For days, Jaune Arc had journeyed across Solitas, each step taking him closer to the heart of the nightmare that awaited at Fort Arrowfell. His Paladin, once a symbol of Atlas's military might, now looked battle-worn. The outer plating was scuffed and dented from countless encounters with the harsh landscape. Snow and ice had built up in the joints, occasionally causing it to emit a low, creaking sound with every movement. Still, despite its wear, the Paladin continued to function — thanks to Jaune's tenacity and his relentless drive to reach his destination.
The cold of Solitas wasn't just a physical challenge; it was a reminder of the isolation he felt. Alone in the wilds, surrounded by cliffs and forests that seemed to whisper of death, Jaune had plenty of time to think. But his thoughts remained singular and focused—Thornmane and the secrets of Arrowfell. The explosion at the White Fang compound, the loss of his comrades in arms, and the untold damage done to the world if Thornmane accessed Arrowfell's technology haunted him. It was no longer just about revenge. It was about stopping a catastrophe before it began.
Jaune's aura was always nearly depleted from the constant strain of travel, fighting off occasional small bands of Grimm, and the minimal repairs he had to perform on his Paladin. The Grimm seemed to sense his resolve and, for the most part, left him alone — only the occasional lone Beowolf or Ursai dared approach, quickly dispatched by a well-placed shot from his Paladin's functioning cannons.
As the days dragged on, Jaune's journey brought him through increasingly treacherous terrain. The forest eventually gave way to icy cliffs, sheer drops, and frozen rivers. At night, he would stop only long enough to gather a few supplies — meager scraps of rations and perform essential repairs on the Paladin. His mind remained focused on the task ahead, and though his body screamed for rest, Jaune pressed forward.
One night, under the broken and distant light of Remnant's shattered moon, Jaune stumbled upon an old outpost. His map showed no such place, and the structure seemed almost forgotten by time, like a remnant from an era long past. Yet, as he drew closer, something about it sparked a distant memory in him. Perhaps it was the architecture, or the weathered insignia carved into the stone — a symbol too faded to make out fully. Whatever it was, Jaune knew he had to investigate.
Cautiously, he approached, the Paladin sensors sweeping the area for any signs of life or threats. The readings showed nothing, but Jaune had learned long ago not to trust technology blindly. The outpost, small and crumbling in places, was silent. Inside, he found remnants of what had once been a functional base. There were broken terminals, depleted dust cells, and scattered data logs.
He scoured the area, rifling through the old data terminals, hoping to find some clue as to why this outpost existed. His fingers, still stiff from the cold, worked quickly, and after what felt like hours, he found something: a set of coordinates. He brought them up on his Paladin's interface, studying the location intently. Fort Arrowfell.
It was no longer a mystery. The coordinates pointed to a location deep within Solitas, one surrounded by walls so massive that they must have been built to hide something truly monstrous. According to the data logs, the fort was designed to be impenetrable, with walls towering high and entry guarded by an enigmatic "key." Jaune didn't know what the key or gate was, but he didn't give a damn. He wasn't going to sneak in with a Paladin.
A grim smile spread across Jaune's face.
He had what he needed.
Jaune's journey to Fort Arrowfell was swift, but each mile was heavier with the knowledge of what awaited him. The terrain grew more hostile the closer he came to the coordinates. The air felt thicker, more oppressive, as if the very atmosphere was warning him to turn back. Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon, swirling like an omen of death.
And then, after hours of grueling travel, Fort Arrowfell appeared on the horizon.
What was described as some abandoned shell stood active and alive with movement. Towering walls encircled the fort, with lights flickering in and out along its battlements. Figures moved behind the walls — soldiers, perhaps, or maybe something far worse. Jaune couldn't tell from this distance. He brought up the zoom on his Paladin's optics, scanning the area more closely. The movements were organized, deliberate. Arrowfell wasn't abandoned. Thornmane had managed to bring it back to life.
Jaune felt his pulse quicken. Every instinct in his body screamed that this was a place of death, a place where he might not return from. But Jaune wasn't one to back down. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
He steeled himself, exhaling slowly. His breath fogged the inside of his visor.
"I'm coming for you, Thornmane."
Jaune's Paladin hummed to life as he engaged the boosters, lifting the machine into the air. The whir of the engines drowned out everything else as he soared toward Fort Arrowfell. Below, the frozen wasteland passed by in a blur of white and gray. His destination, the towering walls of the fort, loomed closer with each second.
He didn't need a goddamn key or a gate to barge in from the sky.
"Steel 3, dropping in," he said with malice.
The soldier crouched on his perch, looking down at the chaos below. It was a strange sight — rows of Atlesian Paladin-290s standing shoulder to shoulder with Atlesian Knight-200s and uniformed Atlesian Soldiers. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder with cybernetic-armed thugs and mercenaries, all under the employ of Amoncio Glass, a man who styled himself as some kind of liberator, a revolutionary aiming to topple General Ironwood and free Atlas from the "fascist grip" of its leadership when he was just another mobster out for some Lien. Lately, the man was gone, rumors says he was done in. The soldier wasn't sure how to feel about that. He had never been the kind of guy to throw his weight behind lofty ideals or political causes — he just did his job, got paid, and went home.
That's what it was all about, right? Getting paid. Everyone down there, from the Atlesian tech to the grimy thugs, was here for the money, regardless of whatever reasons Thornmane or Glass spouted. The Sawblade Tanks sat idle, their monstrous forms bristling with weapons. Jumping Bug Robots, their sleek forms crouched, ready to pounce at any threat. Gun Drones hovered silently in the air, while Shield Robots stood by, waiting to provide cover fire if necessary.
The soldier adjusted his optics, scanning the horizon as he chewed on a piece of stale gum. He didn't much care for Thornmane or his rhetoric, but the man had power—enough to mobilize a force like this, anyway. His orders were simple and that was to hold the fort, keep an eye out for any unwanted visitors. According to the latest intel, some group of Huntresses might try to crash the party, but he doubted it. No one in their right mind would charge into a fortress like this, surrounded by walls, robots, and firepower that could level a city.
The soldier sighed, leaning back against a metal post. He had been up there for hours, just waiting, doing nothing. The worst part about any mission was the waiting. Thornmane's soldiers below looked bored too —shuffling about, talking amongst themselves, aware that they were nothing but pawns in someone else's game and all they needed to do was obey and get paid. The air was cold, biting through his uniform, but he didn't mind. The cold kept him sharp, kept him awake.
He blinked, scanning the sky again. Something caught his eye. A flash of blue light.
He squinted, zooming in on the form, cutting through the sky like a streak of light, moving far too fast to be one of theirs. His pulse quickened. What the hell was that?
"Command, this is Outpost Seven. Do we have a Paladin coming in from the air? It's... It's flying," he called, his voice a mix of confusion and unease.
There was a brief crackle on the radio, the operator on the other end sounding just as confused as he was. "Negative, Outpost Seven. We don't have any air units inbound. Get back to your post."
The soldier's heart rate spiked. Something wasn't right. He adjusted his optics, zooming in on the blue light. The figure grew larger, descending rapidly from the sky. It wasn't just flying — it was moving with precision, intent. A sleek, deadly form encased in blue light, and it was coming straight for the fort.
Before he could warn the others, the Paladin landed in the center of the compound with a force that rattled the ground beneath him. The soldier flinched, his heart racing in his chest as he watched the light-clad figure stand, its presence radiating an eerie calm before the storm. Then a pale yellow glow from the Paladin illuminated the area, casting long shadows over the fort.
For a split second, the fort was silent. Everyone below stared at the intruder, trying to process what they were seeing.
And then the Paladin engaged.
It was chaos. Absolute chaos.
The first strike came before the Atlesian forces even knew what hit them. The Advanced Paladin dashed forward, its movements a blur of light and speed. A group of Atlesian Soldiers were turned into red mist, their bodies exploding from the force of the attack before they even had time to raise their weapons.
The soldier's mouth went dry as panic gripped his chest. "Holy shit…"
The Sawblade Tanks reacted immediately, their turrets swiveling to target the attacker. Gunfire erupted, the tanks unleashing a barrage of bullets, but the pale yellow glow around the Advanced Paladin shimmered, deflecting every attack as if they were nothing more than raindrops against a steel wall.
"It's... It's bouncing the attacks off!" The soldier screamed into his radio, his voice cracking with disbelief. His mind raced. How was this even possible? Nothing they had could touch this thing. "It's Aura damn it! It's using fucking Aura!"
Before he could process it, the Advance Paladin zipped across the compound, moving too fast for the naked eye to follow. Another Paladin-290, stationed near one of the tanks, was suddenly skewered through its cockpit by the intruder's melee armament. The Advanced Paladin ripped its arm free and dashed to the next target, leaving behind a trail of devastation.
The soldier's hands shook. He tried to stay low, to stay unnoticed, but everywhere he looked, the Advanced Paladin was there, tearing through their defenses with inhuman precision. It wasn't just powerful — it was merciless, efficient, and unstoppable.
Panic set in. Some of the Atlesian soldiers below tried to regroup, rallying around the Gun Drones and Shield Robots, but it didn't matter. The towering blue blur of death was upon them in an instant, cutting through the automated defenses as if they were paper. Sparks flew, metal screamed, and the fort's defenses crumbled.
"I... I gotta get out of here…" The soldier turned, his legs trembling as he bolted for the nearest exit. His mind was a blur of fear, every instinct telling him to run as fast as he could to escape the carnage unfolding below.
But it was too late.
The Advanced Paladin saw him.
In a heartbeat, the Paladin zipped to his location, moving so fast that the soldier barely had time to register what was happening. He felt a cold, metallic grip around his body—a vice-like grip that squeezed the air out of his lungs. The pressure increased, his bones creaking under the force.
The soldier gasped, his vision darkening as pain flooded his senses. The last thing he saw was the Advance's Paladin's visor glowing with an ominous red hue, the remnants of blood smeared across its armor, reflecting the pale light of the shattered moon above.
Then, with a flick of its arm, the Paladin crushed him like a can and threw him aside, his body sailing through the air like a broken doll.
As the soldier's body slammed into the cold, unforgiving ground, his final thought wasn't of duty or loyalty or the cause he had fought for. His last, fleeting thought was of the relentless, blood-smeared machine, standing amidst the chaos, its form glowing in the shattered moon's moonlight, its guns howling as it tore the fort apart.
Darkness then swallowed him whole.
Bram Thornmane sat in the command center of Fort Arrowfell, his brow furrowing as he stared at the growing chaos on the monitors. The walls shook with the impact of explosions and gunfire, the screens flashing red with warning indicators, and the base was ablaze with motion. Thornmane barely reacted. His icy, calculating demeanor remained, though a hint of disbelief flickered behind his sharp eyes as the slaughter unfolded.
"An Advanced Paladin using aura?"
He leaned forward, adjusting the tactical display. The blue form moved across the screen like a phantom, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. His lips curled into a thin line as he recognized the Advanced Paladin tearing through his soldiers.
"That one... survived," he muttered to himself, a flicker of annoyance coloring his voice. He had sent Huntresses, soldiers, thugs, and mercenaries to remove any threat to his plans — yet here it was, alive and well, tearing apart the Fort he had fortified so carefully. He tapped a control, zooming in on the Advanced Paladin as it sliced through another squad of his men, leaving only red mist and gore where they had stood moments before.
Thornmane shook his head slowly. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd planned everything meticulously, positioned his pieces perfectly, anticipating every move of Ironwood's forces and the Huntsmen. But one thing had slipped through — a survivor.
And now that survivor had come for him because he had gotten sloppy. First Amoncio Glass and Hanlon Fifestone got done in by some Rookie Students, and now this monster's tearing through them.
Thornmane leaned back in his chair, the flickering screens reflecting off his dark eyes. He wasn't a man who panicked easily, but something about this particular Paladin unsettled him. It moved with a purpose that went beyond mere orders — this was personal. Whoever was inside that Paladin was driven by something more than duty or orders.
The intercom crackled to life as one of his subordinates, voice trembling, called in.
"Sir, the Advanced Paladin... it's cutting through everything. We've already lost our squads, and the Sawblade Tanks are barely slowing it down! Should we pull back? We're losing men fast!"
Thornmane sighed, massaging his temples. "No. Engage with everything we have. I want this Paladin reduced to scrap metal, and I don't care how many it takes."
He terminated the transmission before the panicked soldier could respond. Thornmane's fingers danced across the controls, pulling up more data on the Paladin. His eyes scanned the screen, absorbing every detail. The pale yellow glow, the way it bounced off incoming fire, the speed at which it moved — it was unlike any Paladin he had encountered before.
And then the display zoomed in on the pilot.
Blond hair, blue eyes, a cold, hardened expression. Thornmane narrowed his eyes, staring at the pilot's face, trying to place it. Recognition dawned slowly.
"Second Lieutenant Jaune Arc of Steel Squadron..."
He hissed the name like a curse. Arc — one of the soldiers from the plan he had deemed inconsequential. Thornmane had sent his forces to remove any lingering threats, and it appeared that Jaune Arc had not only survived but thrived. A smirk tugged at the corners of Thornmane's lips.
"A survivor, huh?" he muttered. "I underestimated you."
His fingers hovered over the comms, ready to give the order for an all-out attack, when something caught his eye. The display blinked, and then, as if summoned by the thought, Jaune Arc's face appeared on the screen.
The pilot's eyes were filled with a burning, quiet rage. A rage that Thornmane had seen before — the kind of rage that drove men to do the impossible.
"You're really here," Jaune said, his voice flat, cold. "Thanks for confirming."
Before Thornmane could respond, the screen went black.
Jaune had cut the line.
Thornmane's heart skipped a beat. That look in Jaune's eyes... It wasn't fear, nor desperation. It was determination — the kind of determination that would tear through anyone and anything to achieve its goal.
The walls of the command room shook again as another explosion rocked the fort. Thornmane clenched his fists, his cool demeanor starting to crack. He had thought himself untouchable, sitting in his fortified base, surrounded by his soldiers and machines. But this Jaune Arc was proving to be more than just a nuisance.
Thornmane's mind raced. He needed to stop this Paladin, and quickly. Panic crept in as he watched Jaune's Paladin zip across the compound, its blue light leaving trails of destruction. His soldiers were being torn apart, the automated defenses crumbling under the relentless assault. Even the Sawblade Tanks — which Thornmane had considered strong were being dismantled like toys.
Desperation clawed at Thornmane's chest. He wasn't going to die here. He refused to. Not until he put Ironwood down.
"Get me the orb," he growled.
His subordinates scrambled to follow his orders, retrieving the black, pulsating sphere that sat in the corner of the command room. Thornmane stared at it, his fingers twitching with unease. This was supposed to be a last resort, something he had hoped to avoid using. But with the Paladin and its pilot bearing down on him, it seemed there was no other choice.
Thornmane grasped the orb with both hands, feeling the unnatural energy pulse beneath his skin. It thrummed with a dark power, a power that had been locked away for centuries—until he had found it.
With a sharp breath, Thornmane focused on the orb, channeling his thoughts into its depths.
The Grimm would come.
They would answer.
The fort trembled as the orb's energy surged, sending a wave of dark power into the surrounding area. Thornmane grinned, his eyes alight with madness as he felt the call of the Grimm echo through the land.
They would come. They would stop this madman.
They had to.
From the monitors, Thornmane saw them — Grimm emerging from the shadows, answering the call. Beowolves, Sabyrs, Nevermores, and more, converging on the fort from all directions. The sky darkened as the horde gathered, their red eyes glowing with hunger.
Thornmane leaned back in his chair, his breathing steadying as the Grimm poured into the fort. The Paladin may have torn through his soldiers, but it wouldn't survive the full force of the Grimm.
"This is the end for you, Jaune Arc," Thornmane whispered to himself. "You may have survived the ambush, but you won't survive this."
He watched with growing satisfaction as the Grimm flooded the compound, overwhelming the remaining defenses. They swarmed the Paladin, their claws and fangs slashing at the armored suit, trying to tear it apart.
Thornmane allowed himself a moment of triumph. The Grimm were relentless, unstoppable. Jaune Arc couldn't possibly defeat them all.
But then, Thornmane's eyes widened in disbelief.
The Paladin — bathed in blue light hued with red — moved faster, more ferocious. It cut through the Grimm like they were nothing, its cannons roaring, its blades flashing in the moonlight. The swarm was being shredded, their bodies disintegrating under the sheer power of Jaune's assault.
The Grimm couldn't stop him.
Thornmane's heart raced. He had summoned every ounce of power at his disposal, and still, Jaune Arc was coming for him.
"No," Thornmane whispered, his hands trembling. "No, this can't be—"
The door to the command room buckled under a tremendous force.
Arc was here.
Bram Thornmane barely had time to react as the door to the command room exploded inward, twisted steel and debris scattering across the floor. His heart pounded as he stared at the figure looming in the entryway — the Advanced Paladin, its armor smeared with blood and grime. A haunting blue and red light radiated from its frame, casting eerie shadows across the walls.
Thornmane stumbled backward, his legs shaking beneath him. He had called in every reinforcement, unleashed the Grimm from the orb, thrown everything he had at the pilot… but none of it had mattered.
The Paladin stepped forward, each movement precise, deliberate. Thornmane's remaining guards — the few who had managed to survive the onslaught rushed to defend their leader, but the pilot inside the Paladin moved like a predator. The twin 36mm cannons roared, reducing them to mist before they could even raise their weapons. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and Thornmane could feel the heat of the cannon fire on his face.
Panic surged through him, twisting his insides. He had built this fortress, fortified it with the best Atlas had to offer and more, and yet, here he was—helpless in the face of a single soldier.
"Ironwood's dogs," Thornmane spat, bile rising in his throat. "They made you well, didn't he? A good little soldier, a killer—nothing but a puppet!"
But the Paladin said nothing. Its massive frame loomed closer, crushing Thornmane's carefully constructed reality with every step. The machine exuded a cold aura of death. It was no longer a tool of war — it was vengeance given form.
Thornmane could feel his legs trembling beneath him, his pride shattered along with the walls of Fort Arrowfell. The pilot's gaze—blue eyes glaring through the cockpit—bore down on him with a terrifying finality. This was no mere attack. It was judgment.
"Why?" Thornmane shouted, desperation rising. "How did you survive?! You should have died with the rest of your pathetic squad!"
Still, no answer came. The Paladin was silent, its cannons trained on him, the blue glow intensifying to a full red as if it was absorbing the very atmosphere around them. Thornmane tried to move, tried to scramble for cover, but before he could act, the Paladin's cannons fired—two deafening shots.
The 36mm rounds tore through his aura defenses like they were paper, shattering the protective field around him. Thornmane screamed, the force of the impact sending him crashing into the far wall. His aura was broken, and pain shot through his body as he collapsed onto the cold steel floor.
He barely had time to process the agony before the Paladin was on him again. Its massive arm raised, the melee armament deployed. The razor-sharp blade came down with brutal precision, slicing through his legs with the sickening sound of tearing flesh and bone. Thornmane's scream echoed through the command center, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pain. His vision blurred, his world reduced to a single point of agony.
"NO!" Thornmane howled, his voice ragged, hoarse. "You can't do this!I—"
The Paladin didn't hesitate. It stomped forward, its blood-smeared chassis gleaming under the shattered moonlight streaming in through the windows. Jaune Arc was no longer just the pilot inside the machine—he had become the embodiment of the unrelenting force that had hunted Thornmane across the land.
The command center, once Thornmane's fortress of control, had become his tomb.
Thornmane felt a crushing weight press down on him, pinning him to the floor. The Paladin had its hand around him now, its massive mechanical fingers crushing his chest, breaking ribs with a single squeeze. Thornmane's breaths came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming pain swallowing him whole.
Through the cockpit window, he could see Jaune Arc — the cold rage in his eyes, the quiet intensity that made Thornmane realize, in that moment, just how insignificant he was to the man who stood before him.
"Please," Thornmane wheezed, blood pooling in his mouth. "You don't understand... It was Ironwood... he—"
Jaune's voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold, emotionless. "I don't care. You killed my friends."
The Paladin tightened its grip, the pressure becoming unbearable. Thornmane tried to scream, but his lungs were collapsing under the strain. His world spun, and in his last moments, he realized that no matter what he had planned, no matter what he had schemed — he had never stood a chance against the fury of one determined man.
Team RWBY moved silently through the dark halls of Fort Arrowfell after they emerged from the Gate, their weapons drawn and ready. The air was thick with the smell of blood and burning metal, an oppressive weight pressing down on them as they pushed deeper into the facility. Ruby led the way, her silver eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, as they made their way through the eerie silence.
Weiss grimaced as she stepped over the broken remains of an Atlesian Knight-200, its metal frame twisted and torn apart as though it had been shredded by a wild animal. "This is... brutal," she whispered, her voice filled with unease.
Blake nodded, her Faunus ears twitching beneath her bow as she took in the carnage around them. "It's not just Grimm. This was done by something or someone extremely dangerous."
Yang clenched her fists, her knuckles cracking as she glanced down at the remains of a shattered Paladin. "Whoever it was, they didn't hold back. Look at this... everything's been destroyed. Machines, people, everything."
Ruby swallowed hard, her grip tightening on Crescent Rose as they continued forward. The floor beneath them was slick with blood, and the metallic stench made it difficult to breathe without gagging. They had been in tough situations before, but this felt different. The scale of the slaughter — the precision of the destruction made her skin crawl.
As they rounded a corner, they saw the walls of the command center ahead, doors blown open, twisted into jagged shapes. Ruby stopped and raised her hand, signaling the others to halt. She activated her comms and spoke quietly.
"Lt. Harper, we're inside Fort Arrowfell. There's... no resistance, but there's something else here. It's a massacre."
Lt. Harper's voice crackled over the line, filled with concern. "Copy that, Rose. Hold your position. I'll inform General Ironwood immediately. Stay on standby, and don't engage until we know more."
The comms went silent, and Team RWBY exchanged uneasy glances. They had expected to find a fight, to face off against Grimm or enemy soldiers, but what they found instead was something out of a nightmare. The walls were painted with blood, broken bodies scattered like discarded toys.
Ruby took a deep breath and motioned for them to move forward.
"Let's see what's inside."
They entered the command center cautiously, weapons at the ready. The sight that greeted them stopped them in their tracks. An Advanced Paladin, massive and imposing, sleek and deadly, stood at the center of the room, its frame caked with blood and gore. In its grip was the crushed body of Bram Thornmane, his legs cut off, arms twisted and broken, his chest a ruined mess of bone and flesh.
Ruby's stomach churned as she looked at the scene. Thornmane's face was frozen in a twisted expression of agony, and the sight of it made her feel cold inside. She had seen death before, but never like this. Never so brutal, so personal.
Blake's hand tightened on Gambol Shroud, her eyes wide with shock. "Who... who could have done this?"
Before anyone could answer, the sound of boots echoed from behind them. They turned to see General Ironwood, flanked by three Atlesian soldiers, stepping into the room. His expression was grim as he took in the carnage, but there was something else in his eyes — something deeper. A recognition.
Ironwood's eyes fixed on the Paladin standing in the center of the room. "So that's him," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Ruby looked up at the Paladin, her heart racing. "General... what's going on? Who did this? Do you know this?"
Ironwood raised a hand, stopping her. "Stand down, Team RWBY. Let me handle this."
He stepped forward, addressing the Paladin in a commanding voice while also drawing his pistols just in case. "Soldier, report."
For a moment, the Paladin didn't move, its hulking frame standing motionless in the center of the room. Then, slowly, it began to shift, the blood-smeared metal groaning as it turned to face Ironwood.
The Paladin lowered itself to one knee, the ground shaking beneath the weight of its armor. The cockpit opened with a hiss, and a figure emerged — blonde, blue-eyed, and battle-worn. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his armor battered and scarred. He stood tall, despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
Ruby's breath caught in her throat.
"Jaune?" she whispered, recognizing the first friend she made in Beacon.
Jaune snapped a crisp salute, his expression stone-cold as he faced General Ironwood.
"Second Lieutenant Jaune Arc, former Paladin Operator of Ironwood Company and Steel Squadron, reporting in."
Ironwood studied him carefully, his face unreadable. "You survived. I was informed that Steel Squadron... was MIA."
Jaune nodded. "Yes, sir. I did."
The room was silent, the weight of the moment heavy on everyone. Ruby and the others stood frozen, barely recognizing the man in front of them. He was a far cry from the awkward, bumbling, dorky boy they had known briefly at Beacon's initiation. This Jaune was hardened, a soldier who had seen hell and lived to tell the tale.
Weiss squinted, her eyes flickering with recognition. "That's… isn't that?"
Jaune Arc didn't turn to acknowledge them. His focus remained on Ironwood, his posture rigid, his face set in an expression of unwavering determination.
Ironwood's gaze drifted to the surrounding room — the broken machines, the bodies, the blood. "Did you do this, Lieutenant?"
Jaune's voice was steady. "Yes, sir. Thornmane is dead. The fort is secure."
Ironwood's eyes darkened, and for a moment, something unreadable flashed across his face. He looked at Jaune, not just as a soldier, but as something else — a reflection of something inside himself, a ghost of what he could have been.
Ironwood raised a hand to his forehead and saluted Jaune.
"You've been through hell, soldier," Ironwood said, his voice low but commanding. "Report to Command for debriefing. We'll discuss your... actions later."
Jaune nodded sharply, then turned and climbed back into his Paladin, the cockpit closing around him with a hiss. The massive machine rose to its feet and began to move toward the exit, leaving the command center behind.
As Jaune Arc disappeared from view, Ruby let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She looked up at Ironwood, her mind swirling with questions. But before she could speak, Ironwood turned to her and the rest of Team RWBY, his expression stern.
"You're dismissed. Return to the airship and prepare for extraction."
Ruby hesitated, glancing at the scene around them. "General, what happened here? Why did he—"
Ironwood cut her off with a raised hand. "This is has become a complicated mission, Ms. Rose. You've done your part. Now let me do mine."
As they turned to leave, Ruby heard Ironwood mutter something under his breath, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
"I almost forgot... I could have become a monster, lost in emotions." His voice wavered, something about the sight of the slaughter unsettling him deeply. "I would have been like this... what the hell have I been doing?"
The words lingered in the air as they walked away.