Author's Note: A brief aside from the main storyline, dwelling on Jaune's time in Ordon. Hope you all enjoy.
"This isn't a reward. We're not going to stay to visit. You're going to apologize, and then we're heading home." Nicholas said as he and Jaune walked out of the family home.
"If you think I was kidnapped, should you really be punishing me for that?" Jaune asked rhetorically. Nicholas gave him a deadpan look.
"Are you telling me you won't follow strange people that call themselves fairies into the woods?" Nicholas asked pointedly.
"Fair." Jaune admitted, sheepishly.
"It really shouldn't be." Nicholas said with a light growl, as the two walked on.
It had only been a few days since Jaune had gone missing (and as he stated to his defense, came back), yet the village was still abuzz with activity. The huntsmen Nicholas had requested were still scouting for packs of Grimm in the nearby area. The village militia were watching the boundaries of the village, or setting up ragtag barricades. The village of Ordon was readying itself for war. No one wanted to be caught off guard in case the Grimm that had attacked were part of a larger migrating horde.
Jaune wished that Nayriel had found an easier way to distract his father.
Father and son entered the general store for the village, which also doubled as the village's militia headquarters. All but the grocery products had been stowed away, their tables and shelves repurposed to hold maps, weapons, or ammo. The whiteboard had been wheeled out for planning purposes, and various maps were pinned all over, maps that had been copied and rescanned several times over so that those doing the patrols could write down their notes.
Jaune really wished Nayriel had found a better way of distracting the village.
Right now only Louie, self-appointed head of the militia and resident community organizer was inside, wearily rubbing at his head. He sat upon a desk half-covered by a large radio, with various bits of paperwork and government forms covering the other half. A coffee mug crowned some of the paperwork, granting it its sovereignty over Louie's makeshift workspace.
"Well, if it isn't the prodigal son himself." Louie stated, drawing himself up. "You doing alright?"
"I'm fine, thank you sir." Jaune said.
"Everything still good? Haven't found any other Grimm?" Nicholas said, looking over the maps stuck to the whiteboard by magnets.
"None so far Nick." Louie said. "I've been keeping an ear out on the radio, but so far none of the volunteers I've dispatched have found anything, which is good. Means they can get back to their lives sooner."
Ordon was not a village large enough to have a full-time militia. It was a small rural village, only a hundred miles from the frontier edges of Vale. Most who volunteered for the militia were farmers, or lumberjacks. Not the kind of people who could take on a larger Grimm, or a horde of them.
"Good. Looks like you guys are nearly done." Nicholas said appreciatively. He then looked down at Jaune, who had been looking over the maps pinned to the whiteboard, fingers tracing over the space between Ordon and the ocean. "Don't you have something to say Jaune?" For a second, Jaune was confused, only to nod as he saw Nicholas's suggestive look.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry for worrying the village sir. I had to go do something." Jaune said. At that, Nicholas lightly cuffed him, as Louie laughed.
"That's not what you're supposed to say Jaune." Nicholas said in a suffering tone.
"Hahaha, as long as you're safe. We were worried about you, you know? Ten year old kid off in the woods, right as the Grimm attacked." Louie stated. His face grew a little somber as he spoke those words.
"I can kill a Grimm if needed sir. But thank you." Jaune said politely.
"No Jaune-"
After months of being effectively grounded, Jaune's family finally gave him some leeway. More and more, Jaune was convinced that he should have lied about what happened. It was a cultural difference between him and his family- apparently, children in Remnant weren't expected to follow magical beings guiding them into the forest. It was a shame. Jaune Link liked to think that doing so helped build character.
The new Ordon that Link walked into was very different from the old one Link had once lived in. Everything was so much farther apart, the farms sprawling thanks to the machinery that existed in this world. Loggers who would have once spent months at their worksites instead drove home every day.
Link knew it was better this way. The technological progress these people had made was astounding, and really, the only reason why the cities of this era hadn't starved from lack of food. But he had noticed that with more physical distance, the people in this Ordon were more emotionally distant as well. They'd pull together in a crisis, but it wasn't the kind of community that would come together for a wedding, or to help each other with harvest. It reminded Link of the cities of his day. He could only imagine how distant people were in the cities his family claimed millions lived in.
As evidenced by Old Man Hiram in front of him.
Emotional distance didn't just mean supportive or not, Link knew. In most communities he had lived in, Old Man Hiram would have been thrown out many years before, with no chance of return. Very few people tolerated his presence, and no one enjoyed it.
Hiram was already an ugly man, with most of his hair long gone and the remaining unkempt. His work clothes were about as old as Link Jaune was in this life, held together by rough stitching and an uncomfortable amount of it... just not being held together. He was tanned without being swarthy, old without being aged finely, and to cap it all off, a constant angry drunk. The rumor among the people of Ordon was that Hiram was once married, and ran the poor girl off with his drinking. He was the kind of story that parents told their children to encourage drinking responsibly. He was the kind of drunk that regularly ended up in the makeshift cells of these frontier villages.
If he wasn't such a good roofer, he probably would have been politely ran out of town despite this lack of tradition in this era. However, roofers were hard to come by near the frontier, so Hiram kept up a healthy business despite his drinking habits and cantankerous attitude.
"Get out of my way. And stop staring at me." Hiram growled. Judging by the slurring in his voice, it seemed like Hiram might be another bender away from being locked up again.
"Sorry sir. I was just wondering if you needed some help." Link said, pointing to Hiram's tools, laid about as they were in the back of his truck. Hiram didn't even look back at him.
"I don't need your pity kid." Hiram grunted.
"And I wasn't offering any. I was just wondering if I could help with your roofing." Link responded. Hiram stared at him, while Link only offered a mysterious smile in return. "I like to help others around the village."
For the rest of the day, Link spent his time picking up the old shingles and nails that Hiram removed and threw to the ground. Hiram barely paused as he removed each and every single roof shingle, only occasionally climbing down to drink from an ancient plastic water bottle. Each time, he gave Link an incredulous look, like he still couldn't believe that the boy was still here, and not complaining. Each time, Link only smiled back at him politely.
It was only toward the end that Hiram finally climbed down, looking at the de-shingled roof.
"I hope you don't expect free ice cream or something kid." Hiram said. Link only laughed in response, before pointing to all the shingles he had collected in a pile.
"Why don't you lay out a tarp on the ground to help gather these up?" Link asked.
"Because I don't usually clean these up." Hiram said, grunting. "I tell folks that if they want the place cleaned up after, they can do it themselves. And if they want someone better, they can go ahead and pay a crew to come out here."
Given how far they were from civilization, Hiram had a point, even if it wasn't a kind one. Jaune had heard his father rant about the prices that the region's only plumber charged. Tradesmen could demand quite the price out here, especially since farmers earned quite a bit of money from the amount of land out here.
Grimm attacks might be rare, but when they happened they were usually large, and deadly. Anyone living this far out from the kingdom's center were gambling a little with their lives.
"So are you planning on being a roofer or something?" Hiram asked. "Want an apprenticeship?"
"I don't think there's a world where I'd want to be your apprentice sir." Link said honestly. Hiram burst out laughing at that.
"Good thinking kid. I'd put you to some real work." Hiram said. He motioned to the passenger side of his truck
"Get in. Least I can do is drive you home for not bitching after the first hour." Link nodded, hopping into the truck. His nose wrinkled as he found himself kicking several bottles of beer out of the way, emptied and discarded in the messy passenger side seat.
"You sure you'll be able to drive me home sir?" Link asked, glancing over at Hiram
"I'm not drunk if that's what you're asking." Hiram grunted.
"I'm talking about your hands sir." Link said idly.
"What about my hands?"
"Well sir, I noticed they're shaky all afternoon. Are you sure you can drive me home safely?" Hiram looked to his shaking, swollen hands, forcing them to still. He looked back toward Link.
"I thought I said I didn't want your pity kid." Hiram responded, annoyed.
"As I said sir, you won't receive pity from me. I just don't want you crashing the truck. Do you need me to drive?" Link said.
"You can drive a car?" Hiram asked doubtfully.
"I can ride a horse and drive a carriage. A truck can't be that much harder." Link said flippantly. Hiram gave him an incredulous look.
"You gotta be joshing me kid." Hiram deadpanned. Link Jaune resisted the urge to pout.
Despite his initial concerns, the drive back to Jaune's home went without incident. Hiram's truck rumbled down the gravel path leading between his home and the village, before coming to a stop.
"Here you are." Hiram said. Link nodded respectfully as he stepped out.
"Thank you for the drive home sir." Link said.
"Yeah, don't mention it. But I do want to know- why'd you help? Parents wanted you out of the house or something?" Hiram asked, leaning his head out the window.
"No sir. I just like helping people out in the village." Link said truthfully.
"Uh-huh. Just like that then?" Hiram asked.
"Yeah... it's like..." Link struggled to come up with the words for a second. "Have you ever thought about how distant people in Ordon are. Even in a small village like this, people act like they're so far apart from one another. We barely know anything about our neighbors. We might ask how people how are doing when we pass by, but even when we learn that others are struggling, we don't offer to help them." The words just poured out of his mouth now, words he had been holding inside for so long.
"Can we really call ourselves close as a community when we don't help each other? When we can't rely on each other for help, whether times are good or bad? I guess what I'm trying to say is that these days we're so far apart when we could be closer, and we'd all be happier for it. Don't you think?" Link finally finished, breathing in and out a bit. He felt good getting those words out. It was one of those rare moments when he felt like he had said something profound. He looked up eagerly at Hiram.
"No." And with that single word, Hiram reversed his truck, spun around, and began to drive away. Link shielded his eyes as the harsh gravel was sent flying in his face from the tire upon the dirt roads, squinting to watch the truck pull away into the distance.
Years passed.
Link let out a grunt as he shoveled the last of the snow out of the way, clearing the path toward the road. The road itself was still snowed out, but it would be cleared by the village's makeshift snow plow in a few hours. Just in time for Erma to get some groceries.
Giving one last appreciative look to the quiet, snowbound village, Link headed inside, where Erma greeted him with a cocoa and a smile.
"Thank you so much Jaune. You're a blessing on this village." Erma said kindly.
Erma was one of the oldest women in the village, apparently having moved into Ordon decades ago- and she had been pushing "elderly" even then. Rumors abounded, but Erma had remained mum on the subject. As she put it, "You should never ask a lady her age."
"Here's a snack to go with your cocoa- you're much too thin for your age. You really should eat more, you never know when food will be scarce." Jaune nodded obediently, happily shoving a whole sleeve full of cookies into his mouth, one crunchy cinnamon-covered bite at a time.
"So how are things at home? Is your family doing well?"
"Yes ma'am. Saphron's doing well in university. Dad made it back from his latest mission. He'll be staying in town for a few weeks, at least until the frost goes away, or unless a larger Grimm rolls in somewhere nearby." Jaune recounted.
"Good, good. Your father shouldn't be out in this cold. The Grimm here won't be moving in the snow like they do in Atlas." Erma said firmly.
"Have you been to Atlas ma'am?" Jaune asked curiously, his mind latching onto that detail. Erma smiled indulgently.
"Once, long ago. When I was as young as your mother is..."
The conversation was light but warm, the house kept cozy with firewood that Jaune had chopped months prior. Erma pressed more and more food into Jaune Link, who only continued to consume more and more when given the chance.
"Ah, and there's the snow plow." Erma said, peering out the window. A small truck fought powerfully against the snow outside, shoving the frost to either side. "I suppose I can get my groceries now."
"Do you need help getting them ma'am?" Link asked politely, belly warm and filled with food.
"Only if your family doesn't need you Jaune. You've already helped me so much. I still have a little life in these bones, you know. Back when I was young, I killed Grimm with this body!" Erma said, flexing her gnarled, tan arm.
Link could believe her. Erma's appearance would have already been notable in the village for her dark, Vacuan skin, if it weren't for large set of scars bisecting her left cheek and side. Apparently the villagers in Ordon had a decades-long bet over whether it had been an accident, Beowolf, or Ursa that dealt these scars to her. Erma had clearly suffered some terrible incident as a younger woman, and lived to tell the tale.
The two set out into the snow-covered village of Ordon. The world had taken on that eerie and beautiful silence that proceeded a heavy snowstorm, where the only sounds around them were the occasional loud crack of a frozen tree, or the wind sweeping brief flashes of powder into the air. Jaune's purposeful strides were slowed down to allow for Erma's careful waddle, her age betraying her supposed confidence.
"What is your favorite fairy tale, Jaune?" Erma asked suddenly.
"Hmm? Probably The Infinite Man." Jaune said, idly. The fairy tale of a man wandering from village to village saving people from the Grimm, wielding magic and immortality alike was uncomfortably close to his lifetimes of work. If Link had ever been worshipped as a God in large number, he might have suspected the Great Fairy Nayriel of having a wrong timeline.
"I see. That makes sense." Erma said quietly.
"Hmm?" Jaune asked again, looking curiously at Erma.
"You're very mature." Erma said quietly. "I don't think I've ever met a child like you. Even when I was young and our boys had to become men, they were never as mature as you are. Even the boys we sent to fight." She seemed to pause for a second unsure, only to press ahead anyway.
"Jaune, is this your first life?" Jaune came to a halt at that, leaving a circle in the snow as he turned to face Erma. He began to shake, almost seeming to vibrate before Erma. It was as if something too big was crammed into the body of a young teenager. Momentarily, Erma was afraid. Had she overstepped?
"Yes!" Jaune exploded, jumping up and down. "Yes! How is it not obvious? I literally told my family that!" He grabbed Erma by the her mittened hands, smile stretching from side to side. "You're wonderful. I can't believe no one else has realized it."
"It is quite the tale, isn't it?" Erma said, meeting Jaune's smile. "Most wouldn't have guessed that you were The Infinite Man. Grandma... she told your story. She was so old, I never thought that someone could be as old as she was. But she told me the story as her mother had told it, as someone who knew you." Erma said in a heartfelt manner. "My great-grandmother was saved by your Circle."
No, that's not...
"That's not me." Link stated firmly, shaking his head. "I don't know who the Infinite Man was, but that wasn't me. The last time I was alive was before the moon was shattered."
"I see." Erma said after a moment of silence. "Is it a curse that men like you are under? Some manner of magic like in the legends?"
"For me it was a burden, one I took willingly from the Goddess- she was before your era of the Brother Gods. I'm done now. This is my last life." Link said, casting an eye toward the sky. Were the dead beyond a veil in the sky, past the bridge of the twilight realm? Or were they somewhere else entirely, beyond his mortal understanding? Would he...
Would he be able to join them when he died?
"The Brother Gods have been depicted for thousands of years." Erma stated quietly.
"Yeah. Thousands of years ago." And every one of those years were reflected in Link's voice.
Does The Infinite Man wander still? Did he have a task as cruel and necessary as Link's?
It was another supply run gone well. No Grimm attacks, no breakdowns on the dirt roads leading into this village, and no bandits attacking the truck for its goods.
Infrequent as they were, you had to be ready for some chaos outside of the borders of the city Vale. Jobs like these were one of the most dangerous in Remnant. Most truckers transporting goods weren't afforded an armed escort, unless they were doing a vital (and usually valuable) delivery. Usually, it was just the trucker, their spare parts and Dust, and whatever weapons they could stow in their cabin.
A lot of truckers didn't survive a bad supply run in Remnant.
But Horatio's job was simple. Drive for twelve hours through the wilderness, and deliver the supplies. The next day, drive twelve hours back with whatever crops or resources these crazy wilderness villages could deliver.
In all honesty, Horatio hated the job. He hated risking his life, and felt that you had to be crazy to give up the safety of the inner kingdom. Even if this village had a huntsman, huntsmen died all the time. No village out here was safe forever.
But it was a well paid job, and he only had to work two days a week. His only overtime was when a supply run went poorly. If it went too poorly someday... hopefully he wouldn't be alive long enough to regret it much.
All he needed was another year or two of this work, and he'd have enough money to buy a house near the city. Maybe then, maybe then he'd be able to get safer work.
As usual, Horatio pulled into Ordon. He had lucked into this route years ago, a route both safer than the average one, and full of helpful residents that didn't try to press him into helping him unload their goods. After driving for twelve hours straight through wilderness road, he wasn't exactly in the mood for doing more work. His job was simple, as it should be- drive safely through wild dirt roads, roads fully unintended for trucks to travel on, and then drive back the next day.
Horatio let out a deep breath as he stepped out of his truck, looking to stretch his legs and freshen up before going to sleep in his vehicle. He expertly weaved through the villagers unloading his truck, and loading in what was left of this year's harvest, and whatever goods these people could gather out here. And then he saw it.
A strange boy was staring at him and his vehicle, eyes almost seeming to glimmer under the shade of the tree the boy sat under. Horatio gave him a tentative smile, only to be ignored as he... kept staring.
And so Horatio followed the social contract and did what one was supposed to do when catching someone staring awkwardly. He looked away from the staring and pretended that nothing was happening.
Later that night as he slept in the truck's cabin, Horatio awoke to thumping noises outside. It sounded like a small series of kicks or something, going up the side of his truck.
"What's-?" Horatio said deliriously, to no answer. The sound continued for a few seconds before stopping, little pitter patters scrambling up the top of his truck. Horatio slowly sat up, his tired mind having to catch up with what was happening.
"If this is a prank, you need to stop it." Horatio said, a bad feeling growing in his mind. He had an inkling, some kind of thought...
The sounds were on top of his purpose-built, extremely tall semi-truck roof. Up the smooth metal, past the windows of his truck, and all the way to its top. Something most people wouldn't be able to climb.
His blood froze at the thought. Was it... but he was in Ordon, inside the village limits. Surely the village's sensors would have detected Grimm?
But then again, hadn't he just heard about Grimm invading the village a few months ago? And what if it was a Nevermore that flew in? It would explain why something was thumping around the sides, trying to crack its way in. And here in this metal tomb, Horatio was the yolk.
He carefully stood up, walking gingerly toward the driver seat. There, his hands wrapped around the solid wooden handle of the most valuable tool out here- a dust shotgun, the one desperate protection he had against Grimm barring his vehicle's speed. It was powerful enough to blow a Beowolf to smithereens, and was even supposed to be capable of ending an Ursa if the shots were placed right. Blood pounded through Horatio's veins as he carefully removed the straps holding down his shotgun, placing the stock firmly against his body.
The thumping was beginning to descend down the outside of his truck. Horatio's breath was caught in his mouth, too hesitant to radio for help or scream, to give away that he was awake. He carefully looped his fingers around the triggers, preparing to pull...
The shadow ducked into view in the window. The triggers hitched, no explosive report to speak of. His heart seized up as a small boy was revealed in front of the truck window, hanging upside down.
Horatio gasped as he lowered the shotgun, struggling to catch his breath. His emotions were too wild to grasp as he regained his voice. Once had however, he was able to feel that one clear emotion. Anger.
"Hey you!" Horatio said angrily, rolling down the window so that the kid could hear him. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"You have good reflexes there sir. Though you should probably take the safety off if you think you are being attacked." The boy said in a polite tone, doing what to Horatio was an impossibly agile backflip to right himself vertically. No long hanging upside down, he now clung to the open window frame of the passenger side seat.
"You could have been hurt. I coulda shot you... What the fuck were you doing?" Horatio said incredulously, unable to stop himself from cursing around the small child.
"I'm sorry for worrying you sir. I've been wanting to take a look at this truck for a while. It's pretty cool how much stuff it can transport. How does it work?"
"It's Dust, it's all Dust churning through the engine- why are you asking me? What's so interesting about the truck? Can't you look at the farming equipment the other hicks have around here?" Horatio said. The conversation had already begun with all semblance of reservation lost, and now Horatio was rapidly losing any empathy and fellowship in mankind with each passing word. He could feel himself becoming less of a human being and more something mean, something that wanted to lash out and cuff this child upside the head for what had almost happened.
"Oh, I already have sir. Everything is so different from my other lives. You people have done wonderful things with crystalized magic." The boy said, peering into the cabin.
What did he mean by other lives? Horatio thought to himself, getting a clearer look at the child. With the faint flickering porch light of the nearby general store, he could just about make out the blonde hair and dark eyes of the kid before him. Perhaps he would look normal in the daytime, but in the flickering dim light of the evening, it was like looking at some horrifying thing wearing a mask. Like some kind of alien, or spirit wearing the body of a child.
"What are you?" Horatio said nervously, flicking the safety off of his shotgun. The gesture was not missed by the child talking to him, who seemed to give the weapon and Horatio's nervous grip an amused look.
"You should be careful sir. Someone might get hurt if you aren't careful." The boy said, humor clear in his voice.
"Just go away." Horatio said shakily. Instead of heeding Horatio's words, the boy leaned in through the window. The trucker's fingers twitched, almost pulling the trigger despite himself.
It's a kid, what am I doing? As if to argue against this thought, the boy spoke.
"I am the spirit of a hundred past lives, before your era. I fought a monster woven of darkness fouler than the Grimm a hundred times over. I've fought inside a crumbling gold pyramid over the shining power of wish-granting stones. I've died dozens of times in more painful a manner than you could bear to imagine."
"Why would you tell me-?"
"No one will ever believe you." The boy said calmly, hopping down from the vehicle. The still darkness of the autumn evening filled back into the space where he had just been standing.
Horatio struggled to fall asleep again that night.
Link slept like a rock.
Author's Note (End): Next chapter is the start of Link's journey toward becoming a huntsman. In turn, thank you to everyone following the journey of Link/Jaune. It warms the cockles of my heart seeing so many people following this story.