Yang Xiao Long leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a yawn. Across from her, Pyrrha Nikos sat quietly sipping her tea, while Blake Belladonna listened, offering the occasional nod or smile. The conversation had been light and easy, mostly filled with Yang's awful puns and some banter about their recent missions, but there was an underlying tension. Blake had noticed the change in the air around Atlas since General Ironwood's speech.

"You know," Blake said, her golden eyes flicking toward the window, where the streets of Atlas and Mantle buzzed with soldiers and construction crews, "after Ironwood's speech, everything feels... different. It's like the whole city is more 'patriotic,' if that's the right word."

"Yeah," Pyrrha nodded, setting her cup down gently. "It does feel that way. After revealing that the enemy is someone who can control an army of Grimm, some people bought the story and rolled with it. It's like they've found a cause to rally around. Who'd better to blame than mindless creatures, right?"

Blake frowned thoughtfully. "But there are still people in the streets who don't believe it. Some think it's just an excuse to tighten control. Especially with all the fortifications they're building. Some are even wondering why they aren't being cared for first."

Yang tapped her fingers on the table, her brow furrowed. "It's hard to ignore, though. The soldiers, the walls, Amity Arena being armed to the teeth... something's definitely coming and the smart cookies could see it.. I just hope we're ready for it. Salem's followers could show up at any moment. And if Oz's right... then even Salem might come knocking. She'd want the lamp and staff."

Pyrrha's gaze hardened for a moment. "If Cinder appears again in front of me..." she said softly, her fingers tightening around the cup in her hand, "I'll finally have the chance to avenge Urania."

Yang shot her a look of concern. "P-Money, I get it, wanting to avenge them but you've gotta be careful. Cinder's dangerous. We all saw what she's capable of."

Blake nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning Pyrrha's face. "We don't want to lose you. Not to her."

Pyrrha smiled faintly, appreciating their concern, but her eyes betrayed a deeper resolve. She took another sip of her tea, letting the warmth of the drink calm her nerves. It had been too long since she last confronted Cinder, and the thought of facing her again stirred something fierce inside her.

Yang then leaned forward, thumbing toward the person standing close to Pyrrha, standing at ease near their table. "So, uh... what's the deal with him?" she asked, a mischievous smirk crossing her lips.

Pyrrha blinked and then followed Yang's gaze. "Oh, that's Lieutenant Arc," she explained. "General Ironwood assigned him to be my bodyguard."

Yang burst out laughing. "A bodyguard? For you? C'mon, P-Money, you could probably take on a whole battalion by yourself."

Pyrrha smiled but shook her head. "It's not as silly as it sounds. Lieutenant Arc's Semblance could actually be useful, especially if we run into Salem's followers again."

Yang stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. "Wait a second? As in Jaune?" She looked over at the man standing in uniform, her eyes widening in recognition. "Holy shit! Vomit Boy! No way!"

Pyrrha blinked, a little surprised by the nickname. "Vomit Boy?"

Yang grinned. "Yeah, you remember, right? He was the guy who threw up on the Bullhead during Beacon's initiation! Hard to believe he's all... Atlesian now."

Blake, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke up. "People change," she said softly, turning her gaze to Jaune. She smiled slightly and greeted him. "It's good to see you, Jaune."

Jaune stood stiffly, but his expression softened slightly at Blake's greeting. "Ms. Belladonna," he said with a polite nod.

Yang leaned forward, still grinning. "Well, I guess I'll introduce myself. I'm Yang, in case you forgot." She flashed him a thumbs-up, clearly amused. "So, you're gonna be following us around, huh?"

Jaune met her gaze, his posture formal and composed. "Ms. Xiao Long," he replied, "I'm not here to intrude on your private lives. I'm just doing my job. I won't be a bother."

Yang chuckled, leaning back again. "Well, try not to get too uptight, alright? Feels weird having someone in an Atlesian uniform shadowing us."

Blake, still thoughtful, glanced over at Pyrrha. "Are you really okay with all this?" she asked quietly. "Having someone guard you?"

Pyrrha gave a small nod. "It's fine, Blake. Jaune seems... nice. He's just doing his duty anyway."

Yang crossed her arms, looking Jaune up and down again. "He does seem different, huh? I mean, I remember him being nice back when we met him at Beacon. But after Miss Goodwitch dragged him out before the initiation, I was pretty sure that was the last time I'd see him. Guess that's destiny for you."

At the mention of destiny, Pyrrha's expression shifted, her eyes drifting toward the window. The word seemed to hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. She stared out at the streets of Atlas, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Destiny, huh," she muttered softly, as if the word held both promise and burden.

Before the mood could grow too heavy, Pyrrha glanced over at Jaune and smiled politely. "Jaune, could you get me another drink?" she asked, her tone gentle.

Jaune narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but nodded. "Of course, Ms. Nikos. But... I'd appreciate it if you don't disappear on me this time."

Pyrrha's smile faltered slightly, a bit of guilt flickering in her eyes. "I promise," she said with a small laugh. "I won't run off. Also, and please just call me, Pyrrha."

With that assurance, Jaune gave a curt nod and turned to make his way to the counter. As soon as he was out of earshot, Yang grinned mischievously. "Man, he's all serious now, isn't he? I guess he's gotta be, but still, lighten up, Jaune!"

Blake looked at Pyrrha, her expression softening. "Do you really think it's okay? I mean, having him follow you everywhere?"

Pyrrha took a deep breath, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. "It's... okay. I understand why General Ironwood assigned him. I think he's just worried."

Yang shrugged. "Yeah, I guess Ironwood has a point. Still, it's weird seeing Jaune all... grown-up and professional. I remember when he was just a dork trying to impress Weiss during initiation."

At the mention of initiation, Pyrrha couldn't help but smile. "I remember that," she said with a soft laugh. "It feels like so long ago."

Yang gave a snort of laughter. "Yeah, poor guy didn't stand a chance with Weiss."

Blake smiled at the memory, though her expression was more reserved. "It's good to see him again," she said. "Even if he's... changed."

Jaune returned to the table, placing the fresh drink in front of Pyrrha before stepping back to his position.

"Thanks, Jaune," Pyrrha said, her smile warm.

Jaune nodded, though his posture remained stiff, as if he were bracing himself for something. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

"Well," Yang said, leaning back once more and stretching out her legs, "looks like we're all in good hands now, right?"

Blake nodded in agreement. "Right."

Jaune walked a few paces behind Pyrrha, Blake, and Yang, his eyes scanning the streets of Mantle, ever vigilant despite the cold that bit at his skin. Pyrrha wore a hood over her head, keeping her profile low, though it wasn't hard to miss the uneasy glances she threw at the large screens that flashed Atlas propaganda featuring her face. Every now and then, they'd pass by one of those towering displays, her likeness displayed alongside slogans about unity, strength, and duty.

It must have been strange fir her, Jaune thought, how her image had become a symbol for Atlas. Not long ago, she was just another student at Beacon, someone striving to become stronger and more skilled and meet new people. Now, Pyrrha Nikos was practically the face of Atlas's propaganda campaign.

They also passed posters for the incoming election — Robyn Hill's face plastered on one side of the streets, Jacques Schnee's on the other. The divide was clear, even here in Mantle. Tensions had been high for months, and now, with the election looming, people were split down the middle.

"Looks like Robyn's losing ground," Yang commented, her eyes flicking to one of Robyn Hill's campaign posters as they passed it. "With Ironwood fixing the walls and putting those new guns on it, some of her promises seem less urgent now."

Blake nodded, her arms crossed as they walked. "She's still got support in Mantle, though. There are people who don't trust Jacques Schnee, no matter what Ironwood does."

Pyrrha glanced up at another propaganda poster, this one showing Atlas soldiers standing tall under the motto: "Atlas First, Remnant United." She sighed softly, her breath visible in the cold air. "It's only a matter of time before Salem's followers try to stir up chaos. The election is the perfect opportunity."

Jaune's eyes narrowed as he listened to Pyrrha's analysis. If she was right, then this Salem's followers were master manipulators, sowing discord wherever they could. The election was a prime target — divide the people, weaken their resolve, and make them easier prey for the Grimm.

"Do you think they're already here?" Blake asked, glancing around warily, her golden eyes scanning the crowds.

"It's possible," Pyrrha said thoughtfully. "If I were Salem's follower, I'd want to destabilize Atlas from within. What better way than through an election? Whoever wins could become a puppet or a scapegoat, depending on how things play out. Or… simply cause enough trouble to draw Grimm in."

Yang adjusted the gauntlets on her wrists, her expression grim. "Ironwood's putting all his effort into strengthening Atlas's defenses. But that makes it harder for people to believe he has any plan beyond that. It's like he's telling people, 'Trust Atlas, but don't trust me.'"

Jaune, who had been walking a few steps behind them, listening quietly, knew Yang's statement held more truth than she realized. Ironwood's strategy was risky — he was assuming responsibility for everything, for every decision, every mistake. By telling people to put their faith in Atlas, not in him, he was essentially becoming the scapegoat if anything went wrong. It was a gamble, and Jaune wasn't sure how well it would pay off in the long run.

But despite that, Jaune couldn't help but respect Ironwood. He'd seen enough in the short time he'd been in Atlas to know the General wasn't just another military leader hiding behind a desk. He was out there, on the front of the problem, facing the same danger they all were while carrying Atlas on shoulder. That made Jaune trust him in a way he hadn't expected.

He found it funny, in a way. Back in Vacuo, Jaune had loathed the 'good job' speeches they'd get from higher-ups — empty words meant to placate the soldiers. But seeing Ironwood in person, how the man carried himself, how he acted… Jaune couldn't help but trust him. Maybe it was because they had named his company after him, the Ironwood Company, that Jaune idealized him. He had thought the same about the Officers in his company, how those pieces of shit were going to be the ones that'll get them killed eventually. But when trouble came, when the entire Company was facing their last moments… those same incompetent fuck-ups stood their ground and fought to the bitter end with their men. Maybe that's why he wanted to believe too that the General was even more than the eye could see. Or maybe it was because Ironwood had given him a purpose when he'd been lost. Without that, without this new mission… Jaune wasn't sure if he'd have anything at all.

His thoughts drifted as they continued to walk, Pyrrha, Blake, and Yang talking quietly among themselves. Mantle was busy, the streets filled with people going about their lives, trying to pretend the world wasn't crumbling around them. But Jaune could see the unease in their eyes, the fear that lingered just beneath the surface. The Grimm wasn't the only threat they had to worry about. The tension between Mantle and Atlas, between the people and their leaders, was still a powder keg waiting to explode.

As they passed another street corner, Jaune's eyes caught sight of another propaganda poster, this one showing Ironwood standing tall, his stern expression fixed on the horizon. The words beneath him read: "Let the Guns of Atlas be Louder than Fear."

Jaune stopped for a moment, staring at the poster. Ironwood's face was no longer weathered, it was determined, and it struck Jaune how much weight the General carried on his shoulders. He wasn't just protecting a city — he was protecting a kingdom, a way of life, and the future of all of Remnant. It was a burden Jaune couldn't even begin to fathom.

"You okay, Jaune?" Pyrrha's voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see her watching him with concern.

Jaune blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, just... thinking, Ma'am."

"About the General?" Pyrrha asked, following his gaze to the poster.

Jaune hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah. It's just... he's taking a huge risk, putting all this on his shoulders. I can't imagine what that must feel like."

Pyrrha smiled softly. "He believes in what he's doing. And sometimes, that's all we can do — believe in our choices, even if they're hard."

Yang, overhearing the conversation, snorted. "I'll give the General this — he's got guts. Not a lot of people would stand up and take the blame like he's doing."

Blake, her expression thoughtful, added quietly, "But guts alone won't win this fight."

Pyrrha nodded in agreement. "Yeah. And we need to be ready for whatever comes next. Whether it's the election, the Grimm, or something worse."

As they continued walking, Jaune couldn't shake the feeling that something big was coming. The election was just the beginning — Salem's forces were out there, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when they did, Jaune knew they had to be ready. Not just to fight, but to stand together, to protect each other, and to make sure that Atlas, Mantle, and all of Remnant had a fighting chance.

For now, all he could do was keep walking, keep watching, and keep trusting in the mission Ironwood had given him. It was the only thing that kept him grounded, the only thing that gave him purpose.

Pyrrha watched Yang and Blake dash off, their voices fading as they disappeared around the corner. For a moment, she stood there, staring after them, feeling a familiar weight settle on her shoulders. It was always like this — when her friends weren't around, she often found herself alone. And perhaps that was why General Ironwood had assigned her a bodyguard. When the others left to deal with their own struggles, she was often left behind, her own thoughts and memories her only companions.

Nora and Ren were off somewhere, doing their own thing as they always did. They had a bond she didn't want to intrude on, a silent understanding between them. Yang and Blake were figuring things out between themselves, working through their own complex relationship. Even Ruby, usually a bundle of energy, spent more and more time with Penny or Weiss. Weiss had her own troubles to deal with — family, politics, Atlas itself. Everyone had something going on, and Pyrrha, as strong as she was, often felt like she was caught in the space between them.

Back at Beacon, it had been the same. She was the invincible warrior, the one everyone admired from a distance. But when the crowds disappeared, and the cheering died down, she was alone. Urania, her old teammate, had been more interested in Pyrrha's reputation as a star athlete than knowing her as a person. Their conversations had always been about tournaments, about their image, and not much else. And then there was Apollo, always by Urania's side, inseparable from her.

Pyrrha sighed, her breath visible in the cold Mantle air as she turned her gaze to the streets. She couldn't help but wonder, even now, when Neopolitan had taken Urania's place. When had the lies started? When had her teammates been replaced by illusions and betrayal?

If it weren't for Apollo's final act of shooting Cinder in the back to avenge Urania — she wouldn't be here. Ruby had saved her life in the end, but Pyrrha often wondered how much of Apollo's and Urania's friendship had been real. She had known so little about Urania, despite being on the same team. And those two had always seemed just out of reach, no matter how close they stood.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Pyrrha glanced over her shoulder. Jaune was still there, quietly following her at a respectful distance, his face unreadable. It was still strange, seeing him like this — the dorky boy from Beacon who had made awkward advances at Weiss was now a hardened soldier. It was clear that he, too, had been through his own journey, and it hadn't been easy. The loss and pain he had endured were etched into the way he carried himself, the way he moved, and the way he looked at the world.

As they walked, Pyrrha spotted a small coffee shop on the corner of the street. She nodded toward it and motioned for Jaune to follow. Once inside, she ordered two cups of coffee and handed one to him, then led him to a nearby bench outside. They sat together in silence, watching the snow fall gently onto the street, only to melt into the puddles below.

"I'm sorry about ditching you with Nora and Ren," Pyrrha said after a few moments, her voice soft but sincere. "It wasn't fair to you. It was just a prank, but it was childish. We shouldn't have done that."

Jaune shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. "Don't worry about it," he said, his tone neutral but understanding. "I didn't think much of it. I get it — no one likes being followed around all the time. I'm just doing my job."

Pyrrha smiled gratefully. "Thank you for understanding. I know it can't be easy."

They lapsed back into silence, sipping their drinks, the quiet sounds of Mantle filling the space between them. Pyrrha watched the people go by, her mind wandering again. The weight of everything — their mission, the constant threat of Salem, the responsibility of being a symbol for Atlas — it was overwhelming at times.

After a long pause, Pyrrha turned to Jaune. "Are you really up for this?" she asked, her voice quiet but serious. "We're carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. If you're around us… around me… then it's only natural that you'll be dragged into it."

Jaune didn't respond right away. He stared at the coffee cup in his hands, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady. "I don't know all the details of what you're fighting for," he admitted. "But this is the mission I've been given. And I've learned that sometimes, you don't need to know every detail to do your job."

Pyrrha studied him for a moment, sensing there was more he wasn't saying. "And what do you think, personally?"

Jaune hesitated again, then took a deep breath. "It's… different from what I'm used to," he said slowly. "When I was a soldier, we were always an aggressive force — always pushing forward, always fighting. Aggressive, bold, violent. But this… this feels different. For once, I want to protect something. Even if I can't keep up with you all, at least I can offer some support."

Pyrrha watched him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn't just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. He meant it. "You're a good fighter, Jaune," she said softly. "I can see it in the way you stand, the way you move. You've been through a lot."

Jaune gave a small, sad smile. "I had an excellent teacher," he said, the weight of his words heavy with memory.

Pyrrha nodded, understanding more than he knew. The road ahead was going to be hard — she knew that. The enemy was lurking in the shadows, always waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But knowing that Jaune was there, even in this new role, was a comfort she hadn't expected.

"Then I'm glad you're with us," she said after a long pause. "It won't be easy, but… we'll figure it out somehow."

Jaune looked at her, his expression softening just a little. "Thanks, Ma'am," he said quietly. "I'll do my best."

There was another long stretch of silence as they both sipped their coffee, the warmth of the cups seeping into their hands, warding off the cold of Mantle's streets. The snow continued to fall, a quiet reminder of the fragile peace they were trying to protect.

Pyrrha glanced at Jaune again, taking in the changes in him — the maturity, the strength, the quiet determination that hadn't been there before. He had grown so much since then. It was admirable, in a way.

Jaune escorted Pyrrha back to Atlas Academy in the silence of the night. The hallways were dimly lit, a soft blue glow emanating from the hard-light fixtures that lined the corridors. It was late, and most of the academy's inhabitants had already turned in for the night. The echo of their footsteps was the only sound that accompanied them as they made their way to Pyrrha's dorm.

When they arrived, Pyrrha turned to him, a tired but appreciative smile on her face. "Thank you, Jaune," she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "For everything today."

Jaune nodded, trying not to show how stiff he felt. "Just doing my job, ma'am," he said, though the formal response felt hollow between them.

Pyrrha tilted her head, as if she was about to say something more, but then thought better of it. She simply nodded, offering him one last smile before turning and disappearing into her room. The door clicked shut, leaving Jaune standing in the empty hallway.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Ma'am," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He wasn't sure why it felt wrong, but it did. Pyrrha had been nothing but kind to him, and yet the formality he clung to like a shield felt like a wall between them — between him and everyone, really.

With nothing left to do, Jaune made his way to the docking pad. Maybe, if he was lucky, there'd be a bullhead he could catch back to Mantle. He moved quickly, hoping he wouldn't be left stranded here for the night again. But when he arrived, the pad was empty, the last bullhead already departed.

Sighing, Jaune shoved his hands into his coat pockets and leaned against one of the railings. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and the lights of Atlas City flickered below him, a sea of white and blue stretching out into the darkness. The city was so beautiful at night, but the sight did little to ease the restlessness inside him.

This was his usual spot. He came here often, mostly because sleep never came easily to him. Now, with aura coursing through his body, it was even worse. His mind never stopped racing. His body always felt ready to move, ready to fight, as if sleep was just another enemy to be conquered. He felt superhuman and now it meant he could be alone with his thoughts even more.

Someone had told him that the aura could be controlled, that with proper training, it could bring peace rather than restlessness. But he wasn't a trained Huntsman. He hadn't had the years of careful practice and meditation to hone his aura into something manageable and allow sleep. Instead, it felt like a fire burning inside him, always on the verge of consuming him. And all he could do was endure it.

He had tried studying, hoping that learning more about aura techniques might help him channel his energy. But the more he read, the more he realized how far behind he was. All the technical jargon, the deep history of aura and its connection to the soul — it was fascinating, but it felt like trying to read a book in a language he barely understood.

Leaning back against the railing, Jaune looked up at the sky. The shattered moon hung low, casting a faint glow over the world below. The stars were barely visible, their light drowned out by the ever-present glow of the city.

"Maybe I should get a glider?" Jaune muttered to himself, thinking aloud. It was a fleeting thought, one born out of the frustration of always being stuck in this place when there's no bullhead around.

Not that going back to his apartment would make him sleep, either.

He leaned back further, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the cold air wash over him. All alone, surrounded by the hum of the city, he waited for sleep that would never come.