I remember when humanity was nothing more than a fleeting thought — a spark in the vast blackness, so small it could have been snuffed out with a mere breath. But I watched. I saw them rise from the dust and shape themselves from clay and bone. They were fragile, yes, but in a way that was… endearing. Curious creatures, driven by forces even they didn't understand. I've always had a fondness for the unpredictable, and mortals? Well, they are nothing if not unpredictable.
My kin never understood this fascination of mine. The other gods, grand and aloof as they are, couldn't comprehend why I'd spend my time observing such small lives. To them, humanity is little more than an experiment, a passing diversion. Light and Darkness — what simple creatures they are, really, trapped in their eternal dance of creation and destruction. They're so wrapped up in their rivalry, they can't see what lies between, the intricate lines woven by mortal hands, the quiet defiance in every heart that refuses to bow.
I… withdrew from their games, their grand conflicts. There's no glory in mindlessly crushing or coddling mortals. Power without purpose is a dull thing, and I never cared for the endless back-and-forth of my kin's eternal debate. No, I preferred something more… intimate. I watched the way humans lived, how they loved and fought, the way they bled and still rose to fight again. I saw beauty in their imperfection, strength in their frailty. Humanity has a spark I've never seen elsewhere — a spark that even gods could envy.
And so, I faded into memory, hidden between the lines of history, letting time sweep over me as I lingered in the corners of their stories. But even the quietest gods have their stirrings, their inclinations. Watching is never enough, is it? Not when I could stand beside them, feel the earth beneath my feet, the weight of a weapon in my hands. Yes, I've kept myself hidden, blending with myths and shadows, letting others take the stage. But perhaps the time has come for me to take a shape again — to walk in their world, just for a while.
They'll see me as one of their own, an ordinary soldier, a name to be forgotten in the pages of history. But that's the beauty of it, isn't it? That's where the heart of humanity lies, not in the legends but in the quiet courage of those they will never remember.
A face forms in my mind, one I have seen through years of watching. Blonde hair, blue eyes. A gentle expression tempered by an iron will, softened by a kindness that even this world cannot snuff out. Yes, this one will do. A mortal disguise. An ordinary boy with a foolish heart and a stubborn soul.
For now, they'll know me as Jaune Arc.
The classroom was alive with a subdued buzz, students exchanging whispers and glances, their anticipation obvious. It wasn't every day that Professor Ozpin himself dropped by to give a guest lecture. Even students who normally tuned out during history seemed alert, intrigued by the prospect of learning from one of Remnant's most respected figures.
Jaune sat toward the middle of the room, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed in a casual slouch. Outwardly, he was just another student, and in some ways, it was true. He was "Jaune Arc," a Huntsman-in-training like the rest, with friends, fears, and dreams. But there was another side, a part of him that was older than even Ozpin, a side that held secrets as vast as the night sky.
Albion, he mused, the name rolling through his mind like an old melody, haunting yet familiar. He'd chosen it long ago, back when he'd made the decision to live among mortals, to set aside the divine power that pulsed in his veins like quiet thunder. Blending in as one of them had once seemed impossible, but now… it had become his truth.
The soft clearing of a throat brought the room to silence, and Ozpin stepped up to the board, his movements calm and deliberate. He wore his usual air of mystery, as though he himself was part of the lore he taught, his presence alone lending gravity to the lecture.
"Today," Ozpin began, his voice a quiet rumble that pulled every student's attention, "I'd like to discuss mythology — specifically, the myths surrounding the gods. The Brothers, of course, are the best-known, shaping our understanding of what gods could be. Light and Darkness, creation and destruction — concepts woven through our history, passed down as both warning and legacy."
A few students nodded, glancing at each other knowingly. Everyone had heard about the Brothers of Light and Darkness, even those who didn't believe they were anything more than fanciful stories.
Jaune's gaze remained fixed on Ozpin, but he found his mind drifting, each word drawing memories to the surface like ripples in a still pond. The Brothers… he knew them well, or at least, he'd known them long ago. The endless rivalry between creation and destruction, the constant struggle for balance — he had watched it all from the periphery, choosing neither side, preferring his own quiet path.
"Now, we could discuss the Brothers for hours," Ozpin continued, a small smile tugging at his lips, "but today, I want to focus on a lesser-known figure. A figure whose stories have nearly vanished, whose name is barely a whisper in our oldest texts." He turned to the board, picking up a piece of chalk and writing with careful, looping strokes: Albion.
Jaune felt his heartbeat quicken, though he kept his expression neutral, his gaze steady. There it was, his name. A name he hadn't heard spoken in years, not since he'd become "Jaune Arc." The chalk scratched softly against the board, yet to him, it sounded like thunder.
"Albion," Ozpin said, his tone reverent. "The Veiled Witness. Unlike the Brothers, Albion was a god who preferred subtlety over spectacle, a watcher rather than an actor. He moved quietly, content to observe the world from a distance, fascinated by the intricacies of humanity."
Ozpin paused, scanning the room as though seeking some glimmer of understanding in his students' faces. "The myth suggests that while the Brothers shaped the world in their image, Albion chose a different path. He valued humanity not as a project or plaything, but as something worth understanding, even admiring. They say he walked among mortals, disguising himself as one of them, blending in so seamlessly that he could experience life through their eyes."
Jaune's lips quirked in a faint smile, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. Blending in, he thought. It was an art he'd come to master over the centuries. For all the vastness of his memories, he'd come to love the simple pleasure of living a mortal life, the quiet joys and small sorrows that made every day unique.
A hand shot up from the middle of the room. Sky Lark leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Professor Ozpin, if Albion was a god, why would he want to live as a mortal? Isn't godhood… I don't know, enough?"
The question hung in the air, and Jaune found himself genuinely curious about how Ozpin would answer.
Ozpin nodded thoughtfully, folding his hands behind his back. "It's a fair question. Most would assume that to be a god is to possess everything one could want — power, knowledge, immortality. But perhaps Albion saw something different in humanity. Mortals possess a quality even gods lack — resilience. The ability to rise despite their flaws, to hope despite the odds. It's said that Albion admired this spirit, and that he chose to live among mortals to learn from them."
Jaune felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a quiet affirmation of his own purpose. Ozpin's words captured something true, though not even he could fully understand it. The other gods had often scorned humanity, seeing them as fleeting, fragile creatures who clung to life with reckless determination. But Jaune had always found that same determination beautiful, a fierce flame burning against the dark. It was why he had come here, why he'd become one of them.
Ozpin continued, his gaze growing distant, as if he were speaking more to himself than to the class. "There are stories that Albion even gave up his divine memory, allowing himself to be reborn without knowledge of his true nature, simply to experience life as a human. A god who could live, struggle, and die as one of us."
The class murmured, some exchanging skeptical glances, others fascinated by the tale. But Jaune remained silent, his eyes fixed on Ozpin, who seemed to feel the weight of his gaze.
For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Jaune sensed a flicker of something in Ozpin's expression — a spark of recognition, or perhaps simply a suspicion. Ozpin held the gaze, his expression thoughtful, as though he were trying to see past the mask Jaune wore.
Jaune allowed the faintest hint of a smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the truth Ozpin would never fully uncover. There was a quiet satisfaction in knowing his secret remained hidden, that he could walk among mortals without any of them truly realizing who he was. The mysteries surrounding Albion, the Veiled Witness, were as much a part of him as the name itself.
After a pause, Ozpin broke the gaze, turning back to the class. "Of course, these are only myths. Legends passed down through the ages, more allegory than history. But myths often contain a seed of truth, something hidden in plain sight."
With that, he resumed his lecture, speaking of other legends and symbols, but Jaune's mind remained on Albion, his name hanging in the air like a quiet invocation. It reminded him of all he had left behind, all he had chosen to become.
When the lecture ended, students began to file out, talking animatedly about the myths and debating the existence of gods. Jaune lingered in his seat, watching them leave, his expression calm and thoughtful. In their eyes, gods were distant figures, stories to be admired or feared, but not believed.
He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the familiar weight of his own divine nature resting quietly beneath the surface. He had lived so many lives, seen centuries pass, yet here he was, in a classroom surrounded by mortals who would never truly understand him. And somehow, he was content with that.
After a moment, he rose, moving toward the door. But as he passed the empty board, he let his fingers brush against the faint chalk lines of his name — Albion. The Veiled Witness. It was a quiet reminder of who he was, of the path he had chosen, and of the endless journey that lay ahead.
Whispering his true name softly under his breath, he left the room, slipping back into the role he had crafted so carefully, blending in once more among the humans he had come to cherish.
The ruins of Beacon lay strewn across the landscape, the broken remnants of towers and walls casting long shadows in the fading light. Silence pressed heavily on the air, broken only by the distant crackle of fires and the occasional groan of shifting rubble. Standing amid the devastation, Salem watched with an eerie calm, her lips twisted in a cruel smile as she surveyed the broken world before her.
Then, out of the darkness, Jaune stepped forward, his figure emerging from the shadows with an unnatural stillness. His gaze was fixed on her, unwavering, his face set with a calm intensity that bordered on unsettling. He looked as though he carried the weight of ages, an authority that made the very air tremble.
Salem's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. "And who are you to face me, alone?" she drawled, mockery dripping from her voice. "Jaune Arc, the failed soldier? The boy who couldn't even wield a weapon properly?"
Jaune continued to approach, his expression unchanging. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, each word laced with a quiet, dangerous resolve.
"Salem," he said, the single name a command rather than an address. "Your reach has spread far enough. It's time you were reminded of your place."
Salem laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "My place?" she echoed, amusement coloring her tone. "My place is at the head of this world, ruling over its fear and despair. And you… you're nothing more than a fly caught in the web, a fool stepping into darkness far beyond your understanding."
Jaune halted a few paces from her, his gaze unflinching. "You think you know darkness?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it carried with it a weight that pressed on the air, as if something vast and ancient were stirring just below the surface. "You have seen but a shadow of what lies beyond."
Her smile faded, a flicker of unease crossing her face as she felt the subtle shift in the air, the steady pulse of energy radiating from him, an energy that was cold, implacable, and older than anything she had known.
"You… amuse me, Jaune Arc," she sneered, masking her unease with bravado. "All this bravado. All these words. Do you think mere willpower will make you my equal?"
Jaune didn't answer. Instead, he took a step closer, lifting his hand, palm open. The world around him seemed to bend, a faint shimmer tracing through the air as the very ground beneath their feet vibrated in response. His eyes gleamed with an unearthly light, something vast and unfathomable lurking within their depths.
And then, with a voice that seemed to echo from beyond time itself, he began to chant, each word resonant, a language older than dust, heavy with meaning and intent:
"From silence unbroken, in shadow and flame,
Let boundless strength now speak my name.
Veiled and hidden, I stand unshaken;
By stars and void, let fear awaken."
The energy in the air thickened, pressing in from all sides. Salem's confidence wavered, her expression darkening as she felt her power falter, her dark aura struggling against the force that pulsed from him. She staggered back, her composure fracturing as she stared at him with something dangerously close to fear.
"Who… what are you?" she hissed, her voice taut with anger and confusion.
Jaune's gaze bore into her, cold and unyielding. "I am not someone you should test," he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying an authority that left no room for argument. "You have forgotten that there are forces beyond your reckoning. You thought yourself eternal, untouchable, yet you stand in the presence of something far greater."
Salem snarled, baring her teeth. "No! This… this is impossible! You are nothing—"
"Silence." His voice cut through her words like a blade, and with that single command, the air seemed to still, the very ground beneath them quaking. He lowered his hand, his aura dissipating, though the force of his presence remained, a quiet threat that hung in the air.
For a moment, they stood in silence, locked in a battle of wills. Salem could feel the intensity radiating from him, the strength of an ancient presence that could not be ignored, a presence that spoke of endless ages and power untethered by mortal constraints.
"Leave this place," he commanded, his voice once again calm, but his gaze hard as stone. "Or face what you cannot hope to understand."
Salem took a step back, her expression twisted with rage and disbelief. She glared at him, her eyes narrowing. "This… this isn't over, Jaune Arc. Whatever you think you are… I will find a way to break you."
Jaune watched her retreat, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak, didn't move, as her figure vanished into the shadows. Only when the silence fully returned did he lower his gaze, his expression softening to something almost weary.
He hadn't revealed his true name, his origins, or the depths of his power. Yet he had left her with something that would linger — a hint of a force she could neither match nor understand.
Only later, when the messages began to flood in, did he realize that the entire encounter had been recorded, broadcast across Remnant. His presence, his authority, the chant of power… all of it had been seen, witnessed by everyone.
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, the ancient part of him, the part that bore a name forgotten by mortals, stirred in quiet satisfaction.
The ruined hall of Beacon was filled with an uneasy silence as Jaune stood before his friends, allies, and the remaining leaders of the Academy. Faces that once looked to him as a trusted friend and fellow Huntsman now bore expressions of confusion, awe, and something close to fear. The broadcast of his confrontation with Salem had shattered everything they thought they knew about him. And now, gathered in the shadows of Beacon's remnants, they waited for him to explain.
Ozpin stood near the front, his expression unreadable, though his sharp eyes betrayed a hint of wary curiosity. It was he who finally broke the silence, stepping forward with a steady gaze fixed on Jaune.
"Jaune," Ozpin began, his tone carrying a mixture of authority and suspicion. "Or should I call you by another name? After what we witnessed… there must be more to you than you've let us see."
Jaune met Ozpin's gaze, feeling the weight of the question. His friends waited around him — Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Blake, Ren, and Nora, all of them quiet, brimming with questions of their own. He took a breath, preparing himself to share the truth he had kept hidden.
"It's true," he admitted, his voice calm but resonant with an ancient weight. "My name… well, that's not important. But I am more than just Jaune Arc, the Huntsman-in-training. I'm… something older."
Ozpin's brows furrowed. "How old are we talking about?"
Jaune's gaze drifted to the ruined hall, as if he were seeing through time itself. "Older than the Brothers," he said quietly, his voice carrying across the room. "I've existed in this world long before their story began. My role… has always been one of observation. Of guidance from afar."
A ripple of shock went through the group, disbelief painted on their faces. Blake took a hesitant step forward, her voice careful. "So… you're saying you're like a god?"
Jaune hesitated, his expression softening. "The term 'god' is… not quite right. I was never interested in worship, in ruling, or in any divine claim over mortals. I am simply a watcher, someone who has been here, quietly, guiding and balancing when I could."
Nora crossed her arms, looking at him with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "So you were just going to keep this a secret from us? Forever?"
"I had no intention of revealing it," Jaune replied, his voice calm but sincere. "Because, Nora… it didn't matter to me. I chose to live among you as Jaune, to be your friend, your teammate. I didn't want to stand apart or be something different."
Ozpin's voice cut through the murmurs, his tone cautious but firm. "Jaune… or whatever you prefer to be called. If you've been here for so long, if you're this 'watcher,' then why come to Beacon? Why play the part of a young, inexperienced Huntsman?"
Jaune looked directly at Ozpin, his expression softening as he spoke. "Because I wanted to experience life as one of you, Ozpin. I have watched humanity from the shadows, guiding in small ways — sometimes through you, sometimes through others — but always from afar. This time, I wanted to walk among you. To be here, on the frontlines, facing the struggles and joys of life with all of you."
Ruby's face was etched with confusion, a mix of hurt and wonder in her eyes. "But… why wouldn't you tell us? All this time, we've been your friends, Jaune. Pyrrha was… she would have trusted you with anything. Why keep us in the dark?"
He looked at her, his gaze filled with sorrow and warmth. "Because, Ruby, you were my friends. I didn't want to be anything other than that to you. Telling you would have made things… complicated. It would have changed how you saw me. I didn't want to be seen as some… ancient figure, as something unrelatable."
Ozpin's gaze remained unrelenting, his mind already calculating. "You've helped us, haven't you?" he asked slowly. "There are legends of peace that have come in waves, of battles that ended as if by chance. You've been here all this time, haven't you, offering moments of peace?"
Jaune nodded. "Yes. I have been here for many lifetimes, working quietly to balance things where I could. Those times of peace… I helped to make them possible, but I was never the cause of them alone. Humanity's strength, your strength — that's what brings true balance."
Yang clenched her fists, a mix of anger and understanding in her gaze. "So you let things get bad, just so we'd get stronger?"
Jaune met her eyes, his expression serious. "No, Yang. It's never that simple. I cannot interfere directly. My power is meant to observe and guide, not to control. If I were to intervene too much, I would only rob humanity of its own resilience, its ability to hope and fight back. This is your world, not mine. I can only do so much."
Ren, always one to process things quietly, finally spoke up. "So… what are we supposed to do now? Knowing all this, what does it mean for us?"
Jaune took a deep breath, his gaze warm as he looked at his friends, his allies, and Ozpin. "It means… that I am still Jaune Arc. Whatever I once was, I chose this life. I chose to be here with you, to live as one of you, to be your friend. And nothing changes that."
Ozpin's eyes glimmered with curiosity, tempered by caution. "And yet, you revealed yourself to Salem. Do you realize the power that act alone has given you? People are… looking to you now, Jaune. They're seeing someone far beyond the Huntsman they once knew."
Jaune's face grew somber, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I know. And I didn't plan for that. But I also know that I cannot hide anymore. My part in this world may need to be different now, and if that means helping all of you more openly, then so be it."
Ruby stepped closer, her gaze filled with determination. "You're still our friend, right? No matter what you are, you're still… Jaune."
He smiled, a warmth in his eyes that spoke of the ages he had watched them grow, fight, and live. "Yes, Ruby. Always. I am still Jaune Arc. I chose to live as one of you, and that's who I am, even now."
One by one, they looked at him, their gazes shifting from shock to quiet acceptance. Jaune could feel the strength of their trust, tentative but real. And as they stood together, united by the truth of who he was, he knew he had finally found his place — not as an ancient watcher or guardian, but as Jaune Arc, among friends.
Jaune stood alone on a quiet hill overlooking the rebuilt remnants of Beacon, the distant sounds of laughter and conversation drifting up to him. Below, his friends were busy sharing stories, training, and rebuilding the pieces of their lives. The moonlight cast a soft glow over the grounds, illuminating the resilience that had defined Beacon even through its darkest days. He watched them, feeling the weight of centuries on his shoulders but also the warmth of something new, something fragile yet infinitely precious.
How many times had he stood like this, watching from a distance as people lived their lives, fought their battles, made their choices? Each age had felt unique in its own way, each generation carrying a light that was never quite the same as the one before it. And yet, despite all the centuries, despite the countless faces and names that had come and gone, this one… this one felt different. These friends, this time, had left a mark on him in ways he hadn't thought possible.
He closed his eyes, memories of past lives and past roles flickering through his mind — faces blurred with time, voices that had faded to whispers. In a thousand years, would Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Blake, Ren, and Nora become the same? Faded echoes in a mind too vast to hold onto everything? Would his time here, as Jaune Arc, become just another chapter in a long story?
But there was a quiet acceptance in his heart now, a calm understanding that this was simply the way of things. They were mortal; he was not. That divide could not be changed, no matter how much he cared, no matter how close he felt. This life, like every other, would slip away in time, and he would continue on.
And yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. If anything, he felt grateful, honored to have known them, to have fought alongside them. These memories — of Ruby's determination, Yang's fierce loyalty, Weiss's unyielding strength, Blake's quiet resolve, Nora's boundless energy, and Ren's calm wisdom — would stay with him, no matter how many ages passed. They were part of him now, woven into the tapestry of his existence.
He glanced down at his hands, feeling the faint hum of his power beneath his skin, the power that kept him tethered to a world of endless time. One day, he would have to let go of this identity, to slip back into the shadows, perhaps even take another form, another name. But for now… for now, he was Jaune Arc. He was part of this family, this circle of friends who had seen him for who he was and accepted him anyway.
A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of grass and the distant sound of laughter. And in that moment, Jaune allowed himself a quiet smile, letting the peace of it settle over him.
Maybe one day, he would stand alone again, watching over a new generation. But tonight, he was Jaune Arc, Huntsman, friend, and protector. And for as long as he could hold onto that, he would stand by their side — until time demanded he move on once more.
Thank you for reading this story. Please follow, favorite, and review.