Jaune sat in the cockpit of the Atlesian Paladin-06, the cold hum of its systems buzzing in the background as he carefully manipulated the machine's massive arms. Below him, the wreckage of Steel 1, Steel 2, and Steel 4 lay scattered, broken fragments of their once-proud Paladins twisted and bent beyond recognition. He couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment — this was the last thing he could do for them.
As the Paladin-06's claws grasped the torn remains of Steel 1, Jaune's hands trembled slightly on the controls. Carson. He remembered the man's voice, steady and calm in the chaos of battle. He could almost hear him now, barking orders, reassuring the squad, sometimes making them laugh in the face of death. Jaune clenched his jaw and focused, the metal screeching as he carefully hoisted the wreckage onto the waiting bullhead.
Next was Steel 2 — Scarlet. Fiery, determined, always with that mischievous grin. She'd curse him out if she saw the way his hands were shaking now. He forced a small smile at the thought. She wouldn't want tears, just action. "One more," he muttered to himself, guiding the last remnants of her Paladin onto the ship.
Finally, Steel 4 — Gray. His sparring partner, buddy, the one who always had a sarcastic comment ready but stood by him through thick and thin. Jaune's heart felt heavier with each piece he loaded. If he didn't have Dr. Hales upgrade, his Paladin would have been among the wreck too, but here he was, the only one left.
The bullhead's engines rumbled as the last of the wreckage was secured. Jaune stepped out of the cockpit, his muscles aching as he climbed down. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud, and he stood there for a moment, staring at the remains of his squad. His family.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice lost in the wind.
The funerals were short, somber affairs. Military honors, complete with the 21-gun salute for each fallen soldier. Jaune stood at attention as each rifle cracked through the air, the sound echoing in his bones. He was dressed in his formal Atlesian uniform, the same one he had worn when delivering the news to Sergeant Brown's parents. Now, he was burying more than just comrades… he was laying to rest the last ties to Ironwood Company and Steel Squadron. He was the last one standing. Again.
The flags were folded and handed off to the families. Jaune didn't know all of them, but he approached those he did — Scarlet's parents, Carson's brother, Gray's sister — and gave them the only thing he could. His silence, his presence. What could he say? There were no words for the weight of what had happened. No promises he could make that would ease their loss. He was alive, and their loved ones were gone. That was the only truth that mattered now.
After the final gunshots rang out and the last flag was presented, Jaune finally allowed himself to breathe. He had been holding his emotions back, staying strong because it's what they would have wanted, but the constant pressure was suffocating. There were no more missions to hide behind, no more fights to lose himself in. Just the silence of the aftermath.
Jaune then rented an apartment in Mantle. It wasn't much — just a small room with a balcony that overlooked the darkened streets below, where life continued as it always did, unaffected by the horrors of war. Mantle had its own struggles, but up here, away from the politics of Atlas and the looming threats outside the walls, it felt distant. A place to gather his thoughts.
He spent his days in relative silence, unsure of what to do with himself now that the constant demands of combat weren't pulling him in every direction. For the first time in years, there was nothing urgent. No orders. No battles. Just… stillness.
His Crocea Mors, the sword that had been with him through so much, was gone. Dr. Hales had taken it after hearing Jaune was now a Huntsman, promising upgrades. Jaune didn't argue. Command ordered it. He didn't feel attached to it the way he once had anyway. It wasn't the sword that made him a fighter anymore. He had become something else, something harder and less sentimental. But still, there was something comforting in knowing Crocea Mors would come back to him improved, stronger — just like he had to become.
He spent the hours cleaning his gear, repairing what little he could, and waiting for Dr. Hales to finish with the modifications on his sword. His Paladin, the one he'd been riding with fought in at Arrowfell, was also his to keep since no one could ride and utilize the systems Hales modded into it. He'd earned it, apparently. Atlas would maintain it, ensure it stayed functional, but it was his to command now. A part of him appreciated the gesture — a piece of Steel Squadron that survived with him.
Most days, he just sat by the window, watching the world move on. People went about their lives in Mantle, unaware of the battles Jaune had fought, the friends he had lost. Life had a strange way of continuing, even when it felt like it should stop.
Weeks passed in a blur. Jaune had little contact with anyone outside of the occasional message from Dr. Hales about the progress on his sword. He had no missions, no directives. It felt strange, the emptiness of it all. He wasn't used to having time. Time to think, time to feel.
One evening, after another long, uneventful day, his Scroll buzzed. It was a message from Dr. Hales.
"Crocea Mors is ready. Stop by when you have a moment."
Jaune stared at the message for a while before finally pulling himself off the couch. He grabbed a jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and made his way through the cold streets of Mantle.
The lab was as dimly lit and cluttered as ever. Machines whirred in the background, and the scent of oil and dust filled the air. Dr. Hales greeted Jaune with a nod.
"Arc," he said, pushing a large case across the table toward him. "Your sword."
Jaune unlatched the case and opened it. Crocea Mors lay inside, but it was different now — sleeker, more refined. The blade shimmered with a faint blue glow, and the hilt had been reinforced with new materials.
"I've integrated some of the latest tech," Hales explained, watching Jaune's reaction closely. "Hard-light functionality for the shield, dust channels in the blade to amplify its strikes. And the whole thing is stronger now — should hold up against anything you throw at it and if you flicked that switch on and turn it into a dust rifle. Could charge it with you aura or spread the shots too."
Jaune lifted the sword, feeling its weight in his hand. It was familiar, yet different. A piece of his past, upgraded to match the person he had become.
"Thanks, Doc" Jaune said, his voice quiet but sincere.
Hales waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't break it, Arc."
Jaune smirked at that. "I'll try."
The walk back to his apartment felt… different. The sword on his waist felt heavier than before, not because of its upgrades, but because of what it represented. He wasn't the same person who had wielded Crocea Mors at Beacon with hopes and dreams. That Jaune was gone, replaced by someone harder, someone who had seen too much.
When he reached his apartment, Jaune stood by the window once again, watching the city below. He unsheathed Crocea Mors, watching the blade catch the faint light of the street lamps. A symbol of who he had been, and now a tool for who he had to become.
The days of fighting as part of Steel Squadron were over, but his journey wasn't. General Ironwood's words echoed in his mind — the choices we make define us. Jaune didn't know what choices lay ahead for him, but he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't let fear or anger rule him again.
It wasn't because he was guilty or anything.
It just didn't sit right with him to be like that.
He sheathed the sword and placed it carefully on his bed. Rest. He still wasn't sure what that meant. He hadn't felt rested in a long time. But for tonight, with Crocea Mors by his side, Jaune would try.
As sleep finally claimed him, his mind drifted to the faces of Carson, Scarlet, Gray, and all the others who had fallen. Their sacrifices, their bravery — it would always be with him. Their memory would guide him forward, whatever came next.
Jaune's life had then settled into a routine of paperwork, training, and quiet reflection since his last mission for days. The transition from field operations to administrative work was an adjustment, but one he managed with surprising ease. His body may have rested, but his mind remained busy with reports, transfers, and the occasional meeting with his superiors. It felt weird. All this process when he was simply just a Huntsman. On this day, Jaune found himself seated at his desk, filling out the latest round of paperwork for his official transfer into the Huntsman ranks. It was tedious, but necessary.
Stacks of files sat beside him, a constant reminder of the responsibility he now carried. Forms for the upgrade requests, maintenance logs for his Paladin, and a few reports about his newly issued equipment from Dr. Hales.
The Atlesian power armor was a new addition that had taken some getting used to. It was an exoskeleton wore by atlas huntsmen, an effective piece of equipment designed for personal combat that they were deploying for everyone. A sleek, durable suit of armor that enhanced physical capabilities and offered increased protection, all while remaining light enough to allow him to move freely. When not in use, the armor collapsed into a compact form that attached to his belt, ready to deploy at a moment's notice. It was an incredible piece of technology, and Jaune couldn't help but admire the efficiency of it.
The calibration process, however, had been a headache. Each adjustment required precise measurements, and Jaune had to spend hours testing the system with Dr. Hales, ensuring everything was functioning correctly. The scientist had been particularly thorough, explaining the ins and outs of the armor's design while regaling Jaune with stories of how the Paladins had come to be.
"The Paladins were developed by a collaborative team of Atlesian scientists and engineers in conjunction with the Schnee Dust Company," Dr. Hales had explained during one of their sessions. He was pacing around the lab, adjusting a few monitors while speaking. "The goal was simple — create a mechanized suit that could utilize dust effectively, enhance combat performance, and withstand extreme conditions. The first prototypes were unstable, prone to malfunctions and overheating. But with the Schnee Dust Company's access to high-quality dust crystals, we were able to refine the technology and build something durable, efficient. For combat and work."
Jaune had nodded, listening as Dr. Hales continued to talk about the trials and tribulations of the development process. The man clearly had a deep connection to the project, speaking with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. It reminded Jaune of how much effort and time had gone into the tools they used, tools that most soldiers took for granted.
"Of course," Dr. Hales added, "the Paladins you've been piloting are the result of years of testing, failures, and innovations. What you've experienced out in the field—that's the culmination of all our hard work. Seeing them in action, especially with a pilot like you, makes all the difference."
Jaune had smiled at that, though his mind drifted back to the fallen members of Steel Squadron. Carson, Scarlet, Gray — they had all trusted those machines with their lives, and now they were gone. He couldn't help but wonder if there had been something more they could've done to improve the Paladins' defenses. But those thoughts always led to the same dark place, a reminder that sometimes, no amount of technology or preparation could save everyone.
The next day, Jaune found himself back in the lab, assisting Dr. Hales with another round of testing. The scientist had been working on fine-tuning the armor's interface, ensuring that it was fully compatible with Jaune's aura amplification abilities. It was a delicate process, but one that Jaune found oddly satisfying. The combination of his aura with the armor's systems made him feel more connected to his own power, like a tangible extension of his body rather than a separate tool.
"You're getting the hang of it," Dr. Hales commented as Jaune ran through another calibration cycle, moving fluidly in the suit. "The aura integration is working better than I expected. You're pushing the system to its limits, but it's holding up. That's a good sign."
Jaune grinned inside his helmet. "Thanks, Doc. Feels more responsive now. Almost like I can anticipate the next move before I make it."
"That's the idea," Hales said with a nod. "The armor's designed to work with your aura, not against it. It's meant to enhance your natural abilities, not replace them. You're starting to understand that now."
Jaune flexed his hands, feeling the surge of power that flowed through the armor as it synced with his aura. The energy was palpable, and the armor hummed softly in response. It was like a living entity, reacting to his will, his thoughts. It made him feel… powerful, but also cautious.
"You ever worry about relying too much on tech like this?" Jaune asked, breaking the silence as they continued their testing.
Dr. Hales raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… this armor, the Paladins — they're incredible, no doubt about it. But what happens if they fail? Or if we forget how to fight without them?"
Hales chuckled, his voice light but thoughtful. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Arc. That's something I've always appreciated about you soldiers. You never take anything for granted. But remember, this technology is a tool, just like your sword, your shield, or even your aura. It's only as good as the person using it."
Jaune nodded slowly. "Yeah… I guess that's true."
Dr. Hales smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Besides, from what I've seen of you, Jaune, you're more than capable of holding your own — armor or no armor. From some soldier to a Huntsman. Ain't that a story to tell? Truthfully, this version of your armor's just to pair you up better with your Paladin, make the channeling of aura much smoother. In a way, I'm making you my guinea pig again. Lot of good tech in Arrowfell, useful to us eggheads so here we are testing. You'll do great, Arc."
Jaune felt a swell of pride at the compliment, though he remained humble. "Thanks, Doc. I'll do my best."
As the day wore on, Jaune returned to his paperwork. The administrative side of his role was tedious, but it gave him a chance to catch up on everything he'd missed while out in the field. Reports had to be filed, his transfer to the Huntsman ranks finalized, and updates on the status of his equipment logged. It was a far cry from the intense battles he had grown accustomed to, but it was part of the job for now.
Still, there were moments when he found himself staring at the stack of papers, his mind drifting back to the battlefield. The sound of gunfire, the whir of Paladin servos, the screams of both friend and foe. It haunted him at times, especially in the quiet moments. But he had to push through. He had to keep moving forward.
By the end of the week, Jaune had finally finished his paperwork, submitted his reports, and received confirmation that his transfer was complete. He was officially a Huntsman now, though the title felt heavy. He wasn't sure what being a Huntsman truly meant anymore. He had dreamed of this moment once, back when he was a naïve boy trying to fake his way into Beacon. Now, after everything he had been through, the title felt… hollow.
Dr. Hales found Jaune again the following day, pulling him aside for one final test. This time, it wasn't for the armor or the Paladin. It was for Jaune himself.
"You've been through a lot, Arc," Hales said as they stood in the lab, the hum of machinery filling the air. "I've seen soldiers like you before. Strong, capable, but… worn down by the weight of it all."
Jaune looked at him, uncertain of where the conversation was heading. "I'm fine, Doc."
Hales raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who hasn't had a chance to really process what's happened. You've lost people — good people. And you've been carrying that with you."
Jaune's jaw tightened. "I have a job to do. That's all."
"I'm not saying you don't," Hales replied gently. "But you're more than just a soldier now, Jaune. You're a Huntsman now. You've got a responsibility, not just to the mission, but to yourself."
Jaune remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Hales was right, of course. He had been running on autopilot, doing what needed to be done without really thinking about the toll it was taking on him.
"You can't save everyone, Jaune," Hales said quietly. "But you can still make a difference. Just… don't lose sight of who you are in the process."
Jaune met Hales' gaze, his thoughts swirling. He had been so focused on the mission, on avenging his fallen comrades, that he hadn't stopped to think about the cost to himself. But now, standing here in the quiet of the lab, he realized that Hales was offering him something more than just advice—he was offering him a lifeline.
"Thanks, Doc," Jaune said after a long pause. "I'll try to remember that."
Hales smiled and gave him a nod. "That's all I ask. You'll be reporting to the General after tomorrow. Never let them tell you that Atlas doesn't care about their soldiers and huntsmen."
"I'll use them with pride, Doc. I don't know why the Brass's been outfitting me hard… but I'll use them well."
"We just follow orders as well, Arc. You didn't hear it from me, but I was told you're going to be protecting someone. For once, you're going to be the defender, not the attacker, Arc"
"That would be great, Doc," Jaune said.
Oddly, he was looking forward to it.