Jaune steadied his breath, the weight of the battle still pressing against his chest. His grip on Crocea Mors tightened as he looked across the war-torn square, his gaze lingering on Pyrrha.

She stood amidst the fading wisps of dissipating Grimm, her posture straight, her breathing controlled, but there was something undeniably different about her. This Pyrrha wasn't just the invincible champion he had once known. She was something more.

She had lived longer. Fought longer. Survived longer.

And it showed.

She was lethal in a way their Pyrrha had never been. Pyrrha no longer fought with just skill, she fought with purpose, with efficiency. She had abandoned the flourishes of a tournament champion for the brutal precision of a huntress who had spent time hunting, killing, and surviving. Her Semblance, once something she used only in bursts, was now second nature, woven seamlessly into her every movement.

Jaune, Nora, and Ren had been unable to look away as she fought.

Now, as the battlefield settled into quiet, Nora finally spoke, her voice unusually subdued.

"Is this… is this how our Pyrrha would've been?" she asked softly, as if the thought itself was too heavy to carry alone.

Ren remained silent, his keen eyes studying Jaune, searching for the emotions he knew his leader would never voice aloud.

"Jaune?" he prompted, his voice gentle.

Jaune exhaled and forced a small, tired smile. "I'm fine," he lied.

Pyrrha wiped the sweat from her brow, adjusted the hood of her tattered cloak, and pulled it tightly around herself. There was no celebration in her stance, no relief. She was exhausted, and it showed.

The victory against the Grimm came at a cost, as always.

Professor Theodore, Vacuo's Headmaster, gathered the remaining Huntsmen and survivors, his sharp, angular features shadowed by the flames of burning wreckage. His dark, close-cut hair was slick with sweat, and his checkered vest, though still pristine, clung tightly to his wiry frame. He was thin, but in a way that suggested he had been carved from stone, unyielding, hardened by years of battle and loss.

Theodore's voice rang out, praising the fighters for another victory while mourning those who had fallen. There was no fanfare, no triumph—just the grim reality of survival.

As the gathered Huntsmen dispersed, Jaune, and the others found themselves face to face with Oscar.

Oscar, still wearing the remnants of his old farm-boy innocence, had a weary but relieved expression. Beside him, however, Emerald stood frozen, her red eyes wide, locked onto Pyrrha as if she had seen a ghost.

"She's alive?" Emerald's voice was barely above a whisper.

Pyrrha turned at the words, her green eyes narrowing. She was sure she'd seen her hang around Ruby... but after all the events happening? Pyrrha wasn't so sure anymore.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice guarded, wary.

Jaune blinked, realization dawning. Pyrrha didn't know Emerald. She didn't know Cinder, Mercury, or any of the chaos they had wrought at Beacon... or simply didn't remember them.

But it was clear she didn't know the woman who had helped murder the other her.

Emerald's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her guilt clear as she cast her gaze downward.

Jaune hesitated. "She was…" He struggled with how to phrase it. "…one of the people responsible for—"

"For your death," Ren finished bluntly.

Pyrrha inhaled sharply, her eyes flickering between Emerald and the others.

The pieces clicked together.

Her face darkened. "And she's here? With you?"

Emerald flinched, barely holding Pyrrha's gaze. "I—" she started, but the words died in her throat.

"Pyrrha, listen," Jaune began, stepping forward. "It's… complicated."

"Complicated?" Pyrrha's voice was sharp, incredulous. "She helped this Cinder destroy Beacon, help murder the other me, and you're saying it's complicated?"

Jaune looked at Emerald, who refused to meet his gaze.

"People change," he said simply.

Pyrrha stared at him, disbelieving. "People change," she repeated, her voice laced with something bitter, something she had never felt toward them before.

Jaune had never seen Pyrrha look at them like that...

He had expected confusion, maybe even sorrow. But this? This was utter disappointment.

Emerald shifted uncomfortably. "I know I don't deserve to be here," she admitted. "I know I can't take back what I did. But I'm trying."

Pyrrha's expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened. "And that's enough?"

"It's a start," Oscar interjected, his voice careful but firm. "Emerald's been fighting with us. She's helped save lives."

Pyrrha shook her head, exhaling sharply as she turned away. "You've all been through so much," she said, her voice quiet, but strained. "You've had to make impossible choices, to fight battles I can't even begin to imagine." She turned her sharp gaze back to them. "But if I was her… I'd be wondering why you guys didn't avenge me. Ridiculous."

Silence followed.

Pyrrha exhaled. "I need to go."

"Pyrrha, wait—" Jaune stepped forward, but she raised a hand, stopping him.

"I'm exhausted," she said, her voice carrying more weight than just physical fatigue.

Emerald reached out suddenly, grabbing Pyrrha's wrist before she could turn away.

Pyrrha froze.

Emerald's grip was tight, desperate. She didn't meet Pyrrha's gaze, but when she spoke, her voice was raw.

"I'm sorry," Emerald whispered.

Pyrrha didn't move. For a long moment, she just stared at the girl in front of her — the girl who, in this world, had helped this version of her... get murdered.

Then Emerald saw the disgust as she roughly pulled her wrist free.

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

Jaune let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his head as he watched her retreat. He didn't follow. He knew she needed space.

Instead, he turned to Oscar. "Do you know anything that could help her get back home?"

Oscar met his gaze, hesitating before answering.

"…I don't know," he admitted.

Pyrrha walked through the streets of Vacuo, her hood pulled over her head, shielding her from the watchful eyes of those who might recognize her. Her footsteps were nearly silent against the sand-covered stone, her pace steady but without real direction. She just needed to be alone.

She had thought she could handle this. She had survived Menagerie, endured the chaos of that, fought against the horrors of the Grimm. But this? This was something else entirely.

This world, this version of her friends — it was a twisted reflection of everything she had known. A war that had already been lost in many ways, yet they still fought. Cities had fallen. Kingdoms had been reduced to ruins. And yet, the people she had once known as idealistic dreamers stood here, hardened by their losses, burdened by their choices.

Pyrrha pressed a hand against her forehead, feeling the pulse of a growing headache.

She was dead here.

The thought clung to her like a shadow. In this world, her life had ended back at Beacon. And yet, one of the people responsible for the other her's death. Emerald stood beside them.

It didn't make sense.

Pyrrha clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she leaned against a crumbling wall in a forgotten alleyway. The city hummed with distant activity, but here she was alone.

They had every right to forgive Emerald. It wasn't about that. Forgiveness was a choice. It was theirs to give.

But forgiveness did not mean freedom from consequences.

Yet Emerald still walked freely among them, seemingly absolved of her past, while the Pyrrha, who had done nothing but fight, bleed, and die for her friends, remained unavenged.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

No. That wasn't fair.

She had no right to judge them.

This wasn't her world.

She had no claim over their grief, no right to decide how they handled their pain. But still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Not to mention what they had said with Ironwood.

Had they betrayed Ironwood? Lied to him?

Everything they said made it seem like they were the righteous ones, but the more she listened, the more she questioned it.

General Ironwood had been desperate, cornered by the very forces they were fighting. His mind had cracked under the pressure, his decisions growing harsher, more ruthless.

But if that was true, then why did it feel like they had simply played him?

Like they had forced him to be the villain so they could feel justified in their own actions?

Pyrrha wasn't naïve. She had seen people break under stress, watched as good men made terrible choices because they saw no other way.

How much of what happened to Ironwood was truly his fault?

And how much of it was simply the result of being backed into a corner with no allies and friends left to trust?

Pyrrha sighed and let her head fall back against the wall.

She had always believed in doing what was right. It was why she fought. Why she stood beside Jaune and the others, why she had given everything she had to protect those who could not protect themselves.

But this world blurred, the lines she had once thought were so clear.

She had thought she would find wisdom here. That maybe, by seeing what had happened in this world, she could learn something that would help her own.

Instead, she had found chaos.

Confusion.

Contradiction.

If even the righteous could fall, then what hope did any of them have?

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders.

She had to focus.

She had a purpose here.

She didn't belong in this world, but she was here for a reason.

The Mother, the Tree… her friends here said that no one ended up in the Everafter for no reason.

If that was true, then why had she been sent here?

Her eyes trailed up to the sky, where the stars flickered dimly through the haze of dust and smoke. Somewhere in another world, Jaune and the others were still fighting.

Still hoping.

And she was trapped in a world where everything she had known was turned upside down.

For the first time in a long time, Pyrrha felt lost.

Not in battle.

Not in war.

Just… lost.

And she wasn't sure if she would ever find her way back.

Jaune Arc leaned on the cold metal railing, his blonde hair with white stripes catching the soft glow of the city lights below. The air was thick with dust and sand, the distant sounds of Vacuo's nightlife humming in the background. The people down there always picked themselves up no matter how many attacks it had been.

Yet, up here, away from the noise and the crowds, everything felt still.

Footsteps approached behind him, soft yet deliberate. Jaune didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Jaune."

Ren's voice was calm, steady as always. Jaune glanced at him from the corner of his eye before turning back to the horizon.

"What's up?" Jaune asked, his voice quieter than usual.

"Nora's looking for you," Ren replied. He stepped closer, resting his arms on the railing beside Jaune. The two stood in silence for a moment, watching as the city flickered below.

Jaune let out a slow breath, knowing full well that wasn't the only reason Ren had come.

"Go ahead and ask," Jaune murmured.

Ren's brow furrowed slightly. "Ask what?"

Jaune let out a dry chuckle. "Why I don't seem… more eager," he said, tilting his head up to the sky. "Even though Pyrrha's here. Even though we got her back."

Ren didn't answer immediately. He had known Jaune for years, had seen him at his highest and lowest, had fought beside him through struggles that should have broken them. Yet, his leader, tempered by time in a world so different from theirs, had been hard to read.

"Why?" Ren finally asked.

Jaune inhaled deeply, as if considering how much of himself he was willing to share. He turned, leaning his back against the railing instead, folding his arms across his chest.

"Would you have wished for her to be here?" Jaune asked instead. His voice was measured, but his blue eyes were clouded with something deeper, something weary.

Ren hesitated. "…What do you mean?"

Jaune smiled, but it was a sad one that barely reached his eyes.

"This world has already lost so much," Jaune said. "And yet, somehow, they still have hope. They're still fighting for something. Even with all their problems, they're not lost." His fingers drummed lightly against the railing. "Do you think it's right? That she ended up here, in the middle of this war, instead of being home where she belongs?"

Ren absorbed his words, thoughtful as ever. "You've never been one to doubt fate before."

Jaune shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "This isn't about fate."

"Then what?"

Jaune looked down at his hands, hands that had spent decades in a world where time moved differently, hands that had once gripped a rusted sword, protecting a place that had never truly been his home.

He flexed his fingers.

"Comparing the decades I spent in the Everafter," Jaune said softly, "my time with Pyrrha was so unfortunately short. She was… a moment in my life… a moment that felt so… precious."

Ren's breath hitched slightly, barely noticeably, but Jaune caught it.

"To you guys, it was only a few years ago," Jaune continued, his voice distant. "But for me… it had been almost forever."

Ren remained silent, letting the weight of Jaune's words settle.

Jaune closed his eyes for a moment, recalling every painful, beautiful, fleeting moment he had spent with Pyrrha back in Beacon. Her laughter. The way she would stand slightly too close when they talked, the warmth of her presence, the sheer certainty she carried herself with.

And then…

Her last moments.

The way she looked at him, that soft, resigned smile as she told him she was sorry as she pushed him into the locker and run to her death.

He had lived so long in the Everafter. Long enough to forget the exact shade of red in her hair, the precise sound of her laugh. What her voice sounded like.

Long enough for it to hurt even more when he finally remembered again.

And now?

Now there was another Pyrrha, one who had lived longer, fought harder, and carried scars of battles he had never seen. A Pyrrha who wasn't her, not truly.

Ren finally spoke. "And now that she's here… it still feels like she's a ghost."

Jaune let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah."

Ren's grip on the railing tightened, his fingers curling around the cold metal. "But she's real, Jaune."

"I know." Jaune nodded. "And that's why she deserves to go home."

There was a deathly resolve in Jaune's voice.