From humble Vale, this warrior did hail,
His mind as sharp as any forged nail,
With courage bright, he ventured forth to fight,
Against the chaos of the endless night.
Jaune Arc, scion of the Arc family and son of Nicholas Arc, stood at the gates of Beacon Academy, his hand resting uncertainly on the hilt of Crocea Mors. The legendary blade, passed down through generations of Arcs and said to have been wielded by warriors since the time of the first king of Vale, hung heavily at his side. Its weight was a constant reminder of the legacy he was meant to uphold.
As the airship that had brought him to Beacon disappeared into the distance, Jaune's motion sickness finally got the better of him. He dropped to his knees, then flat onto the ground, his face pressed against the manicured lawn of the academy. The sweet smell of grass filled his nostrils as he tried to will the world to stop spinning.
"Come on, Jaune," he muttered to himself, spitting out a blade of grass. "You can't give up now. You haven't even made it inside yet!"
Around him, a steady stream of students flowed towards the imposing buildings of Beacon. Each aspiring Huntsman and Huntress carried weapons that seemed to defy logic – giant scythes, transforming swords, and Dust-infused weaponry of all kinds. Some cast curious glances at Jaune as they passed, while others looked on with a mixture of confusion and disdain at the boy sprawled on the ground.
Jaune clung to the earth as if his life depended on it, half-convinced that if he let go, he might float away like a balloon, carried off by the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees of the courtyard. His denim jeans, already worse for wear from his haphazard journey to Beacon, were now stained with grass and dirt.
As he lay there, gathering his courage and waiting for his stomach to settle, a familiar voice caught his attention. Jaune looked up, his blue eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a familiar mane of golden hair. Yang strode confidently across the courtyard, her lilac eyes sparkling with excitement as she took in the sights of their new school.
Beside Yang walked a shorter girl with black hair that faded to deep red at the tips. She was wrapped in a bright red cloak that fluttered behind her as she moved, revealing glimpses of the combat skirt and corset underneath. Ruby Rose, if Jaune remembered correctly from overhearing the two talking on the airship.
"Oh man, this place is huge!" Yang exclaimed, her voice carrying easily across the courtyard. "Just think of all the people we're gonna meet, Rubes! And all the butts we're gonna kick!"
"Yang!" Ruby protested, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness. "We're here to learn, not to fight... well, not just to fight, anyway."
As the sisters passed by, Jaune couldn't help but let his gaze linger on Yang. His eyes traced the curves of her figure, admiring the way she carried herself with such easy confidence. It was everything Jaune wished he could be – strong, self-assured, ready to take on the world.
Crocea Mors seemed to grow heavier at his hip, as if the ancient blade was chastising him for his wandering eyes.
"You're staring," a cool voice observed.
Jaune's head snapped up to meet a pair of amber eyes. A girl dressed in blacks and whites stood over him, a large bow perched atop her head. Her expression was neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in her gaze.
"Wha- Oh!" Jaune scrambled to his feet, his armor clanking awkwardly as he tried to smooth out his clothes. "S-sorry about that! Uh, the name's Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it!"
The girl's bow twitched ever so slightly, and one eyebrow arched upward. "Do they?" she asked, her tone dry as the Vacuo desert.
Before Jaune could stammer out a response, she had already turned away, disappearing into the crowd of students. Left alone once more, Jaune took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
"Alright, Arc," he muttered to himself. "Time to fake it 'til you make it. How hard can being a Huntsman really be?"
Jaune ambled through Beacon's sprawling courtyard, his eyes drawn to the lush greenery that seemed almost too perfect to be real. The carefully manicured lawns and meticulously pruned trees reminded him more of a painting than actual flora. While pine trees were common enough in Vale, Jaune spotted several species that looked distinctly Mistrali, their exotic foliage somehow thriving despite Beacon's cooler climate.
As he wandered, Jaune's gaze swept across the sea of students flooding the grounds. The sheer variety of weapons and outfits on display was dizzying – from elegant rapiers to massive warhammers, from combat skirts to elaborate battle armor. A few particularly attractive girls caught his eye, but Jaune quickly averted his gaze, painfully aware that any one of these Huntresses-in-training could probably tie him in knots if they caught him staring.
Cresting a small hill, Jaune spotted a familiar figure – the girl from the airship, Ruby. She was struggling with an overloaded luggage trolley, her scarlet suitcase teetering precariously atop a pile of bags. As Jaune debated whether to offer help, disaster struck. Ruby tugged at her case, sending a pristine white suitcase tumbling to the ground.
Before Jaune could react, a shrill voice cut through the air like a knife. A girl with hair as white as fresh-fallen snow came storming over, her heels (which looked far too expensive for mere school shoes) clicking against the cobblestones. Her tirade reminded Jaune of the time he'd broken his mother's prized kitchen knife sharpener – a memory that still made him wince.
Suddenly, a strange vision flashed through Jaune's mind: a woman with flowing white hair, standing atop a snow-covered hill. She wore a crisp white uniform and wielded a sword that seemed to be carved from living ice. Jaune blinked hard, shaking his head to clear the bizarre image.
To his horror, Jaune felt a familiar warmth building behind his eyes. Quickly, he shoved his hands into his pockets, desperately hoping no one had noticed the faint glow. He scanned the courtyard, searching for a quiet spot where he could compose himself.
A pained groan drew his attention back to Ruby. The white-haired girl had stormed off, leaving Ruby sprawled on the ground looking utterly defeated. Even the mysterious girl with the bow that Jaune had encountered earlier was walking away.
The kicked-puppy expression on Ruby's face tugged at Jaune's heartstrings, reminding him of his younger sister Claret. Before he could second-guess himself, he strode over to Ruby, casting his shadow across her prone form.
Ruby looked up, her silver eyes widening slightly as they met Jaune's blue ones. He extended a hand, smiling as warmly as he could manage. "Hey," he said, then froze as another fleeting vision – silver eyes gleaming with power – flashed through his mind. He shook it off quickly. "I'm Jaune."
"Ruby," she replied, grasping his outstretched hand. Jaune felt the surprising strength in her small fingers as she pulled herself up.
"Warm hands," Ruby commented, her gaze lingering on his leather fingerless gloves.
"Oh, ye-" Jaune began, but Ruby cut him off.
"Wait, aren't you the guy that threw up on the ship?"
And just like that, what little confidence Jaune had mustered evaporated like morning dew. He groaned internally, wondering if he'd ever live down his embarrassing entrance to Beacon Academy.
"I, uh... motion sickness is a much more common problem than people let on!" Jaune protested weakly, already knowing this was going to be a long, long day.
The grand hall of Beacon Academy buzzed with excitement as students from all corners of Remnant gathered for the welcoming ceremony. Jaune found himself adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, each sporting weapons that made Crocea Mors look like a butter knife in comparison. He caught snippets of conversation about Signal Academy and other combat schools, names that meant nothing to him but seemed to excite everyone else.
'Maybe I should've at least bought a cheap pistol from that armor tinkerer,' Jaune thought, trying his best not to look out of place.
His eyes darted around the room, searching for a friendly face. Ruby and Yang stood off to one side, the younger sister seemingly scolding her older sibling about something. Jaune considered joining them but hesitated, not wanting to intrude.
Most of the other guys reminded him too much of the bullies from back home, and the girls... well, they all looked like supermodels capable of bench-pressing Ursa Majors. Jaune's confidence, already hanging by a thread, threatened to unravel completely.
A mellow-looking boy with black hair and a pink streak caught Jaune's attention. 'Maybe he's different,' Jaune thought, taking a step forward. But before he could introduce himself, an orange-haired girl next to the boy let out a sound that Jaune could only describe as a strangled bear fused with an excitable sloth. He quickly reconsidered his approach.
Suddenly, Crocea Mors began to shake at Jaune's hip. He glanced back at Ruby and Yang, only to see the white-haired girl from earlier gesturing towards him with a thumb, likely saying something unflattering.
The feedback from a microphone drew everyone's attention to the stage. An oddly dressed older man with silver hair and small spectacles stood there, accompanied by a stern-looking blonde woman wielding a riding crop. Jaune shivered as her piercing gaze swept over the crowd.
"I'll keep this brief," the man began, his voice carrying an weight of authority. "You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people."
Crocea Mors' shaking intensified, and Jaune wrapped his hand around the scabbard to keep it still. He felt his body temperature rising, wisps of smoke curling up from beneath his collar.
"But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy in need of purpose, direction," the headmaster continued. "You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far."
Jaune gasped as Crocea Mors threatened to leap from its sheath, shaking like a wild horse. Heat radiated from his body, and he knew he needed to leave before someone noticed. He cast one last glance at Ruby and Yang before making for the exit.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him backward. Jaune found himself sandwiched between Ruby and Yang, with the white-haired girl glaring at him like he was gum stuck to her expensive shoes.
"So, you're the guy that helped out my little sister, huh?" Yang said, her tone playful but her grip firm.
Jaune chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"Well, Mr. Hot Hands," Yang winked, "what do you say we go a round or two as a reward for helping my baby sister out?"
Jaune's face flushed, and he swore he could feel himself actually burning. Ruby squealed in protest, stomping her foot. "Yang, I'm not a baby!"
Yang released Jaune's collar with a laugh. "I know, I just wanted to see how strong Vomit Boy here is. I watched him bend a solid steel bar like it was nothing."
The white-haired girl – Weiss, Jaune remembered – looked him over suspiciously. "Where did you study, Mr...?"
Jaune cleared his throat. "Arc. Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue, ladies love it." He immediately regretted the words as they left his mouth.
Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Do they?"
"Not really," Jaune admitted, deflating slightly.
Yang nudged him with her elbow. "Hey, 'Vomit Boy' is way more attractive. Maybe open with that next time."
Despite himself, Jaune cracked a smile.
"I'm still waiting on an answer," Weiss pressed, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Signal," Jaune blurted out, panic rising in his throat. "I studied at Signal."
Ruby's eyes lit up. "You went to Signal too? That's awesome!"
Jaune winced at her enthusiasm, guilt gnawing at him. "Yup, Signal buddies," he said weakly. Desperate to change the subject, he turned to Weiss. "Where'd you go?"
Weiss straightened, a hint of pride in her voice. "I was trained personally by one of the finest swordsmen in Atlas."
"Oh, was he like your uncle or something?" Jaune asked, genuinely curious. "My dad gave me some pointers, and he's pretty cool."
Weiss bristled at the comparison. "I am Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. It was a private tutor, one of the best in Atlas, if not all of Remnant! I wouldn't let myself be trained by some two-bit Huntsman from who-knows-where!"
Jaune winced again, feeling Crocea Mors grow cold against his side. He knew it was time to make his exit before things got even more complicated.
"Well, it was... nice meeting you all," he said, backing away slowly. "I should probably go find... uh... the bathroom. Yeah, that's it. See you around!"
With that, Jaune turned and fled, leaving behind a confused Ruby, an amused Yang, and a fuming Weiss.
Jaune bolted down the hallway, his feet pounding against the seemingly endless stretch of red carpet. The heat building beneath his skin was becoming unbearable, and he swore he could smell his beloved Pumpkin Pete hoodie starting to smolder.
"Come on, bathroom, bathroom!" he muttered frantically, his eyes darting from door to door.
He burst through the first door he saw, only to find himself in a lecture hall. A massive, sheet-covered box in the corner shook violently at the noise, accompanied by what sounded disturbingly like snarling. Jaune slammed the door shut, his heart racing even faster.
Room after room yielded nothing but empty lecture halls and storage closets filled with strange equipment. Rounding another corner, Jaune skidded to a halt as he spotted a red-haired girl dressed in ceremonial bronze armor. Her emerald eyes locked onto him immediately, a flash of recognition and then dread crossing her features.
"Yes, it's me, Py-" She began, before Jaune cut her off. "Do you know where the men's room is?" he blurted out.
The girl's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're looking for the bathroom?"
Jaune nodded vigorously, desperately trying to keep the smoke from rising from his collar. "Yeah, do you know where it is?" he asked, sweat beading on his forehead.
The redhead clicked her tongue, pointing down the hall. "Around that corner, second door on the left."
"Thanks!" Jaune called over his shoulder, already sprinting away.
He burst into the men's room, frantically stripping off his armor and hoodie. Cranking the faucet to full blast, he doused himself with water as if he were on fire – which, he realized with growing panic, might not be far from the truth. The water sizzled and turned to steam upon contact with his skin.
"Come on!" he yelled in frustration, grabbing Crocea Mors from his hip. "I don't know what's going on, but if you're haunted or something, cut it out!" He glared at the ancient sword, which remained stubbornly motionless in its scabbard. Jaune set it on the sink and returned to his desperate attempts to cool down, even going so far as to drink directly from the faucet.
Gradually, the heat began to dissipate. Jaune's breathing slowed, and he found himself half-soaked but no longer feeling like a human furnace. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping from his blonde hair.
"This is not how I wanted things to go," he said to his reflection, jutting a finger towards the mirror as he leaned in close. "We gotta get it together."
As he exhaled deeply, trying to center himself, Jaune's eyes widened in shock. His extended hand erupted into flames, the fire dancing across his skin without burning him.
"What the-" Jaune yelped, shaking his hand frantically. The flames extinguished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving him staring at his unmarked palm in disbelief.
Jaune's mind raced. First the strange visions, then Crocea Mors acting up, and now this? He glanced at the ancient sword, still lying innocently on the sink. Was it connected to these bizarre occurrences?
"Okay, Jaune," he muttered to himself, splashing more water on his face. "You can do this. Just... don't spontaneously combust during the night. Easy, right?"
With a deep breath, he gathered his damp clothes and armor. As he reached for Crocea Mors, the sword seemed to hum with an energy he'd never felt before. Jaune hesitated for a moment before securing it at his hip once more.
"You and I are going to have a long talk later," he told the sword sternly, feeling only slightly ridiculous for doing so.
Checking his reflection one last time to ensure he wasn't still steaming, Jaune stepped out of the bathroom. He had a welcome ceremony to return to – and hopefully, a way to control whatever was happening to him before anyone noticed.
Little did Jaune know, emerald eyes had been watching the bathroom door with concern, their owner wondering what could have caused such distress in the strange, blonde boy who seemed… intriguing.
Jaune slipped back into the ballroom where the first-year students were bedding down for the night. His eyes darted nervously to the other side of the room, where girls in cute pajamas were setting up their sleeping bags. He glanced up at the chandeliers, half-expecting them to burst into flames if he relaxed too much.
Spotting his duffel bag among the pile of luggage, Jaune made his way over. As he pulled it out, the faint smell of burnt fabric made him wince. He rifled through the contents, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the purple cloth emblazoned with the unfinished star and arc family crest.
"If this hadn't been covering the transcripts, I'd have been screwed," he muttered, thanking whatever gods existed that the cloth seemed to be fireproof. Not wanting to question this small miracle, he carefully placed it back in the bag.
His hand closed around the real prize – a baby blue onesie with rabbit slippers attached. "Oh yeah. Now we're talking," Jaune grinned, admiring the spotless garment.
Crocea Mors shook violently at his hip, as if protesting his choice of sleepwear. Jaune shot the sword a stern look, and it immediately stilled.
As he made his way to the changing rooms, Jaune passed a calm-looking guy with black hair and a distinctive pink streak.
"Excuse me," the man said politely, his eyes lingering on Jaune's onesie. "Do they come in pink too?"
Jaune bristled, suddenly defensive. "They come in many colors. I chose blue because it's manly."
The stranger cocked an eyebrow, looking more confused than judgmental, before excusing himself and walking away.
"The nerve of some people," Jaune grumbled, stepping into the changing room. He quickly slipped into the onesie, bundling up his singed clothes with a grimace. "I don't even know if I can wash that smell out."
Emerging from the changing room, Jaune found himself face-to-face with the stern teacher wielding a riding crop. She informed him curtly that all weapons must be placed in assigned rocket lockers.
So there he was, padding through the locker room in his bunny onesie, smelling faintly of smoke and stagnant water. The sheer amount of ammunition stored in the lockers around him was enough to level his hometown, a thought he tried desperately to push from his mind.
At his assigned locker, Jaune wagged a finger at Crocea Mors. "Don't cause any trouble, or so help me, I'll pawn you off." It was an empty threat, but the sword didn't need to know that.
Back in the ballroom, Jaune navigated through the crowd, acutely aware of the giggles and pointed looks his onesie was attracting. He ignored the guys showing off their muscles in ways that would have made even his perverted sister Coral blush.
Finally, he found a small spot near a tent-like structure propped against the wall that oddly the other sleeping bags seemed to avoid. Unfurling his bedroll, Jaune slipped inside, his eyes drawn once more to the chandeliers above.
As he exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves, Jaune barely noticed the candles in the chandeliers dying out. His mind drifted to the hushed conversations he'd overheard – even students from combat schools seemed fearful of tomorrow's initiation.
Jaune tried not to let the negative thoughts linger. As sleep began to claim him, his mind filled with images of emerald and lilac eyes.