The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore filled Jaune's ears as he stood on the endless beaches of the Everafter. The two suns cast a warm golden glow over the sand, the horizon stretching infinitely in every direction. This place was both serene and strange, a world where time felt suspended and reality seemed to fold in on itself.
Jaune swung his Crocea Mors, his blade cutting through the salty air with practiced precision. Sweat trickled down his bare chest as his muscles moved with a blend of effort and repetition. His master had insisted on daily drills, honing his skills until every swing became second nature. His feet dug into the sand, grounding him as he moved through the stances his master had drilled into him endlessly.
Not far from where he trained stood a small, humble hut, constructed of driftwood and stone. It was his master's sanctuary, the place where Jaune had spent countless days and nights learning under his tutelage. The hut was adorned with small symbols, including the unmistakable Arc crest, and though Jaune had long suspected his master might be a distant relative, he had never asked outright.
Jaune exhaled, adjusting his grip on the sword. The familiar weight in his hands felt both comforting and heavy with responsibility.
"Still at it, Jaune?"
Jaune turned to see Juniper, the jackalope that often accompanied his master, bounding across the sand. The large creature's antlers glinted in the sunlight as it approached, carrying an air of mischief and serenity as well.
Behind Juniper came a figure clad in rusted armor, his gait steady despite the wear and tear of his equipment. The Rusted Knight, Jaune's master, wore a warm yet enigmatic smile beneath his weathered beard. His presence always commanded attention, his aura a mix of quiet authority and a subtle melancholy that Jaune could never quite place.
"Jaune," the Rusted Knight greeted, his voice gravelly but kind. "How's your swinging?"
Jaune rested the tip of Crocea Mors against the sand, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I keep doing this over and over, but I don't understand why. It's just... the same thing every day... for years!"
The Rusted Knight stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Muscle memory," he explained. "The body learns faster than the mind sometimes. Through repetition, it becomes natural—like breathing. One day, you'll swing without thinking, and your body will know exactly what to do. You mustn't skipped them."
Jaune frowned, his brow furrowing. "But what if I'm doing it wrong?"
The Knight's grin widened, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Then you'll learn from your mistakes, boy. Every stumble, every misstep — it all teaches you something, as long as you're willing to listen."
Jaune nodded, gripping his sword tightly again. A sudden impulse struck him, a flicker of playfulness he hadn't felt in some time. Without warning, he spun on his heel, his blade arcing through the air toward his master.
The Rusted Knight moved like water, fluid and unyielding. He raised his armored forearm, the rusted gauntlet catching the blade with ease. The clang of steel on steel rang out, but before Jaune could recover, the Rusted Knight swept his leg, sending Jaune tumbling onto his back in the sand.
"Touché," the Knight said, his grin never fading. "But you show too much before you strike. Control your intentions."
Jaune groaned, staring up at the clear blue sky. "I thought I had you for sure."
"Not today," the Knight replied, extending a hand to help Jaune up. "Come, let's take a rest."
The two of them sat near the water's edge, the lapping waves reaching just shy of their feet. The sand was cool beneath them, and the salty breeze carried a sense of calm. Juniper nestled beside Jaune, its large, warm body a comforting presence.
Jaune glanced at his master, studying the lines on his weathered face, the way his rusted armor seemed to blend with the timeless world around them.
"Master," Jaune began hesitantly, "can I ask you something?"
The Rusted Knight turned to him, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Always, boy."
"Are you... part of my family?" Jaune asked, his voice quiet but earnest.
The Knight's expression softened, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. "What makes you ask that?"
Jaune gestured to the Arc crest etched into the Knight's armor. "That. And... I don't know. Sometimes it feels like my parents trusted you so easily because of something more than just a letter. It's like they knew you."
The Knight looked out at the waves, his gaze distant. "Perhaps they did. Perhaps they didn't. What matters is that they trusted me enough to guide you here, to train you."
Jaune frowned, sensing there was more to the answer than his master was letting on. But before he could press further, the Rusted Knight placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You've come far, Jaune. Farther than most your age. Keep your questions, your doubts — they'll guide you as much as your sword. But don't let them weigh you down. The path forward is what matters most."
Jaune nodded, the weight of his master's words sinking in. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the world in hues of gold and orange, he felt a sense of peace.
The sky above the Everafter burned with hues of orange and gold, the kind of sunset that felt eternal in this surreal place.
His sword, Crocea Mors, lay at his side, its blade catching the dying sunlight in glimmers of steel. He ran his hand through the sand, letting the grains sift through his fingers before glancing at his master.
The Rusted Knight, his armor rusted but proud, sat beside him. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his expression as serene as the waves. Jaune had always admired his master's calm, an unshakable presence that somehow made this strange world feel more grounded.
"Master," Jaune began hesitantly, "how long will I be here? How long will I be training and fighting like this?"
The Rusted Knight tilted his head, considering the question. "As long as it takes, boy," he said with a small smile. "We have all the time in the world."
Jaune frowned, his brow furrowing. "But it feels like I've been here for years already."
His master's smile grew faint, almost wistful. "Perhaps you have," he said softly, gazing out at the horizon.
The answer left Jaune unsettled. He had always known the Everafter was strange, a place where time didn't seem to work the way it did in the kingdoms, but hearing his master acknowledge it felt different—more real.
"What about you?" Jaune asked after a moment of silence. "How long have you been here?"
The Rusted Knight closed his eyes, his weathered face serene as he let out a slow breath.
"Far longer than I intended," he said, his tone carrying a weight Jaune didn't fully understand.
Jaune hesitated, his curiosity warring with his reluctance to pry. "You've never really told me anything about yourself," he said finally, his voice quieter.
For a long moment, the Rusted Knight didn't respond. The only sounds were the lapping waves and the occasional cry of seabirds overhead. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with both regret and pride.
"I was once a captain in Atlas," he said, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Jaune sat up straighter, his surprise evident. "Atlas? Whoa."
The Rusted Knight chuckled at Jaune's reaction, though it was a soft, self-deprecating sound. "Don't get too excited. I wasn't much, really. Just a soldier who met some good people and fought a few battles. Fought... until the Everafter took me."
Jaune blinked, confused. "Took you?"
His master shrugged, the motion making the metal of his armor creak softly. "Perhaps that's too poetic. Let's just say I found myself here one day, like many do. And like many, I stayed."
Jaune tilted his head, studying the man who had been his guide for what felt like a lifetime. "Are you a ghost or something?" he asked with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood.
The Rusted Knight laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed across the beach. "Perhaps I am," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "A ghost of a soldier, wandering these shores until he became old."
The humor faded slightly as he continued, his voice growing softer. "I was nothing special, really. Just a man who fought and fought. But this place has a way of making you face yourself, whether you want to or not."
Jaune followed the movement of a small crab scuttling across the sand, its tiny legs carrying it toward the waves. The simple, aimless motion reminded him of his own uncertainty. "Do you think I'll end up like you?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
The Rusted Knight turned to him, his gaze steady and firm. "No," he said with certainty. "You'll be better than me."
Jaune blinked, surprised by the conviction in his master's tone.
"You've grown, Jaune," the Rusted Knight continued. "One day, you'll leave this place. You'll carry its will with you, and you'll make a difference out there, in the world beyond."
Jaune nodded, the words filling him with a strange mix of pride and apprehension. He wanted to believe them, wanted to trust in the path his master saw for him. But the weight of the unknown still lingered.
After a moment, Jaune's lips quirked into a small smile. "So, uh... do you think I'll get a cool mount like Juniper someday?"
The Rusted Knight laughed again, the sound as warm as the sun above them. "Perhaps," he said. "One day, Juniper might even come to your rescue. But you'll have Hales with you."
Jaune tilted his head in confusion. "Hales?"
The Rusted Knight's expression softened, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze. "The blacksmith is giving her a new body. But make no mistake—when you need her most, she'll be there for you. Call for her and she will come."
Jaune nodded slowly.
The waves continued to lap at the shore, and the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand.
The Rusted Knight stood slowly, his rusted armor groaning softly with the motion. He drew his sword, the weathered blade catching the fading sunlight in a muted gleam. Holding it in both hands, he turned to Jaune, his expression steady but with a flicker of anticipation in his eyes.
"Ready, Jaune?" he asked, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves.
Jaune's eyes lit up with excitement. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Crocea Mors and taking a stance, his grip firm and posture straight. "Always, Master," he replied, determination etched into his voice.
The moment Jaune stepped forward, the spar began. He lunged, his sword aiming for his master's side in a calculated thrust.
But the Rusted Knight moved effortlessly, parrying the strike with a swift, clean motion that sent Jaune stumbling forward. Before Jaune could recover, his master's knee connected with his stomach, sending him to the sand with a grunt. His aura shimmered faintly, softening the blow, but the impact still left him winded.
The Rusted Knight took a step back, his blade at the ready. "We have the same Semblance, Jaune," he said, his tone instructive yet patient. "Aura is like muscle—it can be trained and strengthened. We've been blessed with a large reserve of it, yes, but that doesn't mean we can rely on it to save us."
Jaune groaned, pushing himself to his feet. His breathing was labored, but his resolve never wavered. "Yes, Master," he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his core.
The Rusted Knight nodded in approval. "Good. I've learned how to fight without relying on it, and you will learn the same. Your aura is your shield, but it is not your crutch. Understand?"
Jaune nodded, adjusting his stance. "I understand."
"Then come," the Knight said, his blade rising to meet Jaune's.
They began again, and this time, Jaune was more careful, his movements calculated and deliberate. The clash of their blades echoed across the beach, a rhythm forming between them like a dance. Jaune thrust, parried, and dodged, only for his master to respond with precision, meeting every attack with grace and overwhelming skill.
The waves lapped at the shore in time with their strikes, the gentle sounds of the Everafter creating a surreal backdrop to their duel. The trees swayed with the wind, their leaves falling like confetti around the pair. Small creatures of the Everafter peeked out from the foliage, their curious eyes fixed on the spectacle before them.
Jaune adjusted his grip on his sword and rushed forward, swinging with newfound confidence. The Rusted Knight met him head-on, their swords locking in a clash of strength and will. For a moment, Jaune held his ground, his muscles straining against the weight of his master's blade.
"You're improving," the Rusted Knight said with a faint smile, his voice even as he pushed Jaune back a step.
"Not enough," Jaune grunted, gritting his teeth as he tried to regain the upper hand.
"Patience, boy," his master replied, his movements calm and fluid. "Growth comes with time."
Their spar continued, the two of them moving across the sand in a blur of motion and energy. The Rusted Knight's strikes were relentless but controlled, while Jaune's attacks grew sharper and more refined with each exchange.
And then, slowly, the dream began to fade.
The glow of the Everafter dimmed, the rhythmic sounds of the beach giving way to the quiet hum of the dormitory. The leaves that had danced around them dissolved into nothing, and the creatures watching from the trees vanished like shadows in the night.
Jaune woke to the faint light of dawn filtering through the window of the dorm room. He sat up slowly, the remnants of the dream still vivid in his mind. His hand brushed against something unfamiliar, and when he opened his palm, he found a single multi-colored leaf resting there.
He stared at it for a moment, a soft smile spreading across his face.
"Jaune?" Pyrrha's voice called gently, pulling him from his thoughts.
He glanced up to see her standing a few steps away, her expression warm and curious. She was already dressed for the day, her red hair tied neatly as always, her presence calm and reassuring.
"Did you get a good sleep?" she asked, her tone laced with genuine concern.
Jaune smiled faintly, tucking the leaf into his pocket. "Yeah," he replied. "I did."
"Good," she said with a small nod. "We should hurry up, though, or we'll be late for combat class."
"I'll be there in a minute," Jaune said, his voice softer now.
Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say more, but then she smiled and turned to leave. "Don't take too long," she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the adjoining room to change.
As the door clicked shut, Jaune reached for Crocea Mors, his fingers brushing the familiar hilt. He unsheathed the blade with a quiet whisper of steel and held it horizontally before him, the flat edge catching the dim light.
He paused, staring at his reflection on the polished surface. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool metal, closing his eyes.
The weight of the weapon grounded him, its presence steady and familiar. The memory of his master's voice echoed faintly in his mind, a guiding light in the fog that had clouded him lately.
"Muscle memory... patience... growth comes with time."
For weeks now, Jaune had felt off-balance, as though his center had slipped just out of reach. The responsibilities, the training, the weight of his role — it all seemed heavier than it should. He felt like a fish out of water.
But the dream, and the memory it conjured, brought him a measure of peace.
Across the room, Ren watched quietly from his bed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle tension in Jaune's shoulders. As Nora bounded forward, clearly about to make one of her signature comments, Ren placed a hand on her arm and shook his head gently.
"Not now," he whispered.
Nora tilted her head in confusion but obeyed, tiptoeing after Pyrrha without another word.
The room fell silent again, save for the muffled rustling of clothes from the other room. Jaune remained where he was, his forehead still pressed against the blade of his sword.
With a slow breath, he finally lifted his head and looked at the weapon in his hands. The reflection in the steel was no longer someone lost or unsure. Instead, he saw someone steady, someone determined.
He stood, the weight in his chest lighter now, and sheathed Crocea Mors with practiced ease.
"Find your center," Jaune murmured to himself, the words like a mantra.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like he had.
The combat class was alive with the echoes of clashing steel. The air was thick with tension and the competitive spirit of Beacon Academy's finest. Team CRDL was sprawled on the arena floor, groaning in defeat as Pyrrha stood victorious. She barely looked winded, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to her opponents' disheveled appearances.
Glynda Goodwitch, her heels clicking against the polished floor, raised an eyebrow. "Impressive, Miss Nikos, as always. Team CRDL, perhaps next time, you'll remember that coordination is key." Her tone was sharp, but there was a faint smirk at the corner of her lips.
As CRDL stumbled off the stage, Glynda addressed the rest of the class. "We have time for one more spar before the lesson ends. Who would like to volunteer?"
There was a murmur among the students, many exchanging glances but not stepping forward. Pyrrha's dominating performance had made most hesitant.
Glynda's sharp eyes fell on Blake Belladonna, who was leaning against a pillar, looking uncharacteristically exhausted. "Miss Belladonna," Glynda called, her voice slicing through the chatter. "Would you care to demonstrate your skills?"
Blake's eyes flicked up, shadows underlining her gaze. She straightened slightly, but hesitated.
Before she could respond, a voice cut through the room. "I'll fight," said a student, stepping forward with a confident grin.
Glynda turned to him, clearly displeased. "Mr. Black, I'd prefer you choose a different partner. Miss Belladonna looks—"
"I want to fight Pyrrha Nikos," Mercury interrupted smoothly, his grin widening.
The room went still. All eyes turned to Pyrrha, who blinked in surprise but nodded politely. "If that's what you'd like."
Glynda hesitated, clearly unhappy with the choice but relenting. "Very well. The arena is yours."
The match began with a burst of movement, Mercury rushing forward with speed and agility that immediately put Pyrrha on the defensive. His strikes were relentless, calculated, forcing her to block and evade rather than counter.
Pyrrha moved gracefully, her spear transforming into a sword mid-spin as she parried Mercury's rapid kicks and punches. His fluidity was unsettling; he seemed to predict her movements, always one step ahead.
The clash intensified as Pyrrha tried to regain control, but Mercury was relentless. He feinted a high kick, drawing her guard upward, then swept low with a spinning strike that nearly took her legs out. Pyrrha leaped back, her weapon reverting to its spear form as she tried to create distance.
Then, with a swift movement, Mercury managed to disarm her, Milo clattering to the ground. The class gasped, murmurs breaking out as Pyrrha's perfect composure faltered for the briefest moment.
Her green eyes narrowed. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, she reached out with her Semblance. Mercury's next attack was aimed directly at her chest, but his foot veered to the side at the last second, missing her entirely.
Pyrrha seized the opening, reclaiming her weapon in a flash and resuming her stance. But Mercury didn't attack again. Instead, he stepped back and raised his hand.
"I forfeit," he said, his grin intact but his voice unusually neutral.
The crowd erupted into confused murmurs. Pyrrha lowered her weapon slowly, her expression a mix of relief and suspicion.
As the students began to disperse, Mercury passed by Pyrrha, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I was just studying you," he said with a smirk before walking off.
Not long after, it was Jaune Arc's turn to spar. His opponent was a student from Haven Academy, a tall figure wielding a longsword similar to Jaune's own Crocea Mors.
The two stepped onto the arena, facing each other with respectful nods. Jaune's hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his expression calm and unreadable.
"Begin!" Glynda called.
The Haven student struck first, a quick, overhead slash that Jaune sidestepped with ease. He countered with a measured thrust, which was parried cleanly. The two circled each other, their blades clashing in a rhythm that drew the attention of the remaining students.
Jaune's movements were precise, almost familiar. He parried a high slash and flowed into a sweeping strike aimed at his opponent's legs. The Haven student barely dodged but left himself open, and Jaune capitalized, pivoting to knock his opponent's blade aside.
With a sudden, fluid motion, Jaune swept the student's legs out from under him, sending him to the ground. Crocea Mors was at his opponent's throat before he could recover.
"Winner: Jaune Arc," Glynda announced, her tone betraying a hint of approval.
Jaune stepped back, sheathing his sword and offering his opponent a hand up. The Haven student accepted with a sheepish grin, brushing himself off.
As Jaune walked off the stage, something caught his attention. A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of hostility. His gaze swept across the room, sharp and alert, until it landed on two unfamiliar students standing near the exit.
One of them was Mercury, who seemed amused by something. Next to him sat a young woman with medium-brown skin and striking dark-red eyes. Her light mint-green hair fell on a neat fringe, with two long locks framing her face.
Noticing Jaune's glare, the two froze under Jaune's gaze, like deers caught in headlights.
For a moment, Jaune's instincts flared. Something about them felt... wrong. His grip on Crocea Mors tightened briefly before he shook his head, forcing himself to relax.
Taking a mental note of the pair, Jaune turned away and rejoined his team.