Jaune Arc sat in front of Salem, watching her drink tea as she listened to him. His mouth speaking empty words while his mind was somewhere else.

She was not just a villain to be defeated, but a figure deeply entwined with the history and fate of Remnant. As he thought about Salem, he couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions — fear, pity, anger, and a strange sense of understanding.

"To claim Salem was blameless would be untrue," the knight's voice said. "Her actions cast shadows on history. Yet, to brand her as purely evil oversimplifies her. People are a mix of good and bad, shaped by their struggles and choices."

As he reflected on this, he remembered the voices. They had been with him since his journey, guiding, questioning, and sometimes haunting him. Today, he needed their perspectives more than ever.

All the dice rolls had failed him.

There was no argument he could deliver in front of this monster.

"Her story is tangled with pain and desire, where right and wrong blur, knight," the voice continued, Jaune, feeling the weight of those words. "She's caught in the tug-of-war between fate and choice, her humanity flawed but real."

The first voice, rough and rusted like a blade left in the rain, chimed in. "Do you think her pain justifies her actions, boy? Every tragedy in her past led to countless horrors in the present."

A second voice, calm and well-informed, responded, "Pain doesn't justify, but it does explain. Understanding her motivations doesn't excuse her deeds, but it sheds light on why she does what she does."

Jaune nodded slowly.

"Life isn't black and white; it's shades of gray. Salem is the perfect example of that. Still, how do you grasp the essence of a witch, ancient beyond measure, her existence spanning millennia as she wandered Remnant?" a curious voice asked

The scheming voice, always calculating, added, "She's become tainted by corruption, finding amusement only in those who stir her emotions. To understand her, you must see beyond her actions to the deep scars that drive her."

"But in the end… if you look at the root of her despair… she was simply a woman who lost love and hoped she'd get her love back," the rusted voice said. "To see her beloved, killed again and again by juvenile Gods who refused to understand her feelings… and then pitted her against Oz… what did you think would have happened?"

Jaune recalled the visions he'd seen through the Afteran, touching weapons within the Blacksmith's spiritual space. He had glimpsed pieces of Remnant's history, including fragments of Salem's past. He felt the Afteran had learned so much, still know so little."

The knight's voice, noble and resolute, spoke last. "Even with all you've seen, you know you can't convince her. Her and Ozma, in their infinity, harbored an arrogance born of their age, much like elders who perpetually assert their rightness, even in the face of wrong. How, then, could one hope to sway a being such as Salem to one's own accord? When all they see will be a child bawling ideals at them?"

Jaune sighed internally. "Is it even possible to change her? To reach her?"

The voices, for once, were unanimous. "No."

The rusted voice growled, "She's too far gone, lost in her own despair and rage. She wants her wish and nothing more… as if she had not seen the Brothers wiped out the world and left her alone… no, even if she succeeds, she's simply would reset the board game, she would wait for thousands of years again and again. See humanity rise again and then realize she's stuck in an endless cycle until the planet's too lifeless, too barren."

The well-informed voice added, "Her millennia of existence have hardened her heart. It's not just about convincing her; it's about breaking through the walls she's built around herself."

The scheming voice was pragmatic. "Even if you could reach her, what then? Her goals are deeply rooted in her being. Changing her mind would require more than just words — it would require a fundamental shift in her nature."

And the knight's voice, ever the realist, concluded, "She's been a witch, a queen, a goddess in her own right. Her journey has been one of loss and vengeance. To think she can be swayed by reason alone is folly."

Jaune knew they were right, but it didn't make the reality any easier to accept. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that there might be a way to talk down Salem. But the voices made it clear: some battles were not meant to be won.

"Still," Jaune thought, "that doesn't mean we give up. It means we find another way. If she can't be convinced, then we must focus on stopping her. Not just for the sake of Remnant, but for the hope that one day, she might see the light."

The rusted voice grunted in agreement. "I think you've already known what to do. You brought that dust-infused drink with you…"

The well-informed voice agreed, "Knowledge is power. Use what you've learned to outsmart her."

The scheming voice plotted, "Every move, every decision must be calculated. Anticipate her actions, counter her plans through… a drink."

And the knight's voice, with a sense of duty, declared, "Stand firm. Be the shield that protects the innocent and the sword that strikes down evil. Know that in every fairy tale, whether it's the Wizard or the Witch… it's the Knight that brings them to heel. It's time to be that Knight."

Jaune concluded, as his mouth finally paused, leaving them in silence.

Salem, sipping tea with an almost serene composure, broke the silence first. "I see you already know there are no words to convince me, Jaune Arc. Your determination to resist does amuse me." Her eyes, dark and ancient, gleamed with a peculiar fondness.

Jaune remained seated, his expression resolute, but calm. "I've seen enough to understand that you're set on what you want — the relics. But I also know the fight isn't over just because you can't be convinced."

Salem smiled, a gesture that seemed out of place on her face. "Amity Arena was built on the idea of unity, a grand vision realized through the Vytal Festival. Yet, history has a way of repeating itself, does it not?" She placed her cup down, her gaze piercing through Jaune. "I have seen heroes rise and fall, watched them die before me. You, Jaune Arc, are no exception. At least you understand that nothing can change my mind other than giving me what I seek. All those empty words…"

"Perhaps," Jaune shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "But I disagree."

Salem's curiosity was piqued. "Oh? Do explain, then. This should be entertaining."

"You want the relics to fulfill your own desires, to call the Brothers as if that would work."

Salem chuckled, a dark, mocking sound. "You're nothing but an infant in the grand scheme of things. Do you truly think your naïve ideals stand a chance against millennia of my experience? "

Jaune remained composed, his eyes steady on hers. "Predictable," he said softly. "You and Ozpin are the same, both convinced that your way is the only way. You can't see beyond your own goals."

Salem's amusement vanished, replaced by a cold fury. "How dare you compare me to him," she hissed, her eyes glowing with a menacing light. Dark magic crackled around her, and the Grimm within the arena howled, their voices echoing through the empty space. But Jaune didn't flinch.

"You're both trapped in your own high towers," Jaune said, leaning back. "Mentally, at least. And you know what? Ozpin is here. Of course he is, because he's just like you, convinced that no one else can be trusted with the truth."

As if on cue, Ozpin materialized, his form shimmering into existence at the edge of the arena. Jaune could sense the remnants of his magic, barely enough to sneak inside the arena unnoticed. He also saw glimpses of Qrow and Raven, hiding, waiting alongside Team RWBY. He expected them, really. Why wouldn't they be here?

Salem's expression twisted into a snarl, her eyes burning with hatred.

"Ozma," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Ozpin met her gaze, unflinching. "Salem."

As the Grimm receded into the shadows, the tension in Amity Arena remained thick. Ozpin turned towards Jaune, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "

This, Jaune, is what I feared. Salem will not listen. She cannot be reasoned with. In a way, you've fallen into a trap of your own making."

Jaune kept his eyes on Salem, whose expression was unreadable but for a slight, amused smile.

Ozpin continued, "I admire your desire to talk, truly. But it is foolish. Salem herself has told you that none of these matters. She wants the relics to summon the Gods, and that's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Believing there was ever anything to talk about was naïve and foolish. You should have listened"

Jaune looked at them both, his expression unyielding. "I did say I wanted to talk, yes. But I think you're mistaken about something else here. I'm not here to convince either of you. No, no, it's the opposite. I wanted to see your true selves — the arrogance, the attitudes — and determine if you're worthy of what you each inherently wish for."

Salem's amusement deepened, while Ozpin's smirk faded into a frown of confusion.

Jaune continued, "You're both so entrapped by your hatred for each other that you can't see past it to find another way. Let me correct myself. I'm not the one who needs to convince you two. You two are the ones who need to convince ME."

Salem chuckled, a dark, mocking sound. "You've lost your mind, boy."

Jaune stood firm, his composure unshaken. "No, I'm quite sane. Even as I tell the truth, you ignore it. You don't want to listen to me, so perhaps you'll listen to the relic instead."

He reached into his coat and pulled out the Relic of Knowledge.

Ozpin's eyes widened in disbelief. "It's useless, Jaune. You can't use that."

Jaune smiled knowingly. "Jinn," he called, causing Ozpin to stagger back in shock.

From the relic emerged the ethereal form of Jinn, her blue light casting an otherworldly glow over the arena. "You have summoned me…Oh, Old Man… and the Witch" she looked at Oz, Salem, and then her eyes landed Jaune for a moment as she smiled as if realizing something. "I see… What is your question, Knight?"

Jaune looked at Salem and Ozpin, then back to Jinn. "If they convince me, would they get their wish?"

Jinn nodded. "Yes, if they truly convince you, they would get their wish."

Jaune's smile widened as he turned back to Ozpin and Salem and use the last question on something so casual. "Am I telling the truth?"

Jinn's voice was clear and unwavering. "Yes."

The shock on Ozpin's face was mirrored by the brief flicker of surprise in Salem's eyes. Jaune placed the relic on the table between them. "I've brought you here to see if you're worthy of getting what you want. But in your arrogance, you've mocked those who can give you respite. How many times have you ignored potential solutions because you refused to listen?"

He took a deep breath, his voice steady and strong. "You're both deaf and blind, too arrogant to see past your own desires. You two? You're not worthy in the eyes of the Mother of the Brothers."

Jaune's voice changed.

Salem's expression twisted into a sneer, her voice dripping with scorn. "You think you can judge us? You, a mere mortal?"

Jaune met her gaze without flinching. "Yes, because I'm the one standing here, seeing both of you for what you truly are. You've spent so long consumed by your hatred and ambition that you've forgotten what it means to truly understand and listen."

Ozpin, regaining his composure, stepped forward. "And what makes you think you have the right to decide what's worthy?"

Jaune's eyes softened, though his resolve remained. "Because I'm not blinded by centuries of conflict. I see the world as it is now, not through the lens of old grudges and endless battles."

Salem's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "Enough of this. Hand over the relic, or face the consequences."

Jaune shook his head. "No. This isn't about force or threats. This is about understanding that the path you're both on leads to nothing but ruin. You've made your own bed of curses and yet you remain ARROGANT."

Ozpin's voice was low, almost a whisper. "This… is… Who really are you?"

"Sometimes… I don't know," Jaune took out a dust-infused drink, mixed with every combination of dust there is. "But… I guess it has been leading me to this… all those visions… and threats… was this what you wanted?"

"Yes," the rusted voice said. "This was where I was heading."

DRINK UP JAUNNY BABY. TIME FOR THE ENDDDDDDDDDDD.

The drunkard's voice was mixed with fanaticism as Jaune drank the whole thing in front of Oz and Salem.

There was a pause.

Then they heard the tick of a clock and the rustle of leaves.

Jaune's eyes began to glow a brilliant gold, his aura flaring like an inferno around him. For a moment, the world seemed to come to a halt, the very air thick with an almost palpable tension. From behind him, ethereal tree branches began to poke through space, twisting and curling like tendrils. These branches were not of this world, entering through dimensions unseen by mortal eyes. Multi-colored leaves entwined around Jaune, his form enveloped in the golden aura and leaves, transforming before Salem and Ozpin's eyes. His sleek back suit and burnt yellow tie faded away, replaced by a set of rusted armor and then behind him, a creature with golden eyes and long golden horns with three branches protruding from each horn appeared, staring them down, as if telling them to stay still.

Salem's eyes widened in shock and curiosity, while Ozpin's face contorted with a mixture of disbelief and recognition. Beyond the confines of the arena, everything seemed frozen in time, the world outside standing still as if holding its breath. They both realized that the person standing before them was not merely Jaune Arc anymore.

This was someone else.

The man in rusted armor stepped forward, his presence commanding and enigmatic.

"You two are not the only ones who were part of a fairy tale," he said, his voice resonating, but there was another voice in the knight's voice, as if someone was speaking through him.

"I am the Rusted Knight, the Afteran of the Everafter."