Jaune stared at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his formal Atlesian uniform. The white double-breasted coat was crisp and pristine, its silver buttons gleaming under the dim light of the barracks. Dark blue accents outlined the jacket, matching the trousers that were neatly tucked into his polished black boots. A red tie sat snug around his neck, contrasting sharply against the red dress shirt beneath the coat. Every detail was immaculate, but it felt wrong to him.
He had been wearing his armor and helmet that seeing himself dress like this felt strange..
This wasn't a moment of pride.
This wasn't the uniform he wanted to wear today.
He'd rather face off hundreds of Grimm than do this... but he had to.
How could he dare not to?
But he had asked for this.
Normally, it would have been a different officer.
But this was something that he had to do.
He took a deep breath, pulling on the dark blue belt, its silver buckle heavy on his waist. His scroll buzzed softly on the table beside him, a reminder of the duty that awaited him outside. It wasn't a duty he had ever prepared for, not like the combat missions, or the drills, or the endless training exercises.
This was different.
He had to deliver the news to Sergeant Brown's family.
Jaune had fought alongside Sgt. Brown, bled in the same battles, and now, he was the one who had to stand in front of Brown's parents and tell them that their son was never coming home.
As he secured the final button on his coat, Jaune glanced at his reflection one last time. He didn't feel ready. But he knew he never would be.
The drive around Mantle was long and quiet. The snow-covered streets were as cold as the weight in Jaune's chest. His mind wandered, replaying the last moments he had spent with Brown, the way his voice had commanded respect, his unwavering calm in the midst of chaos despite the Grimm coming at them like a tidal wave of darkness. Brown had been more than just a soldier; he was the glue that held their squad together. Without him, Jaune wasn't sure how they'd managed to survive.
He could still recall it through the glass of the escape pod.
Ironwood Company's last stand as if saying 'no' to the darkness trying to extinguish on their light.
The notification team protocol was clear: arrive at the home of the next-of-kin as quickly as possible. In the age of scrolls and communication, the news of a soldier's death could easily spread through unofficial channels, robbing families of the dignity of being informed properly. But despite their efforts, Jaune knew that sometimes, the family had already heard the news before the notification team could reach them.
He hoped that wasn't the case today.
As the transport pulled up in front of a modest home in Mantle's residential district, Jaune took another deep breath. He stepped out into the biting cold, his boots crunching in the snow as he made his way to the front door. His heart pounded in his chest, the familiar sting of guilt twisting in his gut. He didn't understand why. He had been feeling less human, numbed to death, but yet here he was shaking on his boots.
He raised his hand and knocked.
A few moments passed before the door creaked open, and a man with graying hair stepped onto the porch, his face weathered but kind. Jaune straightened his posture, swallowing the lump in his throat as he prepared to deliver the news.
"Good Morning, sir. I'm Second Lieutenant Jaune Arc, with the Atlesian Army," Jaune said, his voice steady, though he felt anything but.
The man's face lit up in recognition, and Jaune's heart dropped as the man extended a hand. "Oh! I have a son in the Army!" he said proudly, with a warm smile that made Jaune's stomach churn.
He doesn't know.
Jaune's composure faltered for a split second, but he quickly recovered, shaking the man's hand. "Sir, may I come inside?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.
The man, still smiling, called into the house, "Honey, put the dog in the kennel. A soldier from the Atlesian Army are here to see us!" He motioned for Jaune to enter, and Jaune's eyes darted around the small living room, taking in the pictures on the walls—family photos, some of Brown as a child, and a few of him in uniform, his proud smile mirrored in the man who had greeted him at the door.
The man turned back to Jaune. "That's my son's dog," he said, motioning to the kennel in the corner. "He loved that dog. Used to take him on all kinds of adventures when he was home, but he asked me to care of it for him while he's out there!"
Jaune's throat tightened. He glanced at the photos again, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he was about to say.
The man's wife entered the room, holding a carton of ice cream. "I'll be there in a minute, just need to put this away," she said cheerfully, unaware of the storm that was about to hit.
Jaune's hands trembled at his sides as he stood in the living room, trying to find the words he had rehearsed a dozen times in his mind. But no matter how many times he had prepared for this moment, nothing could make it easier.
The man continued to talk about his son, about how he was working to get stationed closer to Mantle so they could see him more often. Jaune's heart broke a little more with every word.
When the wife finally joined them, Jaune took a deep breath, bracing himself for the hardest part of the job.
"The Secretary of the Atlesian Army has asked me to share with you his deepest regrets," Jaune began, his voice low but steady. "Sergeant Brown died honorably while serving his country."
The room fell into a heavy silence. The smile on the man's face faded as the words sank in. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his wife's expression crumpled in confusion and pain.
"He... he died?" the wife whispered, her voice shaking as she clutched at her husband's arm.
Jaune nodded slowly. "He was a brave man. He kept his squad together through the worst of it. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for him. I thought... it was right for me to deliver the news myself-"
Tears welled up in the father's eyes, and Jaune felt his own vision blur. The weight of his words, of the loss they carried, was almost too much to bear.
"It was my fault," Jaune said, his voice cracking. "I wasn't strong enough to save him. I—"
"Don't you dare," the father interrupted, his voice firm despite the tears streaming down his face. "Don't you dare blame yourself. My son's legacy lives through you. He would have wanted you to keep fighting. Don't say that... please."
Jaune blinked away his tears, trying to compose himself. But the pain in his chest was too much. He had failed. He hadn't been strong enough to save Brown, the man who had pulled him out of death's grasp more than once.
The mother sobbed into her hands, her grief raw and overwhelming.
The father, his face etched with sorrow, looked Jaune in the eye and asked, "How did my son die?"
Jaune swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper as he replied, "He died a hero, sir. He held the line, fought to the very end to protect his men. He saved lives. He saved mine."
The father nodded, his expression a mix of pride and devastation. "That's enough for me," he said quietly.
Jaune felt the last of his strength give way as he sat there in the silence of the living room, surrounded by pictures of a man who had given everything for his brothers-in-arms. His own tears flowed freely now, no longer able to hold back the pain and guilt that had been festering inside him since the moment Brown had fallen.
As Jaune left the house and stepped back into the cold Mantle air, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over the snow-covered streets, but Jaune didn't feel its warmth.
The image of Brown's parents, broken and grieving, stayed with him as he walked back to the transport vehicle. He had done his duty, delivered the message with as much respect and honor as he could muster, but it didn't feel like enough.
Nothing ever would be.
As he climbed into the vehicle, Jaune stared at his hands, still shaking slightly from the emotion of the notification. Brown's voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of the strength and resilience he had shown time and time again in the face of adversity.
"Keep going," Jaune whispered to himself as he wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath.
He had more news to give.
The Casualty Assistance Office had already been informed that the notification was completed. Jaune had made the call himself, his voice steady but emotionless, as if some part of him had detached from reality just to get through the task. The formalities were necessary, and the paperwork was all in order. But how could any of that possibly ease the pain he had just witnessed?
There were more families to see. More parents to look in the eye and break their hearts. Ironwood Company had lost too many. And Jaune was the one left to carry their last messages.
He wiped his eyes, willing the tears to stop. There was no time to break down, no space for his emotions right now. The day had only begun, and there were more doors to knock on.
The next house Jaune approached was smaller, tucked away in a quieter corner of Mantle. It belonged to Mint's family — a mother and two younger brothers. Harker had been one of the younger members of Ironwood Company, barely out of basic training, full of energy and optimism. Jaune could still hear his laugh in his head, still remember the way Mint had joked about finally getting to be a "real soldier." and his tastes..
Now Jaune had to tell his family that Mint would never come home.
He knocked on the door, his breath misting in the cold air. A woman in her mid-forties answered, her face lined with age and worry, though she smiled politely when she saw Jaune in his Atlesian uniform. She ushered him in, calling to her boys to say they had a visitor.
Jaune stood in their small living room, taking in the modest surroundings. Family photos lined the walls, and there was a sense of warmth in the room, despite the weight of the news he carried. The two younger boys — probably no older than ten — peeked around the corner, curious but cautious.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," Jaune began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm Second Lieutenant Jaune Arc, with the Atlesian Army."
The mother's smile faltered, and her eyes darted between Jaune and the boys. She seemed to know immediately that this wasn't a casual visit.
"Is... is it about Mint?" she asked, her voice already beginning to tremble.
Jaune nodded slowly, his heart sinking. "Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid I'm here to deliver some difficult news."
The boys shuffled into the room, their eyes wide as they clung to their mother's side. Jaune could feel the lump in his throat growing, but he pushed forward.
"The Secretary of the Atlesian Army has asked me to share with you his deepest regrets..."
He continued, reciting the words he had already said too many times today, but each time it hurt just as much. He told her how Mint had fought bravely, how he had been a valued member of the team, how they had all looked up to him despite his young age. But in the end, the details didn't matter. Nothing he could say would change the fact that her son was gone.
The mother's knees buckled, and she sank into a nearby chair, her face pale and blank. Her boys stared up at Jaune, confused, not fully understanding what was happening. One of them tugged at his mother's sleeve, asking, "Where's Mint, Mom? When's he coming back?"
She couldn't answer. She just sobbed, her hands covering her face.
Jaune felt his chest tighten again, and for a moment, he wanted to drop to his knees and cry with them. But he couldn't. He had to stay strong, even if it tore him apart inside.
It was dark by the time Jaune visited the last family on his list. He had delivered the same news three times already, and with each visit, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. Each house was different—some had been prepared for the worst, while others had been caught completely off guard. Rumple's family didn't take it lightly and lashed out at Jaune, and he stood in front of them and allowed them to bruise his face until they calmed down.
The pain, the grief, was always the same.
The final house belonged to Humpty's family. Turns out Humpty had been a father himself, leaving behind a wife and two small children. He did notice some signs, but never truly connected how he'd have someone to cherish. As Jaune knocked on the door, he prayed to the Brothers for the strength to get through this one last time.
The door opened, and a young woman with tired eyes answered. Her face brightened when she saw Jaune, but then immediately darkened when she noticed the solemn expression he wore.
"Sir," she greeted, her voice soft. "Is this about my husband?"
Jaune nodded. "Yes, ma'am. May I come in?"
She stepped aside, allowing Jaune into the small, cluttered living room. Toys were scattered across the floor, and in the corner, a toddler sat playing with blocks. An infant was sleeping in a bassinet nearby, completely unaware of the world-changing news that was about to be delivered.
Jaune took a deep breath and began the same speech he had recited all day. He explained how Humpty had fought bravely, how he had been a good man, a good soldier, how he had saved lives in the line of duty. He tried to convey the respect and admiration everyone in Ironwood Company had for Humpty, but he knew no words could truly capture the man's spirit.
The young woman cried softly, tears streaming down her face as she held her sleeping infant. She didn't say much — just nodded occasionally, as if she had already known this day would come, as if she had been bracing herself for it since the moment Humpty had left for Vacuo.
When Jaune finished, she wiped her tears and looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. "Thank you," she whispered. "For telling me. For being here."
Jaune stood there for a moment, feeling helpless. He had no idea what to say next. He had done his duty, but that didn't make the pain any easier to bear.
"If there's anything you need, ma'am, anything at all, please let us know," Jaune offered, his voice soft.
The woman smiled weakly. "We'll be okay. I'll make sure the kids know how brave their dad was."
Jaune swallowed hard, nodding. "He was a hero, ma'am."
When Jaune finally left the last house, he was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. His eyes stung from the tears he had tried to hold back, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of all the grief he had witnessed today.
He climbed back into the transport vehicle, staring out at the snow-covered streets of Mantle as the driver started the engine. The city was quiet, almost peaceful, but Jaune knew that peace had come at a great cost. So many lives lost. So many families shattered.
As the transport pulled away, Jaune leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. He had done his duty. He had delivered the news with as much care and respect as he could muster. But that didn't make it any easier.
The tears finally came, silent and steady, as the weight of the day's events crashed down on him. He had lost more than just comrades today. He had lost friends, brothers-in-arms, men who had fought beside him, who had saved his life more than once.
And now, all that was left was the memory of their sacrifice, and the promise to carry on in their name.
Back at base, Jaune made his final report to the Casualty Assistance Office, detailing the notifications he had made throughout the day. The paperwork was routine, but the emotions behind it were anything but. Every name he wrote down, every family he had visited, felt like another weight on his chest.
When the report was complete, Jaune left the office and headed to his private quarters in the base, his steps slow and heavy. The day had taken its toll, and all he wanted now was to collapse into bed and shut out the world for a while.
But even as he lay down, the faces of the families he had visited haunted him. The grief, the pain, the tears—they were all etched into his mind, a reminder of the cost of war.
Jaune stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting back to Sergeant Brown, to Mint, Rumple, to Humpty, to all the soldiers of Ironwood Company who had given their lives. He had done his best to honor them today, but it still didn't feel like enough.