through Yang's semblance too. Her fire went right out, and she fell unceremoniously into a heap, a yard or two behind Blake.
Something else landed near her.
Jaune promptly clamped his mouth shut.
'Her arm!' He wanted to cry, 'It took off her arm! HER ARM!'
Blake had frozen.
She could see it all in front of him. He shut his eyes tight and tried to think of a weapon, or something, anything he could use to defend his friends, cursing himself for not thinking about that sooner, but nothing came to him. He couldn't think of his sword, he couldn't think of the gun he'd once seen his father use, nothing.
"Come-on-come-on-come-on." He pleaded, "Just let me do this one thing . . .? Please?"
Jaune opened his eyes, just in time to see the brute bring his sword down on Blake. He winced and looked away, hearing only the fiery blade sing through the air and the all-too clean sound of splitting flesh, followed by a mute thud.
He felt so useless.
There was so much going on, and yet he couldn't do a thing to even change his environment.
He had so many questions.
Where had the Grimm come from?
Why had Atlas attacked?
And how had the White Fang gotten in?
Why were his friends dying around him?
Would everyone else be okay?
And why was he being made to watch?
Suddenly, the music and chanting stopped. Jaune opened his eyes again, only to find himself in a place he didn't recognise right away. He looked around, then spotted something that made his stomach churn.
There was Pyrrha crawling on her hands and knees, hurt and trying to stand.
How could this have happened?!
"Pyrrha!" Jaune gasped and rushed towards her.
But just as he started moving, Jaune tripped and fell forward, landing with a choked grunt. He tried to get up again, but something slammed into his back, pinning him to the crackled concrete.
"Shhhhhh . . ." A painfully familiar voice hissed into his ear like a snake tasting the air, "Eyesss on herrrr . . ."
Jaune couldn't see who was speaking, but whomever it was had forced his gaze ahead. A beautiful woman was standing in front of Pyrrha, bright fire pluming from her feet; she lifted Pyrrha's chin, making her look into her eyes.
"It's unfortunate." She lamented, "To have been promised powers not truly meant for you."
Pyrrha looked hurt and ashamed.
"But do not worry." The woman smiled, "I will use it in ways you could only dream of. Take heart, my dear. This is only the beginning."
The woman pulled away, taking a step back. Pyrrha gazed back up at her, a weary, determined expression crossing her face.
"Do you believe in destiny?" She asked.
The woman frowned, knitting her brows together.
"Yes." She hissed, "I do."
The woman took a few more steps back and raised her arm; now Jaune could see that this woman used a bow and arrow.
Piecing it all together, Jaune found his strength again.
The music swelled afresh.
"Get the fuck off!" He barked, and with a huge effort, Jaune launched himself back up.
The woman had notched her arrow, Pyrrha closed her eyes, Jaune clawed desperately through the air.
Time slowed for him, it was like trying to run under water, but at last, he reached them.
"NO!" He cried.
The drawstring twanged when the woman fired, Jaune shut his eyes and prepared to take the worst blow of his life. But he felt nothing.
Opening his eyes, Jaune could see that her arrow hadn't hit him; he felt relieved, until he turned around.
The arrow had gone through him, striking Pyrrha directly in the centre of her chest. He hadn't even heard it hit a mark. Jaune sank to his knees, gasping nearly in time with Pyrrha.
He had failed again.
He had failed her.
She didn't even look his way.
He might as well have not been there.
"No . . ." Jaune began to weep, "No!"
He reached out to Pyrrha only for her to stop moving, her breath ceased, and the light in her eyes faded like the smoking wick of a lighted candle, blown out for the night. She fell slack, toppled over, and didn't move again.
Pyrrha Nikos was dead.
And he couldn't do anything about it.
Jaune crumbled to his hands.
This had to be a dream.
Before Jaune could do anything else, the ground beneath him fell away, and he tumbled down through the air.
"AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH-!"
He landed with a splash, he struggled and thrashed, fighting to breathe and get out. At last, he did, and the world turned a bright white as he limped up onto dry ground. The light faded, and Jaune blinked the water out of his eyes.
"Ugh!" He shivered and tried to shake himself dry.
He fell into a sitting position, unable to feel his own legs at the moment. His armour was wrecked, the left shoulder pad was ripped off, and his chest plate was only just hanging on.
'That was nasty.' He thought, and patting himself down, he looked around, 'Where am I now?'
Large slabs of rock and stone made up the ground, and he was surrounded by lush vegetation between a pair of cliffs closing up ahead of him. It felt nearly like a spot from a fairy tale, but not quite . . . it was . . .
Well?
What was it?
It looked like a natural pool, hidden in a craggy corner of the mountains. Almost like a forgotten wedge in an endless void.
. . . But . . .
Something was . . . off . . .
Something about it didn't feel right at all . . .
Jaune couldn't go forwards, not the way he was facing. The wall's rocky wall-face blocked his way, and he couldn't climb up it either. He could only go-
"Back to the water . . ." He sighed.
Jaune turned around, took one step forwards, two steps back, and sank to his knees again.
He couldn't breathe. Not after all that death and gore. He felt sick. His eyes were burning, and his lungs were ready to burst from his chest. He just wanted it to stop. He crouched into a ball, and brought his forehead to his knees, wiping his eyes against them.
They felt fluffy.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Fluffy?
But . . . knees aren't fluffy . . . nor were the pants he'd been wearing . . .
Jaune raised his head, feeling an ugly greenish light beaming down on him. A sickening, envious green. Jaune glanced around, he felt like he was in a cave now. Getting on his hands and knees, Jaune crawled towards the pool ahead. He looked up, and then down at his hands - they were much smaller, and softer.
'No . . .' He realised, 'Not smaller . . .'
He came to face his reflection in the pool.
'Younger . . .'
Mirrored in the surface of the water, was Jaune's very young face. From when he was about seven, and dressed in his beloved homemade bunny-onesie. It came with a hood, and a silly little pair of rabbit ears sticking out from the top. As Jaune reached up to touch his face, the water rippled, obscuring the image.
"You know what you are, young man." Hissed a trio of mysterious voices, "Don't you?"
The water stilled, and the image returned, but not of the little boy gazing in before. The reflection of an older man seemed to blaze disdainfully back up at him. Jaune thought it was his father at first, but looking closer, he saw it wasn't.
'Me . . .?' He thought.
The mouth of the reflection moved, but Jaune's hadn't. The older man wore flakey, rusted, full-plate armour, and armed to the teeth; his blonde hair was long and greyed, and his face was worn beneath a very scrappy beard.
"Well, of course." He could hear the smiles in the voices, "You know. You're you, after all . . . and so am I . . ."
Jaune felt his heart drop into a pit in his stomach.
"You're a little coward, young man." Said the reflection, the trio of voices running its mouth, "Still playing as yet a boy in the forest, whose father couldn't reach him in time. What a disappointment you are . . . you will be in the end."
Angry butterflies built up inside him, from the bottom of his chest to the top of his throat. These voices were truly getting to him, especially now that he could place two of them.
His own.
And Weiss'.
Her's had been the one telling him to keep his eyes on Pyrrha as she was being shot.
But the third voice, he didn't know. Despite how familiar it sounded.
"The perfect example of a useless waste." Continued the voices, "You know no one is fooled by you . . . no matter how hard you try, the truth . . . you know . . . you've no right to be a student at Beacon, nor anywhere else. You coast on luck . . . and you're running out fast."
Jaune jerked away from the pool and rose to his feet. Again, he couldn't breathe, his heart was on fire. A few more steps back, and something pointy stuck him in his left shoulder. He turned to look, and saw his shield floating beside him, an arm's length away.
'What?' He blinked, 'How . . . I gave that to Ozpin before I left . . .'
Jaune spun around completely, and was shocked to find the blade of Crocea Mors pointing directly into his chest. He wanted to move away, but he couldn't. He turned his eyes to his right, spotting his ruined armour, floating like his sword and shield.
He was surrounded on all sides. By a legacy so daunting, and further fed by everything he feared of himself.
He ached all over, and fell to his seat again, covering his ears as the voices started their taunting again. But by now, Jaune couldn't hear any of them speaking. He had shut it out, and without the strength to bat it all away, he simply buried his face in his knees once more.
He wanted to cry.
But the tears never came.
He just felt numb.
Like he was sinking. Deeper and deeper, with every darkening thought and memory.
Jaune tipped on to his side, stewing in it all.
Was this what it had come to?
Had his mother and father been right all along?
Would he have been better off if he'd never heard those old stories?
He didn't know.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Who could know?
The ground rumbled. But Jaune didn't react. Gravity took over, and before Jaune knew it, he was back to falling.
Falling.
And falling.
And falling.
'Where will I land this time?' He wondered, 'Back home? Beacon? A lake? My locker?'
Jaune could sense his incoming landing, and weakly tried to brace himself for it. The sudden, dull crunch of old, splintered wood broke his concentration, and he awoke with a start.
The dream had been awful.
His head and neck were stiff as boards, and his feet felt cramped; the rest of him felt like a mess too. The heavy, musky odour of fire and smoke hung thick in the air. But he couldn't see anything; it was much too dark.
It was like being in that void all over again.
"Ow-fuck!" Jaune winced and grunted as he tried to sit up.
To his surprise, Jaune found himself lying in a simple futon. His wounds were dressed, and a thin sheet had been draped over him from foot to neck. His soggy socks and muddy shoes lay to his right; at last, his feet could breathe again.
He sat up carefully, leaning on his left hand. He felt his knuckles brush against the hilt of his father's sword, and he turned his head towards his hand as he fully grasped it. Relief flooded his being from head to toe, Avenger was alright.
'I hope it is, anyway.' He thought.
Jaune wasn't ready to get up just yet. His armour had been taken off; the most damaged pieces were still there, but it was so dark, he couldn't see them. Not that he was trying to look in the first place. With everything he'd just been forced to see, he didn't want to do anything but crawl under a rock and stay there to die.
He nearly wanted to forget his promise.
"Dad was right . . ." He murmured, "I'm not cut out for this . . . I never was . . ."
Jaune laid back on his left hand - it hurt much less than his right at the moment - and realised only then, being able to pay proper attention, that he was no longer outside. The night air he'd been smelling before he fell had been displaced by that musky, smokey odour. More telling, however, was the ground beneath him. It didn't feel like earth or rock, and it creaked with every move, whether slight or considerable.
"What-?" He grunted, finally able to use his voice,
"Careful now," Someone advised him from the darkness, "You took a bad fall out there. It's lucky you're only as hurt as you are."
As soon as he heard the voice, Jaune drew up his guard; he tossed the sheet off and tried to launch himself off the futon, but he was in too much pain. The moment he left his seat, Jaune flopped face-down on the ground landing with another crunch.
'The futon was laid down on floor boards.' He realised.
"Don't try to move like that!" The voice warned him, "You're still injured."
"Ahh- shut-up and stand where I can see you!" Snapped Jaune,
"Psh-!" The voice spluttered a baffled laugh, "Wha-ha-hat? You wanna arrest me, officer?"
"B'agh, shut-up, I said!" Grunted Jaune,
"Alright, alright," The voice backpedalled, "Keep your hair on . . . well, what there is of it . . ."
"What-" Now Jaune was indignant, "Whaddiyou mean? I got plenty of-"
"Relax, kid!" The voice laughed again, "I'm just razzin' ya!"
"Ohh, you think you're funny, do ya?" Jaune drawled,
"Yes, actually." The voice replied easily, "I do."
Jaune deflated somewhat, he put up with enough of this from his sisters.
"Oh, okay, I guess." He shrugged, noncommittally, "Who are you?"
There was a pause.
"I'm surprised at you, Jaune." The voice sounded a little sad now, "You used to follow me around everywhere I had to go. You said you wanted to be just like me once."
Jaune blinked.
"I've only ever wanted to be like my father." Jaune objected.
Once more, another pause.
"I guess I'm not surprised you don't remember much from our early years." He sounded nostalgic, "But then again, you weren't very old, yourself . . ."
"Our early years?" Jaune furrowed his brow,
"At the Manor of Rainbow's end?" That name jogged Jaune's memory, "We lost Anakin during- . . . well, I guess there's only so much you'd really want to remember from that time . . ."
'Anakin?' Thought Jaune, 'I know that name . . .'
The flashes of old, pained memories bubbled their way to the surface of Jaune's mind; things he hadn't thought about for years.
The noise had been unbearable. Jaune wasn't even fully awake when it happened.
He remembered his father scooping him up in his arms and damn near throwing him into his mothers' before being squashed into a seat between his sisters.
After his parents scrambled in, they started moving away.
Were they flying in the air?
Wading in the water?
He couldn't recall.
Not that he wanted to.
Two tall figures blocked the path leading to the ten of them; one was a man, the other was a woman, both of them had swords.
He remembered shouting.
"Get out of here!" This sounded like the woman, "We'll hold them off!"
"Go, hurry!" That had to be the man, "Protect the children!"
Jaune had tried reaching out to them, but they got smaller and smaller as they faded into the distance.
He remembered three others in his family. He hadn't forgotten their names, but it had been so long since last he thought of them.
The night his home was destroyed wasn't a happy memory.
Then, it came to him.
'He was there too!' Jaune suddenly realised, 'He was there when they came!'
He took a moment to process that.
"Do I know you?" Jaune finally asked, "When did we meet?"
The somebody didn't answer right away, but the sound of a snapping finger broke the brief silence. A faint light flickered to life in the left corner of the room, casting a glow and shadows everywhere, Jaune was nervous now, until he saw where the light came from.
In the corner of the room was a young man, he was holding the light; a bright, little, orange flame right in the palm of his hand.
"I've known you since you were a baby, Jaune."
Jaune could hardly believe it.
The young man before him wore a blue zip-up hooded sweater with black pants, a five o'clock shadow covered him from the top of his cheeks to the bottom of his jaw, and his shadowed face looked a little like his own. It had been a few years, but Jaune would know this face anywhere.
"It's you!" Jaune gasped.