Arc I: Prologue
Chapter 2: Bravery Is For The Scared
Darkness.
As far as his eyes could see, Jaune saw only the vast expanse of shadow, lost in the nothingness of the void.
Though he saw nothing, he knew for a fact that he was not alone. Perhaps a ghost? Maybe some sort of vengeful spirit, seeking revenge for some wrongful act he did in a past life?
Whatever it was it knew he was there for sure, alone and without means to defend himself. For a moment, the state of his situation gave way to a memory, though not of blinding darkness – rather, an image of a wide dirt road, muddied and holes full of water as the rain slathered the earth relentlessly.
And lying on said earth was himself, bruised and surrounded by a group of boys taunting and kicking him further into the bloodied mud. Unable to fight back. Too weak to fight back.
As his emotions raged, however, Jaune felt the unmistakable feeling of human contact. Though no more than a brush of skin, it was enough to break free of his reverie and look around, hoping to see something beyond his fear and the ever present darkness.
There. Another touch, though brief, as if someone was rushing past in a hurry, their shoulder bumping against his arm. And – there, another. And another.
"…!" Nothing. Jaune tried calling out to whoever these people were but his throat could produce no sound, helpless to even communicate to those around him.
During the rush of invisible figures, however, Jaune squinted his eyes at what he assumed was the horizon. Mainly because he now had some semblance of what the horizon was if the muted red and orange was to tell. Sighing in some relief as the darkness began to dissipate, the sigh was quickly replaced with a silent gulp of fear as not only did the source of light become apparent, but also as to the panic of the people running past him.
Men, women and children were running away from burning houses, and if the screams were anything to go by, perhaps not all of them would make it. Grimm – were those Grimm? They were beastly in form, if their silhouettes indicated– ran rampant amongst the village, wreaking havoc amongst the flaming ruins and those unfortunate enough to not escape.
Instantly, Jaune felt his fear and panic return. Perhaps these people had the brightest idea, running away from clear and present evil in front of him. Yet, his courage failed him and he stayed rooted to the spot as the screams of people and howls of the monsters filled the air, and his eyes widened at the sight of one of the monsters landing its steely gaze upon his own.
It was a grotesque looking thing, unlike any other monster he'd seen before. Jaune trembled as the monster approached him, its crimson skin hiding little the fresh, wet patches of dark red amongst its arms and rusty sword. It's large pig-like snout twitched at what he presumed was the scent of his fear and screamed silently as the monster charged at him with a wet gurgling shout, weapon drawn back to strike.
Jaune raised his arms to defend himself –
And gasped silently in shock as it harmlessly passed through him.
A confusing mix of relief and disbelief washed over him, before it was cut short as he heard the unmistakable sound of metal cleaving flesh and screams of pain behind him.
He turned around to see the ugly monster raise its sword again as a young man, most likely no older than him, held one hand desperately to clutch at a rapidly bleeding cut across the stomach and the other held out as if to ward it away. The beast raised its weapon again –
And so he fled, tears streaking down his face as he desperately wished that he could no longer be in this Gods – forsaken village. He wished that he could be back home in the Arc family cottage, to eat his mother's homemade spaghetti, or to watch his father return from a successful hunt baring proudly the Arc emblem upon his armour.
As he tried to run, however, he found that his feet became sluggish amongst the panicked mob until he could move no longer. It was at this point he turned to look back at the beastly death chasing them, fully expecting to be run to the ground.
Yet all he was greeted with was the crackling of flames burning away the houses, the winds carrying the ashes into the darkness beyond the village. But what truly caught his eye was not the sudden absence of people or fading sounds of screams and growls, but rather the lone figure standing at the end of the road, a figure which seemed to be formed of the very darkness itself, eyes red with hatred.
A figure which he knew nothing of, except for fear and the unmistakable feeling of distant familiarity.
Jaune froze as the dark entity began to stalk forward, hands reaching behind his back and drawing a blade. Bathed in the glow of the flames, the sight of the sword – a beautiful broadsword with a cerulean winged crossguard and golden gem at its centre – filled him with desperate longing and an overpowering sense of wrongness.
The sword itself glowed a holy, ethereal light, but such light pulsed violently, as if trying in vain to reject its wielder. Said person closed the distance, and Jaune steeled himself as he looked it in the face.
His own.
And as his shadow counterpart closed the distance, Jaune felt a slight tingle upon the back of his left hand and raised it – revealing a glowing triangle split into three, with half of the bottom right portion glowing furiously. Looking past the mark, he noticed his doppelganger bear the same, with the other half glowing.
Dark Jaune raised the blade and rushed forward to run the sword through his throat.
===/\===
Regular Jaune woke up.
"Hrk-!" The blonde gasped and gurgled at the feeling of being viciously stabbed through his windpipe. He promptly rolled over out of his bed and greeted the floor with a resounding 'oomph', before grunting in annoyance and making his way out to the bathroom.
"Fuck. That's the third time this week," Jaune grumbled as he closed the door and turned the light on, making him cringe slightly before readjusting his eyes to the brightness.
Suffice to say, after splashing cold water on his face, Jaune once again looked again at himself in the mirror, half expecting to see the shadow of his recent nightmares. Bloodshot aquamarine eyes stared back, though definitely not the complete blood red of his evil doppelganger. If this keeps up, I might as well become a zombie with how dead I'm feeling.
Wiping his face, Jaune softly closed the door and padded in near silence to the living room of the cabin. Though the house itself was by the outskirts of the Hudson, the nearby village – itself south of the city of Vale – it was a large and relatively modern building, sporting a furnished wooden interior yet still possessing the amenities of modern Valean living standards, such as electricity and dust powered fireplaces.
Yet, as his eyes roved over the darkened silhouettes of his living rooms furniture, he sat down on the sofa focusing only on one thing – the object which was possibly just as old, if not older than the house itself.
Crocea Mors was the Arc family's pride and ancestral heirloom. Jaune noted with no little pride how the weapon and its sheath hung side by side over the mantle of the fireplace, giving a sense of history to the room.
It was this blade with which his father Richter Arc carved a path through Grimm to save fleeing civilians during the fall of Mountain Glenn some twenty six years ago. Yet amongst all the wielders of the sword, it was his great great grandfather Alastair who brought fame and glory through his battles in the Great War some eighty years prior.
He could almost imagine it: a blonde Huntsman in his prime bearing the crescent emblem of his family standing against a horde of rushing Grimm, ready to give his life to defend the fleeing civilians at his back.
And only if you could see me now, Jaune noted with little pride. In three hours, he originally planned to wake up and sneak off to take the first morning Bullhead from the village square to Beacon, where he would undergo the infamous entrance initiation exam. The academy's headmaster, a rather eccentric man by the name of Ozpin, was known to use unusual yet effective techniques to test the aspirants.
Aspirants who have trained for years amongst the kingdom's preparatory combat schools in all manners of anti Grimm and human warfare.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
"Tch." Jaune let out a breath he did not know he was holding, He had begged his father over the years to either train him or attend one of the smaller combat academies – and to his credit, Richter tried at first – but once it became clear that his aptitude for fighting had nowhere near improved enough to last as a student, he then denied his son his any right to become a Huntsman.
Denied his son the right to follow his dreams.
Which is why soon after, Jaune climbed atop the mantlepiece and claimed the weapon and sheathe as his own.
It's now or never, Jaune thought as he quickly ran back to his room and searched for the bag of essentials he hid for the journey ahead. Extra clothes, check. Toiletries? Check. Weapon cleaning kit? Check.
Despite gathering most of what he needed over the previous two nights, Jaune still felt anxious about having to leave even a goodbye or blessing from his mother and father. And yet, if I tried, there wouldn't be a goodbye so much as them barricading me in my room to prevent me from leaving.
He stopped packing.
"No."
I am definitely an asshole, Jaune grunted as he forcefully closed his duffel bag and took out his combat outfit from the drawer. But I will make it all up to you, I swear. I will come back stronger and braver, just like Dad and the rest of our family before me.
Changing quietly so as to not wake the others still in their beds – oh what a reckoning that would be if he woke up his sisters so early in the morning – Jaune shuddered as he quickly crept to front door, putting his boots on and twisted the handle, exiting the cabin.
Breathing in the fresh early morning air, dew still forming on the freshly trimmed grass, Jaune began the trek down to the village square, where the early morning Bullhead would come and take some of the locals into the city for work. Quickly hopping aboard and sitting at the back, he further reclined into his seat and looked out the window towards the familiar roads and buildings of the village.
He would be leaving all that he ever knew. Sure, as a kid his mother and father took the family out to Vale on the occasional vacation here and there. They would stuff themselves with food from international restaurants too large for the likes of Hudson, to spending all day in some of the theatres and arcades – which, Jaune noted with no little pride, at least proved his superiority one thing, though it was a shame skill in video games didn't translate to real world fighting prowess.
Jaune frowned.
"04:45 am flight to Vale now departing. Please buckle your seatbelts as the aircraft prepares for takeoff," the automated voice came over the cabin speakers.
As the Bullhead steadily gained altitude, Jaune allowed himself one last look at the rapidly minimizing features of his village. There – the local market where his mother often took him and some of his sisters to shop for groceries. By the coast, there lay the broken down lighthouse, destroyed by a storm some five years ago and now a favourite haunt of some of the local kids… as well as one of the places he used to either run to the edge of, or climb to the top to escape his bullies.
Courage, Jaune. Be brave, he duly repeated over and over as he caught the silhouette of his family cabin in the distance, its profile dark against the glow of the setting moon.
Jaune gripped the armrests as the Bullhead throttled forward, soaring through the sky at a speed even the fastest flying Grimm could not hope to reach, burning through its Dust propellant at a considerable rate.
Breathe in, breathe out. Be brave.
Jaune sighed.
Everything he knew he was leaving behind, to try out his luck in a battle where the chances of him surviving, let alone passing, were quite poor.
Then again, courage is just going forward even if you're anxious, right?
He would have to fight people and monsters much more skilled and vicious than him. People who, at least compared to him, were masters with their weapons and fighting styles, and creatures who knew little of mercy. Who would shred his body to pieces without hesitation.
Even if he did not have his Aura or Semblance – two of the most vital assets any aspiring Huntsman could have in the field – unlocked. He would have to pull twice his weight to not only to just survive, but to catch up to everybody's level in terms of knowledge and skill.
Breathe in, breathe out. Calm yourself. Don't hyper… hyperventilate here. Chill. Be brave.
Jaune was scared.
And why am I doing this?
…
…
Do I want to come back with nothing to show for it? To be bullied again without strength to defend myself, or ruin our family name?
"Damn it!" Jaune grunted as he slammed his fist into the side of the fuselage. "I will make it. I will become a Huntsman. I will… I…"
Another sigh.
"I don't want to be a failure anymore."
As Jaune settled in to try and fight the rising discomfort in his heart and pit of his stomach, he did his best to imagine the smiles on his sisters' faces as he came back, the look of pride on his mother and the acceptance from his father that he proved himself worthy to become a Huntsman of the Arc family.
And yet, the deeper he fell into sleep, memories of his family and the village slowly became darker, more twisted. Houses fell into burning rubble, the air reeking of the scent of blood.
Footsteps, growing louder by the second.
He's coming for me, and I have to be brave.
A blade being drawn.
And as he turned around and once again looked at the demon of his nightmares, this time, he shakily raised Crocea Mors, aiming to meet his foe head on this time.
Because this time, I have no other choice.
The shadow rushed him.
/ AN \
Hello all!
Welcome to Legends of Remnant, a Legend of Zelda and RWBY crossover. This is an idea which almost never made it to the paper or Internet - this is my first ever FanFiction, and most of the writing which I've ever done was for the purpose of receiving credits and boosting my GPA. Creative writing is not exactly my forte. That being said, it's why a lot of us are here on this site, to seek out and experiment about what we can do.
That being said, the story concept itself is an idea that I've been brewing for quite a while. Since childhood I've been a big fan of the Legend of Zelda series, from playing the games, appreciating the art and reading the various theories floating around on the webs. Though I was not originally a fan of RWBY beyond the action scenes, I eventually grew to become one after investing more time watching more episodes and seeing things progress. Eventually, the idea came to mind, what if both universes somehow managed to cross over each other? Different ways would be thought up and initial concepts hatched, until finally being jotted down onto (electronic) paper, and deciding, "Hey, why not upload this to FF as well, might as well try something out in the process".
And so you have Legends of Remnant. The current plan is to have it as a bit of a side project to updated perhaps every two - three weeks, depending on my workload from school and job. I plan to follow canon more or less until the attack on Beacon, as seen in Vol. 3, and then go AU from there.
Thanks to all who viewed, visited and favourited so far. I welcome constructive criticism, as I recognize that I still am relatively inexperienced in the realm of creative writing. Otherwise, feel free to leave comments and ask me questions about this and in general.
Cheers!
The Legend of Zelda and RWBY are owned by Nintendo and Rooster Teeth, respectively.