Jaune scampered down the stairs, careful to not knock any other steps loose. Whatever beast had made that roaring breath must have been massive indeed. Jaune made it to the bottom of the stairs without causing another major disturbance. The great hall was someone even more impressive from ground level than it was from the top of the stairs. A dual row of pillars stretched from the floor up some several dozen meters, supporting the massive arched roof. Under it lay a wide open and flat floor, scattered and littered with shattered glass and stone. The evidence of a set of chandeliers and statues that were once here. One the sides, some of the largest staircases Jaune had ever seen led up to the second, third, fourth and fifth floors of the palace. Jaune took a moment to appreciate the ornate carving of the handle bar. Like all of the decorative carving under the mountain, it was made of fractionating straight lines and angles, collapsing and crossing over each other in this neverending march. Jaune gently ran a hand over the stonework, taking in the carefully crafted art work. Whoever had been commissioned for such work was hopefully paid very well.

Jaune looked over to the throne cleaved in twain. He wondered what had broken it. It almost looked like it had been crushed rather than broken with the force of a chisel. Jaune ascended the stairs upwards, imagining what this place must have looked like in its prime. Blazing chandeliers illuminating a busy hallway of dancers. Or perhaps a massive feast?

Jaune didn't know, and to be frank he wasn't sure if he cared.

The stone was cold. Jaune wasn't sure why that surprised him. It really shouldn't have, considering that nothing warm had touched them in centuries.

Jaune broke open a locked and barred door on the hall he was in. The stone door didn't budge when he gave it a push, so Jaune broke out his maul, the two handed demolition hammer that it was, and started slamming it into the door.

It was very effective at its job. The door buckled upon the first hit, its hinges not designed or able to take the strain of breaking and entering.

The room was clearly meant for entertainment purposes. A large piano sat in the center of the room, an ornate red colored wood with soft faded flowers painted into its sides. At the edges of the room as a collection of… stools? Short backless chairs? What are the little poof looking things called? Jaune asked.

His two mental tenants shrugged, not having much of a clue when it came to furniture. The limits of their vocab were "Chair", "Couch", "Bed," and "Dresser". Anything beyond that was a little beyond them.

I have no fucking clue, mate. A said. Juane sighed, rolling his eyes in some amount of humor. He moved towards the main attraction of the room, running a hand over the dusty frame. He eventually stood in front of the percussion instrument, looking down at the painted ivory keys. He reached out to the board, his hand just hovering over a key.

He stared at it, not even sure if it would make a sound. Or if it would sound the same. It couldn't have. It must be incredibly out of tune from the ages of confinement.

And yet Jaune pressed the key anyway, giving it a slow and light press. It made a terrible, warped vibrato upon being played, it's aged strings creaking back to life once more. The sounds of disjointed notes wafted throughout the room. Jaune stared at the key, unable to keep the smile from coming onto his face.

He tapped it again, with more vigor this time. The sound was sharper, jolting out into the air like an electric discharge. Jaune's smile widened even further, stretching the muscles in a way that was not they were not quite familiar with. He started to tap the key rapidly, each sound he drew sounding just as bad as the first. Jaune was right. This piano was incredibly out of tune.

Jaune snorted, a sputtering laugh not that much different from the sound a push lawn mower makes when starting up chorteling through his throat. He slid his hand down the keyboard, hitting the lowest key, and reversed his momentum. Each terrible stroke of the keyboard was equally as distorted and out of tune as the first. They cascaded and trampled over each and every other note that was not their own, drowning the room in an abhorrent abomination of sound. It had a haunting semblance to music, but not could, by no sound mind be considered such.

Jaune found it beautiful. In a twisted, broken way for sure, but beautiful nonetheless. Jaune couldn't help but laugh. He bent over with the force of his laughter, giggles and choking snorts spilling out of him. He leaned over, using the twisted keys as a brace for his aching cackling. The force of his weight caused an even more horrid sound to come from the piano. Jaune eventually sat down, his ribs burning from his effort. He started to move his hands across the keys, not even sure what he was doing.

Jaune had come to a conclusion about this place. This palace was fucking massive. One each side of the main great hall, there were about four separate layers of halls and rooms. And it was in these halls that it appeared everyone was.

Jaune was sitting in front of a corpse. His knife was still in the duregar's head, sticking out at an odd angle in its forehead. Jaune was chewing on what was probably part of its ribs.

It was surprisingly salty, like it had been pickled instead of only recently killed. It was also very chewy. It reminded Juane of poorly made jerky in a manner. Off colored, chewy, and didn't quite taste like a meat could in any form.

You know, why are we eating this… thing? B asked, looking at disgust at the murdered corspe. Jaune shrugged, a strip of meat hanging out of his mouth. Come to think of it, why was he eating? He most certainly wasn't hungry.

Why are we eating? B asked, continuing his questioning. It's not like we get hungry in the dream.

Jaune nodded, knowing he was right. They, He, nothing needed to eat here. Not the ghouls, not the dreamer. He didn't need to drink. Hell, he didn't even need to take a piss or a shit. He hadn't had to use the bathroom in the dream since his arrival. Jaune mulled it over, absentmindedly chewing that hanging slab of though jerky into his mouth like a spaghetti noodle.

I suppose it's because I am bored. Jaune admitted as he swallowed. He wiped at his jaw, scrubbing the blood across his face like a marinara sauce. I mean, there are only so many things I can do here. And eating is one that I haven't done yet.

B looked only slightly unimpressed. But do we have to? He asked with the last shreds of dignity the three of them collectively shared. Do we really have to?

Jaune shook his head, cutting off another section of meat. No. he returned, I suppose we don't. And proceeded to take a bite out of the chunk, ripping into it with his canines like some kind of animal.

B closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and asking for strength. At least cook it. Please. He begged.

Jaune sat there, chewing on the tough flesh.

"I wonder what's happening outside of this place right now?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Arslan watched as Jaune's face broke into the most emotion she had ever seen on the man. His eyes crinkled and moistened as he looked at his scroll. His face soured, his unmoving facade finally crumbling into dust. She had seen it start to crack at the coffee shop. He just stood there, looking at it. He closed his eyes, unable to bear whatever that picture was. Arslan assumed it was probably his background screen, or perhaps his lock screen.

"How could I have forgotten?" he whispered reverently, as though he was looking at his own Khalo, the very aspect of his soul.

He put the scroll down gently, the internal sensor detecting that it was being put face down. It automatically turned on "sleep mode", turning the screen blank. He wiped at his tears, still standing there. After he looked at his hand, wet with the salted saline from his eyes, he swallowed his guilt.

Arslan watched as jaune turned away from his scroll, heading out the door. It closed with a surprising softness, as though even in turmoil Jaune didn't wish to disturb a world he was a stranger to.

"What's got him in a knot?" Bolin asked as he watched the ranger leave. Arslan slowly shook her head.

"I don't know…" Arslan trailed, her gaze being drawn, like a star to a black hole, to the aged and charging scroll. It could be so easy to turn it over. To turn it on. To see solid proof, solid information. A solid key to the puzzle.

But she shouldn't. Such an invasion of privacy was wrong, and was not something Arslan was going to do.

Reese peered over Arslans shoulder at the offending scroll.

"Soo…" She started, looking greedily at the scroll. "You think he would mind if we cracked it open?"

Arslan gave Reese a withering glare. "Don't you dare think about it, Reese." She growled. Reese backed up, holding her hands in surrender. She recognized that tone. It was the same . "Alright, alright." She said, "I won't fiddle with his stuff."

Arslan looked at Reese gratefully.

"But you can't deny that you are at least curious." Reese continued, leaning forward again. Arslan turned to look at the skater. "Does that matter?" She asked. Reese shrugged in response. Arslan shook her head, moving to sit down on the bed.

I hope he's alright. She thought worriedly, before looking back at his scroll. Perhaps? An intrusive thought came to her mind/

No. She would, at the very least, never hear the end of it from Reese. And that was reason enough to not bother with the idea any further.

Jaune was decidedly not alright. That is what he thought, at least. He wasn't not ok, but he most certainly was not alright. Jaune was currently sitting in front of the throne, a small fire burning nothing infront of him. He had explored most of the hall at this point, but had found several halls leading down to what Jaune was calling the Inner Palace. Jaune wasn't sure what was in the inner mountain, but he knew for a fact that whatever had roared laid within the Inner Palace.

Jaune was looking forward to that fight.

Really? A said, excited at the prospect of another worthy challenge. Jaune gave him a flat look.

No, you dumb ass. Jaune responded as he ran a smooth stone over a dual handed ax. The scraping sound grated against both his ears and the stone, echoing infinitely into a myriadic screeching sound.

Jaune glared upwards at the wall, annoyed to no end at the sound. He gave a short, deep shout not at all unsimilar to the war shouts of the Abajari, an ancient tribe from Valco that had the rare opportunity to become a superpower. For their time, of course. They would have faltered, flabbergasted at the power the average huntsman wielded today, much less the power of the Atlas army.

Such was the nature of man. They would kill, break, refine, rework and improve only to restart the process again with death. With killing again. Over and over again. Ceaseless. Remorseless. Unwavering, unhalting. The machine of war ground all into fine, volatile powder.

Jaune was familiar with the cycle.

There were some days that Jaune felt that he was the embodiment of the process. That was all he seemed to do here. He killed. He broke. He picked himself back up, analyzed his shattered parts. He learned, improved, and killed again.

He would have to find more wood to carve. Or perhaps he could move to stonework? There was plenty of the material here, that was for sure.

Jaune looked at his ax. It seemed sharp as it was. Jaune ran a hand over it. It cut at the flesh, as it was meant to do with a concerning efficacy. Jaune stood, the fire exhausting as he cut his connection to the magicked flame.

Jaune shivered at the sudden disappearance of his warmth. The mountain was cold. Not in a biting, obstinate and antagonistic manner, like the wrathful march outside. It was an abandoned cold, ancient and stagnant in the unmoving air. Jaune looked at the throne once more.

He wondered if the man that sat on it was a good ruler. Wise and just and fair.

Perhaps he was what he could have been. Nothing more, nothing less.

And perhaps he was what he could have been.

Jaune ran a hand over the shattered throne, his mind pondering the glory of this places past a little longer, before he stepped past it.

And into the depths of the Inner Keep.

The entrance to the inner keep was a deeply sloped set of stairs from behind the throne. Jaune started his descent into the true depths of the mountain.

The walls here were particularly carved, a tapestry like relief etched into the stone. It started one each side of the halls, segmented into several meter red marble slabs, almost seamlessly stitched together. The story began with a very different castle under siege by what was clearly a massive army. The next scene showed someone who was clearly the ruler begging with the commander of the opposing army, on their knees for salvation.

The next scene was the caravan of survivors, many being carried on the backs of others. They marched through plains, through valleys and through snow. Until they came to an untouched mound of rock. Until they came to the Mountain.

Jaune continued to delve deeper and deeper into the history of this place. The carving of the Keep and the undercity, the first ruler. Jaune was pretty sure it was a king, but one couldn't tell with the stone relief's detail. It was less the lack of detail and more so the ambiguous nature of the ruler's gender.

There was, some several slats later, an attempted coup by a particular faction. The use of misinformation and ostracization of those that spoke out was their iron barbs and swords as they grabbed sweeping power throughout the kingdom. They had succeeded in killing the current ruler, clearly a male this time with a large beard and thick brow, hoping to replace him with their chosen "Messiah".

The next slat showed them being slaughtered in a chaotic looking execution by a man wearing the pelt of a boar. Spearmen had run those responsible for their kings murder through, pinning them to pillars. Not that the people that orchestrated such actions were held responsible, as they looked on with animalistic masks.

Some time later, the ancient record showed a new ruler. There was a marriage of two factions, which they hoped would lead to great wealth. And it did, if the sudden inclusion of gold gilding meant anything.

The stone tapestry showed material wealth beyond Jaune's most extreme dreams. Enough gold that you could drown in it. The next several slabs were scratched out, in not quite a similar fashion to the marks made in the tunnels behind him. It was similar, scratches along the stone. But clearly made by an entirely different creature. While those in the tunnels acted more like claws, these seemed to be made by the scraping of quills, or perhaps very large scales.

The historic hallway came to an end, leading to what could only be described as a lake of glittering gold. Jaune looked on in awe, struck at the sheer volume of wealth that must have been contained in these halls. More than could surely ever exist on Remnant, that was for sure. It was a staggering amount.

Called it. A squeaked in excitement. I said it was a dwarf kingdom! And look! A dwarvish King's treasure hold! He was practically jumping up and down with glee. And it is all for the taking!

B also was ecstatic about the prospector's dream before them. Just imagine what we could find in there. Hell, this is worth more than the SDC in it's entirety alone. Maybe even worth more than all of Atlas!

Jaune took a step forward towards the hoard of wealth, smiling a wide and greedy grin. "All for the taking, eh?" he mused out loud. "Well, I suppose there is no use for it here…"

There was a cascading tinkling sound as something shifted from under the precious metals. Something massive stirred at the disturbance Jaune had created. The dreamer quickly took a step back, muttering a soft prayer to turn him invisible.

The thing in the gold rose from its submergence. It's massive grey and red snout was the first thing to fully breach the lake of metal. It was roughly the size of a sedan, scaled and plated with small bits of gold that had gotten itself fused within the skin.

Jaune gawked at the beast.

That's a motherfucking dragon B said, shell shocked at the monster that stood before them.

Jaune looked up in awe as the storybook beast rose to its full height. It must have been easily the size of a large building.

Jaune made a face that could pretty much be equated to "Fuck no". That thing was massive. Jaune turned to the side, slinking away to the side halls, like a clay beehive.

"I can smell you, thief in the dark." The lizard said, rising up onto its haunches. "I know you are there, hiding." it snarled, swishing its tail aggressively. It searched around the room looking for the thief that dared enter its territory. "I will find you, little thief. Your bones will be my next decoration."

Jaune was already out of the room by the time that dragon had finished its imposing threat. The dreamer looked in front of him. He was going to have to start crouching again, wasn't he?

At least it was better than staying in the room with that dragon. That thing was scary.

Jaune crouched down and started shuffling forward. Perhaps he could find something interesting in these tunnels.

Well, the tunnels were not interesting in the slightest. They led to the more personal section of the palace, with bedrooms and dining areas. It was practically a village within itself, with all what were clearly defined buildings connected by "Roads" (large tunnels) and open courtyards. It was like a gated community.

Jaune was currently standing in front of the entrance to a spiraling tower etched into the stone. It took up anywhere from a semi circle to about a whole three fourths of the circumference exposed to the mountain air. Jaune was not taking in the perfect geometrical architecture of the tower, or the irony of having a tower in a mountain.

No, Jaune was confused. There was some kind of forcefield around the tower, preventing the dreamer from getting close to the thing. Jaune squinted at the blank air in discontent.

He knew, or rather assumed, that some form of magical ward was preventing him from entering the protected space. Jaune sighed, crossing his arms in defiance. He would not be beat by the conjuring of sorcerers that have been dead for longer than he had! He sat down, pulling out his sack.

I should have some notes on this stuff somewhere… Jaune thought, completely unaware as to the shit show he was about to go into.

Jaune looked up from the scroll on his lap, bleary eyed and academically exhausted. He had scratched a massive spider web-like diagram of sigils, stretching a little over a meter and a half across the invisible wall.

Jaune looked down at his papers, scattered around him for ease of access. The multitude of notes, what must have been centuries of development in the art, hastily butchered by a stranger in a strange land. Jaune nodded, comparing his arcane circuited mess with the ancient scrolls and pages. Finding his work satisfactory, he drew the final touch. A connecting circle in the center, linking together all of the various stands of arcane scripture. Take number- I forgot. Let's say 35? B noted, looking at his notebook. He had stopped counting at attempt number twenty or so.

Jaune held his breath as the circle glowed briefly. It then slowly faded to an innate state, dim and lifeless as it was before.

Jaune pressed a hand against the work, finding that what it was meant to remove still stood.

His jaw clenched. His eyes hardened. The dreamer stood up, stoically and steady.

"Damn it!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the wall. "What's wrong with this fucking glyph?! What's wrong with this place!" he continued. "What in the nine fucking hells is wrong with this place! Why does nothing want to make ANY GODDAMN SENSE!" Jaune wheeled on no one, as though the empty courtyard behind him was to blame. "WHY DOES IT NOT MAKE SENSE! TELL ME!" He screamed to the world, demanding answers.

He had grieved at the stone for his suffering. He had asked why him. Why had he been chosen to suffer through the ordeals that was The Dream. He had asked for forgiveness, begged for mercy in the deep underdark of the mountain, on his knees for a shred of good fate.

But now?

The time for his grieving had come to pass. The dreamer was enraged at the injustice of this horrid, confusing and lawless deathworld.
"THE SHEER FUCKING AUDACITY OF THIS BULLSHITE!" Jaune made a face that would have made Jim Carrey proud of it's contortion.

Jaune, I think you should probably calm down- B started. Jaune wheeled on him, giving the figment an enraged stink eye.

"Bitch, I will not be calm!" Jaune said, his body seeming to suddenly take up much more space, like a cornered animal puffing up its feathers to appear to be much more massive than it truely was. "I will not take this shitting down! I mean Sitting down!" Jaune said, his rage mudding his ability to speak properly. Not that Jaune truly cared at the moment.

Frankly, he was far too pissed to care about much beyond his own rage against the Dream machine.

"I'm not going to slow down this time, B!" He screamed. "I will not stop! Not move on! I won't do what the voices in my head told me to do just because they said so! Not this time!" Jaune had a smile on his face. The cracked, exhausted kind of smile one gets after they had just recently wrecked their douche partner's car. Jaune for once, felt like he was the master of his own fate again. It was that oh so familiar rush he got when had left his family for Beacon, for his dream. And then, in a different manner, when he chose to go to Haven to extend his education.

Jaune liked that rebellious feeling. Even if it was minor, inconsequential, it was a sign he was still alive. He was still Jaune. He was there.
"I am Jaune. I am the master of my own fate, no matter what voice, dream, dragon or drunken horror this place throws at me says!"

A and B were silent for a moment.

If you want us to leave, you only have to ask. A said softly, trying to apologize and comfort and understand their creator all at once. We will go if you want us to.

B held his tongue, knowing what A was offering to Jaune. Knowing what they would sacrifice with that question. B wondered if A was pondering the same thing he was.

Pondering what sleep might be.

Jaune looked up at them, horrified and panicked at the idea. "NO!" he yelled, all too hastily. "No." He shook his head, his face stricken at the thought. "I need you here. I-I-" he swallowed, his eyes becoming downcast. "I can't be alone. Not again." His voice shook.

A and B nodded, and did their best to hug him. They couldn't, as they were fractionated figments of Jaune's mind. But they tried anyway.

It's ok. B said. It's ok. We will try to be better. We promise.

Jaune weeped, smiling at those words. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said those words to him. He didn't think they ever had.

"Thank you." he said, basking in the euphoria of his post rage clarity. Now to bravely march forward, to where apparently no man has gone before. He lamented, looking at his abandoned work on the invisible wall

Jaune was currently hitting his head against the aforementioned invisible wall, as though the concussive rhythmic impact would slam a thought into his brain. Several attempts had been put on the wall, and a couple of them had been scribbled and scratched out.
"Who in the world designed such a shitty, shitty system?" jaune lemented. After his several tries, he had discovered something about magic. Or at least this form of it.

It was the unholy combination of music theory, calculus, trigonometry, and poetry that accumulated on the underside of some poor wizard's mildewed hat like a mold. That cancerous growth was then scraped off into a blender, whisked together with no small amount of nonsense, and turned into something reminiscent of computer circuits.

Did we try that backdoor entrance idea B suggested? A asked, mulling over what they could do. Jaune wracked his brain.

"I think so? We can try again." jaune sighed, going over to his notes scratched into the courtyard stones. "I can always try again."

It was probably attempt fourty? Forty five? Somewhere around that number when Jaune finally broke the arcane shield made to keep the unwanted out. It probably was a magnificent work of art that was akin to a masterclass gearcraft locked jewelry box that Jaune had done the equivalent of beating over the head with a small nuclear reactor.

Jaune picked up his papers, stacking and wrapping them away into his sack once more. With a relieved swagger, boosted by his confidence in his success. He pushed the door open, half expecting it to be locked.

It was, but the lock had been ripped from the door by something on the inside, so the door just kind of fell open.

Jaune saw that the room he entered was a large empty circular room with a split staircase heading upwards. In the center of the room, lit only by the ambient light from the flickering infinite globes outside, was a tombstone.

Jaune squinted at the suspiciously empty room. Now that his eyes had adjusted fully to the light, he saw that it was covered in claw scratches, like the tunnels before.

Jaune was immediately suspicious, drawing a small warhammer and a kite shield.

"I smell boss music."

I think this is, page wise, my longest chapter yet.

Starting with the main reason I actually finished this chapter today (The second half i wrote today) was that there was a comment commenting on that I don't spend what should be an adequate amount of time letting Jaune work through the absolutely shitty hand he is dealing with right now. I did some of this at the tombstone, were Jaune begged for some respite. And here he rages against the machine in some paltry attempt to regain a feeling of control in his life. And as for Jaunes big internal suffering, I don't intend for it to get much worse than it was last chapter. last chapter, short of external events ({REDACTED} dies, The fall of Atlas, Beacon fall, the burning of {REDACTED}, those kinds of things.) But I am not a perfect writer.

Regarding the timeframe in the dream: whenever there is a break in continuity (or a change in scenery/ location without explicit description of the journey there, or any hit that there has been a stagnated action (laying down, carving, weeping, so forth)) Assume a lengthy break in time appropriate to what you think that action would take. From hours to weeks to on the rarer occasion, months. Remember, I do not cover everything that Jaune does in the dream, only the important bits or new places. Jaune train, reads, practices magic and discovers new spells that I don't explicitly state he does in the story.

Another note about last chapter concerning Jaune eating a humanoid: I have realized that there is going to be very little of Jaune being funny. Which is a shame, because jaune has, besides Nora and Yang, the most comedic potential for RWBY fanfiction to me. And I thought that a running joke revolving around Jaune is the 'Stranger in a Strange land' trope, but I am already using that in a different manner to make jaune feel unearthly and close to a ghost. So I had the idea that his running gag is that he... eats things. Think along the lines of things he would kill or find: Grimm, deer, suspicious mushrooms and spiders (Which are surprisingly bland and expectedly crunchy), that kind of thing. The punch line would be someone (Normally Arslan) realizing that Jaune is eating something and telling him to cut it out (kind of like one might do to a dog that is eating something). this was the establishment of that running gag, as there is no one here to judge or criticize him for doing anything, aside from A and B. Now that I've put this into writing, it actually doesn't seem that great of a joke, particularly to use as a kind of running gag. I promise that even if this does make it into the story, jaune will not eat another humanoid again. it was really fucked up in hindsight. My apologies for that. Cannibalism is not something I condone or had thought about when writing that scene.

On an offhand note, I am not sure how I feel about the shifting perspectives in the middle of sections. I feel it is a jarring shift considering how i normally handle shifted scenes.

LOOKING FORWARD: as in the previous paragraph, you know that both Beacon and Atlas will fall. Post Volume 3/ beacon fall, the waking world plot will more closely follow* the plot we see in RWBY, at least up to Volume 8. The premise for volume 9 makes no sense for me to follow considering where I want to take this story.

On a different note: Jaune will get therapy. That is a character arc. I promise this much.

Thank you for reading my story, it brings me great pleasure to see others enjoy my work. As always, please leave a review, comment, Character idea, storyline idea or scene you want to see in the story.

On another note: Origionally, I was going to keep jaune as being stoic and stereotypically this grey edgy feel he has right now. But I considered having Jaune embrace a more chaotic, random and funnier side of him kind of similar from Dawne The Rock Johnson. he would still remain mostly serious and "Grey Edgy" but he would have his moments and adopt a more bright personality with his revelation of being his own master. I frankly like the idea of Jaune the rock Johnson more than the "Grey and dark" But i also fear that it might interfere with the darksouls theme I have going on if Jaune was more optimistic and happy.