The room smelled like antiseptic and stale air, the cold bite of medicine lingering in the back of Jaune's throat as he slowly regained consciousness. Every muscle in his body ached, a deep, throbbing pain that made even the smallest movements feel like torture. His head pounded, and as he tried to shift his body to the side, a sharp pain shot through his ribs, forcing him to stop.

"Fuck me…" he muttered under his breath. "Shit..."

The sound of muffled voices reached his ears. He recognized the whiny tone almost immediately.

"Sir, I gotta ask," Mint's voice chimed in, filled with its usual obnoxious enthusiasm. "How did it feel to be fucking dead?"

Jaune groaned inwardly. Even in his half-conscious state, Mint's voice grated on his nerves. He managed to crack open an eye, only to wince as the harsh fluorescent lights overhead made the throbbing in his skull worse.

"Peaceful," Jaune mumbled, his voice rough. "Didn't have to think. Kind of sad, but also happy since I didn't have to hear your fucking degenerate voice, Mint."

Mint gasped dramatically, as if genuinely offended. "Sir, how could you have forgotten who your best mate is? I think your memories are fucked, Sir. No way you'd say that to your best buddy, best pal!"

Jaune managed a weak smile, though it hurt to even do that. "Nah, I think my memory is fucking fine, private. Pristine."

Before Mint could launch into another ridiculous tirade, a stool scraped across the floor as Brown moved to sit beside Jaune's cot. The sergeant's face was its usual mask of calm, though there was a hint of relief in his eyes that Jaune hadn't expected.

"Still feeling the hurt, Arc?" Brown asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

Jaune blinked, his vision still fuzzy. "Like I got hit by a truck," he muttered, then added, "So, Sarge… I take it we won that shit?"

Brown nodded, his expression grim. "Yeah, we won. Barely."

"Barely?" Jaune shifted slightly, his body protesting the movement. "How bad?"

Brown's eyes flickered with a mix of weariness and sorrow. "Three wounded. One dead."

Jaune's heart sank at the mention of a loss. "Who died?"

"Rod." Brown's voice was flat, almost numb. "Took a bullet to the esophagus. We couldn't help him fast enough. He bled out before we got to him."

Jaune swallowed, his throat dry. Rod had been one of the newer guys, not quite as reckless as Mint, but eager to prove himself. Jaune hadn't known him well, but that didn't make the loss any easier. Losing a brother-in-arms was not easy.

"You got lucky," Brown continued, his voice softening. "Armor took a glancing impact from that rocket, but it knocked the wind out of you. You were bleeding pretty bad from the shrapnel, but we managed to stop it before it got worse. You've got one hell of a concussion, though. You were delirious for a while."

Jaune raised an eyebrow, wincing at the effort. "Delirious?"

Brown's lips twitched into a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. You were going on about something called 'The Everafter,' and said you were the 'Rusted Knight or something.'"

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it," Rumple chimed in from the other side of the room. His voice was lighthearted, but there was a subtle undercurrent of concern. "It was funny, sure, but also kinda sad since you kept calling for your Jackalope to come and rescue you."

"Shit, really? I was that bad?" Jaune groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I must've hit my head really hard, then."

"Understatement of the year," Brown muttered, though there was no bite in his tone. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "But hey, you're awake now. That's what matters."

Jaune nodded, though his head still swam with dizziness. As the fog in his mind cleared, he began to piece together what had happened. The ambush. The explosion. Rod's death. The rest was a blur of pain and confusion.

"What happened after… after I got hit?" Jaune asked, his voice hoarse.

"The ambush was a success," Brown said, his tone more professional now. "We managed to take out the convoy and grab what we needed. Turns out, we hit the jackpot."

"Jackpot?" Jaune asked, confused.

Rumple grinned from across the room. "You wouldn't believe it, VB. That convoy wasn't just carrying supplies — it had a treasure trove of intel. Maps, documents, depot locations. Even lists of SDC facilities that the Crown had marked as potential targets. Command's probably having a field day going through all of it."

Jaune blinked in surprise. "Wait… we actually found something useful?"

Brown nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah. This intel could be what we need to turn the tide. We've got the locations of Crown supply lines, rebel hideouts, and SDC assets they've been targeting. It's everything we've been looking for."

Jaune felt a mix of relief and guilt wash over him. They had won, but it had cost them. Rod was dead, and Jaune had come close to joining him. But at least their efforts hadn't been in vain. At least they had something to show for the blood they'd spilled.

"How long was I out?" Jaune asked, trying to sit up, but immediately regretting it as the pain in his ribs flared.

"Three days," Brown replied. "Doctors say you'll be out of commission for a while. Concussion's no joke."

Jaune grimaced, lying back down. "Great. Just what I needed."

Mint, still hovering nearby, grinned. "Hey, at least you didn't die, right?"

Jaune shot him a glare. "Thanks, Mint. Real comforting."

"Glad to be of service, Sir!" Mint saluted, though the gesture was more sarcastic than respectful.

Brown sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, Mint, enough. Go check on the others. We're still prepping for whatever Command has planned next."

Mint nodded, giving Jaune a mock salute before scurrying out of the room, leaving the air a bit quieter, though still heavy with the weight of what had happened.

Later that night, Jaune lay in the infirmary, staring up at the ceiling. The pain had dulled somewhat, thanks to the meds the doctors had given him, but his mind was far from quiet. His thoughts kept drifting back to the ambush, to the explosion. It wasn't the first time he'd lost someone in battle, but that didn't make it any easier.

He thought about the intel they had recovered, the treasure trove of information that could help turn the tide of the war. It was a small victory, but it came at a price. Every success in this war seemed to come with a cost, and Jaune couldn't shake the feeling that the cost was getting higher with every mission.

The door to the infirmary creaked open, and Brown stepped inside, his usual stoic expression in place. He walked over to Jaune's bedside and pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh.

"You should be resting," Brown said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Jaune shrugged, wincing at the pain that shot through his side. "Can't sleep. Too much on my mind."

Brown leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah. I get that."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was filled with the weight of things left unsaid. Brown, for all his gruffness, professionalism, was a good leader. He cared about his men, even if he didn't always show it. And Jaune knew that a soldier's death weighed on him, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Rod," Jaune finally said, breaking the silence. "He didn't deserve that."

"No," Brown agreed quietly. "He didn't."

Jaune sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Feels like we're losing people every time we go out there."

Brown didn't respond right away. He sat there, his gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in thought. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "That's war, Arc. You know that. We lose people. Sometimes, it feels like we're losing more than we're winning. But we've got to keep going. We've got to keep fighting."

Jaune nodded, though the weight of those words felt heavy on his shoulders. "Yeah. I know."

Brown stood up, placing a hand on Jaune's shoulder. "Get some rest. You've done enough for now. We'll figure out what comes next when the time's right."

Jaune watched as Brown left the room, the door clicking softly behind him. He lay there for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, his mind still racing.

Jaune sat on the stiff infirmary bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the hum of activity outside the infirmary provided a distant background noise. His body still ached, though not as sharply as before. His ribs throbbed with every breath, a constant reminder of the rocket that had nearly taken him out. The dull pain was something he could handle. It was the boredom, the helplessness of being stuck in recovery while the rest of the world moved on, that gnawed at him.

Occasionally, someone from Anvil Team would stop by, but it wasn't exactly for Jaune's sake. Humpty and Rumple, in particular, used him as an excuse to flirt with the nurses, who were stationed at the infirmary to keep an eye on the wounded. Rumple would lean against the wall, flashing a smirk while Humpty tried and failed at playing the smooth-talking charmer.

"Man, I think you've got it easy here, VB," Rumple said during one of their visits. He gestured to the nurse tending to Jaune's injuries. "You get pampered by these lovely ladies while we're out there doing the hard work."

"Yeah, all that action and excitement from the sand outside while I lie here and listen to your sorry asses," Jaune muttered sarcastically.

Humpty grinned, not missing a beat. "Hey, I wouldn't mind being in your position. Maybe if I get shot, I can get some of that special treatment too, huh?"

The nurse rolled her eyes and went about her business, but Jaune wasn't entirely sure if she was annoyed or just used to it. As the two men continued their banter, Jaune's thoughts drifted, the noise around him fading into the background. His mind wandered back to the battlefield, to a dead comrade, to the wreckage of their convoy. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the present, his thoughts always returned to the lives lost, the enemies they faced, and the weight of it all.

Just as Jaune was about to sink further into his thoughts, Mint burst through the infirmary entrance, waving a small tablet in the air like a madman. His usual obnoxious grin was plastered on his face.

"Sir! You won't believe what I've got!" Mint said, practically bouncing on his feet.

Jaune sighed. "What is it now, Mint?"

Mint shoved the tablet in front of Jaune's face, forcing him to focus on the screen. "Check it out! They're broadcasting the Vytal Festival matches. We've got some killer fights going on right now."

Jaune blinked at the screen, squinting as he recognized the scene playing out before him. On the screen were two teams locked in a fast-paced, chaotic battle. The commentary boomed over the action, but it was the faces on the screen that caught his attention. He knew them.

"Wait… that's… Ruby," Jaune muttered, leaning in closer. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Ruby Rose moving across the battlefield with her team. Team RWBY.

There was Ruby, darting across the field with Crescent Rose, her scythe/sniper rifle. Weiss Schnee was there too, her signature glyphs shimmering as she coordinated with Ruby in a seamless attack. And then there was Blake — the girl with the black ribbon covering her faunus ear and Yang, charging through the fight with an explosive confidence.

"Wow," Jaune breathed. "I didn't know Ruby was teamed up with Weiss Schnee."

Mint, who was glued to the action, gave Jaune a sideways glance. "You know those girls? Damn, you've got connections, VB. Thought you were just some unlucky grunt."

"Yeah," Jaune muttered, still transfixed by the match. "I know them. We met back at Beacon… back before all this."

On the screen, the fight had reached a fever pitch. Reese from Team ABRN twirled her hoverboard with expert precision, launching herself at Blake, who countered with shadow clones and graceful, deadly strikes. Jaune could see the fluidity of Blake's movements, her quick reflexes as she dodged and redirected Reese's attacks. The announcers called out the action, their voices barely keeping up with the intensity of the match.

Reese's board morphed into dual katars, then into bayonet-bladed revolvers as she pressed her attack. But Blake was always one step ahead, using her shadows to evade and counter, until finally, with a calculated move, Blake ensnared Reese with her weapon's ribbon and sent her crashing out of the arena.

"Blake Belladonna eliminates Reese Chloris!" one of the announcers shouted, as the crowd in the stadium roared with approval.

Jaune couldn't help but smile. Despite everything that had happened since leaving Beacon, it was comforting to see Ruby and her team still fighting, still strong. They were winning. They were thriving.

"Man, Huntsmen are terrifying," Mint muttered as he watched the action unfold. "The way they move, the way they fight… It's like they're on another level."

"And these are just students, you know?" Jaune said quietly. Watching Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang in action was a stark reminder of the vast gap between their world and the one Jaune found himself in now. They were Huntsmen, with aura, semblances, and the kind of power that could turn the tide of any battle. Jaune, meanwhile, was just a soldier. A grunt. And no matter how much he trained, he knew he would never move the way they did. He would never fight with the same kind of power.

The fight continued, with Yang taking on Arslan from Team ABRN in a brutal exchange of fists and kicks, both fighters refusing to back down. Meanwhile, Weiss and Ruby worked together, launching coordinated attacks on Bolin and Nadir. Weiss's glyphs created ice structures and traps, while Ruby zipped across the field, her sniper scythe unleashing devastating bursts of fire.

"Yang!" Weiss shouted from across the arena, her voice barely audible over the noise. She created a large, frozen, slide-like shape. "NOW!"

Yang knew exactly what to do. Using her shotgun gauntlets to propel herself forward, she skimmed over the wall of ice, catching Blake's pistol as Blake launched her into the remaining members of Team ABRN. With a scream of triumph, Yang delivered a devastating punch that sent the trio flying, eliminating them from the match.

As the buzzer sounded, Ruby cheered in the background. "YAAAAAY!"

Jaune watched as Team RWBY stood victorious, their images displayed on the massive screen with their Aura levels still intact. The stadium crowd roared in approval, and Jaune couldn't help but feel a smile seeing Ruby happy.

"Team RWBY is victorious!" one of the announcers proclaimed. The camera zoomed in on Ruby's smiling face as she waved to the crowd.

Jaune exhaled slowly, his emotions a complicated mix of pride, nostalgia, and something else — a longing, maybe, for the life he had once hoped to live. Jaune wasn't like them. He wasn't a Huntsman. He was a soldier now, fighting in a different kind of war. And seeing Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang, still standing strong, gave him a bitterness that reside within. Maybe there was still a part of him that wished that he was in that place instead of here.

Mint suddenly jumped up, carrying the tablet with him. "Alright, VB, I'm gonna hit the porta-potties before the next match. I wanna catch Pyrrha's team."

Jaune looked up at Mint, arching an eyebrow. "The porta-potties? Seriously, Mint? Seriously?"

Mint shrugged, grinning. "Hey, nature calls, man. Besides, I need to be fully focused for when Pyrrha Nikos is on screen. Don't wanna miss a second of that action."

Jaune gave him a flat look. "You're a degenerate, Mint."

Mint laughed, unbothered by the insult, and rushed off to the porta-potties, leaving Jaune to shake his head in disbelief. Typical Mint.

Jaune then checked his scroll, watching the aftermath of the match as the teams left the arena. Team RWBY disappeared from the screen, replaced by highlights of other upcoming matches. As much as Jaune enjoyed seeing Ruby, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the war he was now a part of. Watching the Vytal Festival was like peeking into another life — a life he had once wanted but had left behind.

But that life wasn't for him anymore. Not really.

With a sigh, Jaune leaned back on the infirmary bed and closed his eyes.

The days passed slowly in the infirmary, each one blurring into the next as Jaune recovered. His body was healing, but his mind remained restless. Sitting around doing nothing wasn't in his nature, and the weight of the war, the losses, and the constant pressure of the mission gnawed at him.

Occasionally, he found himself talking to one of the nurses, trying to pass the time with idle conversation. Today was no different. He was chatting with a nurse — a woman named Elle, who had been kind enough to keep him company. She smiled politely as they talked, though Jaune could tell she was more focused on her duties than their conversation, since she keeps looking away when he tries to make eye contact.

"You know," Jaune said, trying to make light of the situation, "I never thought I'd be spending this much time in a hospital bed. It's getting old."

Elle chuckled softly, twirling the locks of her hair, biting her lower lip, while looking at Jaune. "Well, at least you're still here to complain about it. Most of the guys who come through here don't get that luxury."

Jaune grimaced, nodding. She was right, of course. He had been lucky. Too many of his comrades hadn't made it out of the last mission alive. As much as he hated being confined to the infirmary, he knew it was better than the alternative.

Before he could reply, the door burst open, and Brown strode in with Rumple, Humpty, and Mint right behind him. Their expressions were serious, which was never a good sign.

"Arc, get your ass up. You need to see this," Brown said, his voice low and urgent.

Jaune blinked, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. "What's going on, Sarge"

"Just come on," Rumple added, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

Without further explanation, they led Jaune out of the infirmary and into the main part of the camp. A large crowd had gathered around one of the screens where the Vytal Festival matches had been playing to provide them with entertainment while on standby. Soldiers and staff stood frozen, their eyes wide as they stared at the screen, transfixed by the ominous red tint that had suddenly overtaken the feed.

Jaune felt a chill crawl down his spine. The screen, once showing the excitement of the tournament, now displayed something entirely different — a haunting image of a black queen chess piece hovering in the center of the screen, glowing with a sinister red light.

"What the hell…?" Jaune muttered, stepping closer to get a better look.

Before anyone could answer, a voice rang out, echoing through every screen across the entire world, her words filled with venomous accusation.

"This is not a tragedy. This was not an accident."

The voice was cold, precise, and dripping with malice. Jaune's heart skipped a beat as the woman continued to speak, her words heavy with accusation.

"This is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, your children, to men who claim to be our guardians, but are, in reality, nothing more than men."

Jaune's stomach twisted. Everyone in the camp exchanged uneasy glances, and it was clear who the woman was referring to. The Headmasters, specifically General Ironwood. Her words were like poison, seeping into the minds of everyone watching.

The voice continued, her tone growing darker.

"Our Academies' Headmasters wield more power than most armies, and one was audacious enough to control both."

Brown cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "This is bad. Really fucking bad."

Jaune barely heard him as the woman's voice pressed on, each sentence hitting harder than the last.

"They cling to this power in the name of peace, and yet, what do we have here? One nation's attempt at a synthetic army, mercilessly torn apart by another's star pupil. What need would Atlas have for a soldier disguised as an innocent little girl? I don't think the Grimm can tell the difference."

Jaune's eyes widened. This wasn't just some broadcast — it was a direct attack on Atlas, on Ironwood, on the very foundations of the world they were trying to protect. The camp was deathly silent now, everyone hanging on the woman's every word.

"And what, I ask you, is Ozpin teaching his students?" The woman's voice dripped with contempt. "First a dismemberment, now this? Huntsmen and Huntresses should carry themselves with honor and mercy, yet I have witnessed neither."

Jaune felt his blood run cold. The broadcast was tearing apart everything they had fought for, everything they believed in. The tension in the camp was palpable, and Jaune could feel the unease growing with every passing second.

"Perhaps Ozpin felt as though defeating Atlas in the Tournament would help people forget his colossal failure to protect Vale when the Grimm invaded its streets. Or perhaps this was his message to the tyrannical dictator that has occupied an unsuspecting kingdom with armed forces."

Everyone knew she was referring to Ironwood. Jaune's fists clenched. This woman — whoever she was — was systematically dismantling the trust people had in the Huntsmen, in the Academies, and in the very idea of peace between the kingdoms.

"Honestly, I don't have the slightest clue as to who is right and who is wrong. But I know the existence of peace is fragile, and the leaders of our kingdoms conduct their business with iron gloves. As someone who hails from Mistral, I can assure you the situation there is... equally undesirable."

The voice paused for a moment, as if to let her words sink in before delivering the final blow.

"Our Kingdoms are on the brink of war, yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark. So I ask you: When the first shots are fired... who do you think you can trust?"

As the last words echoed through the camp, the screen flashed a warning:

"Warning: Incoming Grimm attack. Threat level: Nine. Please seek shelter in a calm and orderly manner."

The words blinked in ominous red letters, but there was no calm to be found in the camp. Everyone's attention snapped to the warning. Panic began to ripple through the crowd, and the soldiers' faces turned grim.

Vale was under attack.

Before Jaune could fully process what was happening, the camp's alarms blared, a shrill, piercing sound that sent everyone into immediate action. The radios buzzed to life, officers shouting orders as the camp descended into organized chaos.

"All units, report! Thousands of Grimm heading toward Vale!" one of the officers shouted over the comms. "And the Grimm in Vacuo are on the move, too. They're heading straight for us!"

Jaune's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of the situation hit him. The attack wasn't just happening in Vale — it was coming for them, too.

"Move your assets!" Brown barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get everything ready! We've got Grimm heading our way, and we're not gonna let them tear this place apart."

Brown's eyes locked onto Jaune, his expression as hard as steel. "Arc, suit up. Sorry to say this, but we need you on the Paladin. Now."

"I'll get to it, Sarge."

Jaune nodded, running to the armory to get suited up. His body moving on instinct as he turned and sprinted toward the repair bay, ignoring the pain. His Paladin was still being tuned, but it was going to have to do. There was no time to waste. The Grimm were coming, and if the situation in Vale was any indication, it was going to be an all-out war.

As he ran, Jaune could hear the frantic chatter over the comms, officers coordinating their defenses, soldiers grabbing weapons and gearing up for the impending battle. The camp was a hive of activity, everyone moving with the kind of urgency that came with knowing your life was on the line.

When Jaune reached the repair bay, the mechanics were already scrambling to get the Paladin operational. Sparks flew as they finished their patch up the damaged parts.

"How's it looking?" Jaune asked, his voice tight with tension.

One of the mechanics glanced up from his work, wiping sweat from his brow. "Jump units are online now, and the chain guns and the main cannon should be operational. We'll get you out there."

Jaune nodded as he climbed into the cockpit, his hands shaking slightly as he powered up the Paladin's systems. The hum of the machine beneath him was familiar, but there was an added weight now — an understanding that this was going to be a fight unlike any other.

The Grimm was coming.

And this time, they weren't just fighting rebels or Huntsmen.

This was survival.