The sun was setting in the distant west. The sky was a bloody orange and the gathering dark night clouds were illuminated in the sun's slowly fading glow. The hills cast shadows and Snowmire was a distant, albeit defined and recognisable, speck on the horizon.

He'd been wandering the hills for an hour now. At some point during the final leg of his descent he caught sight of a distant building but he had no idea where to go once he made it to the bottom of the mountain apart from a vague idea. Considering he'd just spent the better part of the day marching down it, he had absolutely no desire to go back up the mountain even a little bit to try and catch sight of the building.

Even if he did end up locating it, knowing his luck it would turn out to be an abandoned shack or a resting lodge. Or even better it would belong to another, different shepherd.

Jaune groaned and sat down on a nearby rock that jutted from the dull green earth. His body ached, he was beyond exhaustion and he was drained in every which way.

As he settled down and rested his mind began to wander. It wandered back to the tower, the outpost that stank of death. The piles of bodies, the atrocity that occurred at its top, the two additional bodies that had been added due to hid actions.

He still felt guilt at the lives he had taken, even though he felt they got a far more easier death than they ended up getting for what they had done at the tower. But that was why he still felt guilt. He shouldn't have been relishing in their deaths, angrily thinking they deserved worse for something they likely, but didn't definitively, did. He should be praying for the swift deliverance of their souls to the Otherworld so that they would be punished accordingly and laid to rest. It was common custom to pray for the souls you took so that their deaths did not end up staining your own.

Except he wasn't doing that. His guilt stemmed from the fact he wasn't feeling any real guilt at taking lives. He was defending himself and unknowingly avenging the lives of the dead guardsmen, whose only crime was doing their jobs. It felt right to take their lives, and the bodies he had discovered afterwards only confirmed that feeling.

But that wasn't normal. Taking a life was supposed to be hard, a decision not taken lightly. But in that moment it had been frighteningly easy to do. And as more hours passed by it became even more frighteningly easy to live with.

Jaune stood with a start. If he kept moving he could distract himself long enough to hopefully forget about the tower and focus on finding the shepherd and from there the dragon.

So he set off again, his muscles burning and his lungs screaming for respite. But he kept on walking until the pain drowned out the conflicted, swirling mess that was now his mind.

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The sun had set when Jaune collapsed. He was lost. Everything hurt. It was dark and he couldn't see Snowmire or any other sign of civilization.

He sighed, panting heavily as he just laid on the ground. He was hungry and thirsty, but he didn't have the strength to lift his arms and feed himself with the meagre supplies he had brought with him. He didn't have the appetite for them either, despite being hungry. His hands felt tingly and his feet were sore. He closed his eyes. He'd just nap for a few minutes to regain his strength…

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When he opened his eyes it was obvious his little nap had turned into a deep, uninterrupted sleep that had lasted an indeterminate amount of time. It was clearly dawn, or morning. The sky was blue instead of forebodingly dark and the few clouds that were present were the colour of cotton. The sun was peeking shyly from over the top of a nearby hill, one of the larger ones around him.

Jaune let out a long, painful groan. Everything hurt. Why had he thought it had been a good idea to sleep in his armour in the cold?

"I hate you past Jaune." He grumbled to himself, shivering as he forced his shaking hands to take off his helmet and the more easily removable parts of his armour, like his greaves and vambraces. "I really, really hate you."

Once he was less burdened he ate some of the food he'd brought with him, some dried meats and fruits. He rolled his head, wincing at every crack that seemed to echo across the hills. He was seventeen for crying out loud! He shouldn't be creaking and groaning like an old man.

After forcing down his meal and washing it down with bitterly cold water he stood up, swaying slightly. After a moment to regather his bearings he picked up the armour he'd shed earlier and reluctantly put them back on. He had nothing to carry them in and even if he did it would still weigh the same, so he might as well keep them on in the off chance he stumbled across the dragon.

With a sigh, Jaune set off once more. His muscles still ached, his back felt like a stampede of bulls had trodden over it and he still felt tired. But he set off again. He didn't want to let Blake or Ruby down. All he had to do was find a shepherd.

Jaune stopped. He'd heard something. It sounded like…

Baaa

No way. Not a chance.

He scrambled up the nearest hill, aches and pains fading as he was fuelled by a second, unstoppable burst of energy. He reached the crest of the hill and stared at the low valley that splayed out ahead of him. A small stream trickled in from the west and curved its way into a large pool of water. Sheep roamed the land freely, the only boundary a wall of mossy stones that ran across the peak of the wide valley. At the tail end of thee valley, pressed up against a grey stone cliff was a small, brown hut with smoke lazily wafting from a chimney, rising lazily into the sky.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Did the gods hate him or love him? It was so bloody close!

Deciding he didn't want to irritate the gods, he silently thanked them and made his way into the valley. A shepherd dog prowled nearby, not growling but not quite friendly either as it paced by the sheep, protecting them from the armoured stranger. He tossed a slice of leftover meat and watched as it scarfed it down hungrily. Once it had done so it turned and headed towards the hut slowly. Then it stopped and turned as he stood there. Realising what it was doing, Jaune hurried after it, and the dog barked and danced around him playfully.

He wanted to pet it, but he didn't know if his armour might hurt it, so he resisted the urge and continued on towards the hut, where a grumbling old man emerged. His beard was braided and fell down his chest, and though his back was stooped and his frame seemed wiry, Jaune recognised the patterns as one belonging to the nomadic tribesmen in Atlas' eastern wasteland of ice and snow and even more ice and snow.

'Probably shouldn't call his home a wasteland.' Jaune thought to himself, and he stretched out his hands to show he meant no harm. The old man grunted and spat on the ground, narrowing his eyes at Jaune with the suspicion of one who preferred to live alone in the wilderness away from interlopers.

"Who are you?" The old man demanded, voice strong despite his apparently weak frame. Jaune reminded himself to not think the man wasn't a threat. The eastern wastelands were called that for a reason, and the people who lived there didn't thrive because they were weak.

"I'm Jaune, an adventurer from Vale." Jaune answered, knowing the best lies had some truths in them. "There's a hefty bounty on a dragon spotted nearby. I was wondering if you heard anything about it?"

The old man studied him for a moment, before he shrugged and beckoned for Jaune to enter the hut.

"Come inside, it's too early for me to be freezing my balls off just yet."

Jaune followed him inside the hut, which smelled of smoke, herbs and dyes. A clutter of wool lay bundled in a corner, alongside other equipment used to make cotton from wool like woollen combs and sticks used to beat the wool dry in the sun after cleansing it of wool grease. The old man noticed his gaze.

"It's not much but it's home." The old man sighed, and his face showed its age as sadness overtook his stern look. "It used to be easier. My wife would help out but she died two winters ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Was it you who killed her?" The old man barked, before he sighed again and shook his head. "Forgive me. I haven't had visitors in a long time. You wanted to know about the dragon?"

"Yes." Jaune replied, standing and watching as the man bustled around his hut and began brewing a cup of herbs native to Atlas known as Highlow. It was similar to tea or coffee, except it was much more stronger and was named because of the fact that alongside it's energising boost it also brought an extremely high followed by a sudden low mood swing. When Vale had been independent, it had outlawed Highlow as it was too similar to drugs like opium. However, after the Atlesians took over, they made it legal. Fortunately, it was not as addictive as opium, though there were rumours that long term drinking could permanently affect your mood, giving you rapid mood swings.

It was quick to brew in the already boiling kettle and when offered a cup Jaune took off his helmet and took a tentative sip. He sighed as a wave of pure euphoria washed over him. Every ache in his body seemed forgotten, no, torn apart painlessly and rebuilt anew, but better. He leaned back, his eyes fluttering shut before a snort broke him from his reverie.

"You'll be sobbing like a baby in a few minutes let alone a few hours if a little sip hits you that hard." The old man chuckled and Jaune felt his face heat up with embarrassment. "We better get straight down to business. How much money do you have?"

"Not a lot." Jaune replied honestly. "But I will once I get that bounty."

"Not good enough boy. You expect me to believe you'll remember about a little old hermit when you've got…how much Lien?"

"20,000."

"When you've got 20,000 Lien dangled in front of you?"

"I don't need it."

"Sheep shit."

"I'm not going after it alone. Right now I'm just trying to look for it. I have friends, one of whom is a silver eyed warrior, and we'll be splitting the pot. I'm sure they'll look after me for a bit and you can have what would be my share of the profits."

"And I'm supposed to just trust you blindly?" The old man replied, eyes narrowed in a stern glare once more. Jaune said nothing, not sure of what to say. The old man stroked his beard. "You have a silver eyed warrior?"

"Yes."

"Even if my eyes are starting to fail me I know you're being honest." The old man sighed. "Is there anything of value you can leave here? You can get it back when you come back with my money."

Jaune stayed silent for a moment. He couldn't give away any of his new armour or weapons because he would need that in the fight against the dragon. He hadn't brought anything of value because he hadn't expected to use it. Except…

Jaune glanced down at his chest for a moment. There, dangling from a thread of leather, was the ring encrusted with the Arc symbol. It marked him out as a noble, as a member of the Arc family, and had been the only gift given to him by his father for his birthday during those brief months when he returned to Ansel, before he'd been sent back to Atlas due to Weiss' betrothal party. The old man sighed again.

"Kid I won't be going anywhere. I just need something that guarantees you'll come back and fill your part of the deal. You can always just kill me if I refuse to give it back. It wouldn't be too hard."

He remembered raising his sword. His life was threatened so he took the life that took it. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

Except he kept raising his sword. He kept slashing it down. He hacked and maimed and brutalised.

There was no reason for it. He just did. It was worryingly easy to do.

He finally stopped slashing. Then he paused. The mess of blood and bone looked different, less bulky and tall. It didn't look like the bandit that had attacked him, tried robbing him and would've likely killed him. He rolled the gruesome mess over.

Silver eyes stared back accusingly.

'Why Jaune?' Ruby groaned, voice broken like her maimed body. 'I thought we were friends."

"Kid!"

Jaune blinked. He was cold and shaking. The old man was in front of him, gripping his head firmly, staring at him with calm, knowing eyes. The dog whimpered and licked at his armoured hands.

"I...I…"

"Stop." The old man ordered, raising a steaming cup towards him. "Drink."

Jaune did so. Then he spluttered as his mouth and throat burned.

"What…the hell…is that?!" Jaune rasped as he tried coughing out the burn and thumping his chest. The old man grinned mischievously.

"Highlow with a kick." He replied with a wink, gesturing towards a nearby bottle that stank of pure, unfiltered alcohol. No wonder it felt like a dragon had crawled down his throat and tried burning its way out.

Eventually Jaune stopped gasping and he began petting the dog as gently as he could. The dog yipped and rolled over, tongue lolling as his hands stroked up and down its belly.

"You'll make the bloody thing soft." The old man grumbled as he sat down opposite him, but there was no heat to his words and they sat in silence for a few more minutes.

"Who?" The old man asked finally, breaking the silence. Jaune hesitated for a moment before answering.

"A bandit. His name was John." He replied honestly, focusing his attention on the dog. He knew what was coming next. He already felt it himself. Why should he feel guilt for a person who stole, killed and, judging from what he'd seen at the top of the tower, raped for a living?

"It's always worse when you know their names." The old man sighed, making Jaune snap his head up with shock. "My first was a man named Rodrik. He was a right piece of work. Always made demands but never put in to help the rest of the tribe. He was a detriment, a burden. But we had been friends since we were boys so I put up with him."

The old man trailed off, starting into the distance. His eyes seemed distant, as if he wasn't really there but was actually back in time, reliving the memory.

"What happened?" Jaune asked quietly.

"There was a dispute with another clan. Something about trespasses into hunting lands. We attacked one of their hunting parties. He tried forcing himself on one of the women."

Jaune stayed silent.

"I think John did the same." He admitted quietly. "There was a woman at the outpost…"

"The outpost? The one for the Snowmire guard?" The old man questioned suddenly, eyes alight with worry. Jaune nodded his head.

"A woman helped me there two nights ago." The old man said solemnly, sadly. "I'd been running for hours and about to pass out. I managed to tell her and she told her fellows. They let me stay the night, looked after me, indulged an old man and his stories. They sent a group of them back to Snowmire to warn the town and I went home in the morning."

They both fell silent. Jaune didn't know if the old man was, but he was praying almost desperately for the woman, hoping she was enjoying a far better life in the Otherworld than what she ever got in this one.

"Regardless of what the bastard did, you'll remember his name for the rest of your life. I hear it's supposed to get easier the more you kill, but hopefully you'll never reach that point."

"You only killed Rodrik?"

"No. Our tribes had a war afterwards. We still killed their hunting party afterall. Fortuneatly I never got to the point I heard the other old farts talk about, when killing is as easy as spreading butter on bread. Once the war was done I was expelled from my tribe afterwards. It was understandable why, but Rodrik was still one of our own and if we didn't have some laws in place the tribe would fall apart as everyone killed each other over blood feuds. I wandered and settled down here. Fell in love with a merchant's daughter. Married her. The rest is history."

"I'm sorry." Jaune said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why?" The old man asked curiously.

"I've been a burden, I-" Jaune began, only to be stopped by the old man raising a hand and shaking his head.

"You haven't been a burden. It's been…refreshing to have some company. The only thing you should feel sorry for is for the poor folks who died at that tower, and you sure as hell shouldn't feel sorry for killing one of the bastards who sent them on to the Otherworld." The old man paused, his voice having become harsh and angry. "John got what he deserved. You avenged them. The story is over. Time will give you the space you need to accept that."

Jaune nodded silently, even though part of him didn't believe him. He still felt drained, though that might be the Highlow beginning to wear off. They sat in silence for a few more moments. Jaune watched the fire flicker, the dog having fallen asleep next to him.

"I'll tell you where I think the dragon is." The old man said suddenly, making Jaune stare at him with shock. "Don't give me that. I'd still demand something but it wouldn't be fair since I can only give you a vague idea. I saw the dragon fly overhead but didn't see where it landed. Overgrown lizard could've flown on by now anyway. Besides, you seem like an alright sort. You'll come back with the Lien will you?"

Jaune nodded quickly, his excitement taking over. Maybe this entire trip hadn't been in vain!

"That's the spirit lad. Follow me."

Jaune followed obediently as the old man led the hut and nimbly climbed up the top of a hill on its right, to the south if he was looking from Snowmire. The old man waited as Jaune lumbered up, slowed by his cumbersome armour. The old man couldn't help but smile somewhat smugly before giving Jaune a moment to catch his breath.

"You see that river?"

Jaune nodded. It was a wide, meandering thing. It was also flowing quite quickly. Dark clouds loomed beyond it.

"That's where my little stream comes from, it's a tributary. If you go to that big hill where the river splits and heads forks away then you should be able to see a valley. There's a waterfall there. It's the only sheltered place in the hills apart from here, so if a dragon was hiding it would probably be there."

"Thank you so much!" Jaune said, resisting the urge to hug the man and shaking his hand instead.

"Just find and kill the beast. I want the money." The old man grunted, though he wasn't as stern as he was earlier and there was no heat to his words. "Good luck kid, and be quick unless you want to drown in rain.."

"Thank you again!" Jaune replied, clambering over the stone wall and making his way down the hill. When he reached the bottom he turned and smiled when he saw the old man still there, watching like a guardian angel. He waved and once the man returned it he put on his helmet and made his way towards the hill by the river, a spring in his step and a weight off his shoulders.

He had a dragon to find.

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The dark clouds had swept in suddenly and began pouring down a withering assault of hail and sleet. His armour protected him but it pitter-pattered endlessly and he had to keep his head lowered in case any slipped through the gaps of his helmet and into his eyes. The ground quickly turned into a sludgy mess and he slipped more often than not, particularly when he tried climbing up the seemingly unending hills. This slowed his progress significantly so that by the time he finally made it to the hill the old shepherd had pointed out to him he would have guessed it was somewhere near noon.

Panting and leaning against a rock for a moment to catch his breath, Jaune took in the land around him. The water of the river split against the rock like it was some mighty, undefeatable object, and it branched off on either side of him, getting further and further away from one another. If he had to guess, he'd imagine they led towards the wetlands and fields typical of Atlas' only truly liveable region, the southern coast. However, in front of him the river cut through miles of hills that led to the base of Mira's End and the rest of the mountains. Far to the east, he could barely make out a speck of white which was likely the Great Ice Plains.

"Valley. Valley with waterfall." Jaune muttered, remembering the old man's instructions. The hail pitter pattered and he raised a hand to cover his eyes, as if he was shading it from the sun. "Valley. Valley. There!"

And there it was. He couldn't see the valley itself, but he could make out the small stream that likely came from its waterfall and it looked as if there was a wide gap between the nearest hills there. He clambered down the big hill and followed the bank of the river along the right fork until he found a ford where he could cross safely.

Holding his supplies over his head to keep them from being soaked in the river, though they were likely being soaked by the sleet and hail, he waded his way across to the other side of the bank and plodded up alongside it until he reached the part where the river split off, this time on the other side of the bank. He continued northwards until he spotted the stream trickling out into the river and lo and behold there was a gap. A very big one. It led to a very big, very long valley.

Sighing, He strapped his supplies back to his side and continued onwards, determined to make sure he completed his mission and didn't fail Blake.

Fortunately for him that didn't take long.

After five minutes of walking, he heard the rushing, crashing sound of a waterfall. He reached a bend and peeked around the corner, and gasped at the sight in front of him.

The waterfall was pretty and wondrous. It was loud and rushing but that wasn't what made him nearly stumble from around his hiding spot. No, it was the massive, yellow dragon curled up next to it that did that.

It was nowhere near as big as the one that had very nearly razed Nördliche Burg, but it was three times the size of a horse and its armoured scales were almost ethereal. It had scars along its wings and flank and he wondered what could challenge such a terrifying beast. It had blood red eyes and it huffed quietly. He would've thought it was asleep, but it raised its head over the water of the small stream for a moment before huffing once more and resting its head on the stony, pebbly ground.

'Was it sighing?' He couldn't help but wonder. Was it possible for dragons to even do that? People tended to sigh when they were sad or exhausted. From what he had seen from the dragon at Nördliche Burg, dragons could feel rage, anger, fury and pain. But that was expected of beasts that were fuelled by greed, jealousy and other such things. But sadness? That seemed…human. It didn't seem right for a dragon to be capable of feeling such an emotion, yet here was a dragon that was seemingly displaying that.

Maybe he he Highlow was messing with him, making him overthink things. Or maybe he wasn't.

The dragon huffed once more. He was suddenly a lot closer to it than he was before. He blinked and swallowed back his fear as it stared at him with its crimson red eyes. Its dark iris' seemed to bore into his very soul like a harbinger of judgement, though it made no move to attack him, though that would probably be so easy for it to do it wasn't even funny. It could simply roll over and crush him, and he'd be killed quickly or slowly suffocated. But it didn't. It stared. Then it sighed and closed its eyes.

A dragon. Sighing. A dragon, closing its eyes. A dragon that could kill him with the ease of a human flicking an ant and all it was doing was laying there? He watched, dumbfounded. It breathed evenly, if a little raggedly sounding, but he had no idea if that was normal for a dragon. His only experience had been the one at Nördliche Burg, and then he'd been too busy peeing his pants in sheer terror to take notice of its breathing patterns.

It opened its eyes and he nearly jumped backwards. It was staring at him, cocking its head slightly. If he was someone who'd wax poetically, he'd say something along the lines of seeing curiosity in its eyes. Or was something else?

It was expecting him to do something.

He glanced at his sword, hanging from his hip. Then back at the dragon.

It nodded. It freaking nodded. The dragon, a dragon, a beast of mindless violence, greed and jealousy, had nodded at him?!

'It wants me to kill it.'

The thought hit him like a brick to the head. It wasn't resisting because it didn't want to. It wanted to die.

Apart from the scars, it didn't look injured. There was no sign of sickness or anything else that might make a monster just give up. But looking into those eerie, monstrous red eyes all he saw was expectation and…sadness.

Jaune drew his blade. He could do it. It would be easy. He'd already killed before. He could do it again. It even wanted him to kill it, which should make it easier.

For some reason it didn't.

He raised his sword. It closed its eyes again, letting out one final exhale.

He wondered what it would bleed. He could remember John's blood. He could remember John's broken bones. He could remember John's torn, eviscerated guts spilling out onto the ground, onto the outside where they didn't belong. He could remember what the darker, flakier blood of the corpses inside the tower looked like.

His sword was raised. His arm was shaking from the effort. He was tired after all, it wasn't like he didn't want to do it, didn't want to rid the world of another mindless beast. He did. He had to. To join the Order of Drachentöter. To gain immunity from the Inquisition. To see his family again. To see Weiss again.

The shaking stopped. His breathing evened out.

He brought the sword swinging down.