The sun hung low in the sky, bleeding gold and crimson across the tree-lined paths. Road was uneven, cracked, and long since abandoned by the great trade routes that once connected Remnant's kingdoms. The wind carried the scent of dry earth and distant rain, whispering through the scattered trees.
The Rusted Knight rode in silence atop Juniper, his jackalope moving at an easy pace, ears twitching at every distant sound.
Then, ahead, a cart, its front wheel splintered, its owners, a family of five gathered around it, their faces etched with exhaustion and quiet worry.
The father, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray in his hair, knelt by the wheel, his hands stained with dust and grease, muttering under his breath as he tried to force it back into place.
The mother, a woman with kind eyes, held a small child to her chest, rocking them gently. The two older children, a boy and a girl, barely in their teens, stood beside her, glancing nervously at the darkening horizon.
Nightfall was coming.
And with it, the Grimm.
Jaune dismounted, his armor clinking softly as he approached the family. His presence was not hard to notice; imposing, tall, clad in steel. His helmet reflected the dying light, obscuring his face. But clearly human with those blue gentle eyes of his.
The father turned, startled.
The mother instinctively pulled her children closer.
But before fear could settle in, Jaune spoke.
"You're having trouble."
His voice was calm, steady, the kind of tone that belonged to a man who had seen much and judged little.
The father hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Wheel snapped about an hour ago. Tried fixin' it, but…" He gestured at the sorry state of the cart. "Not much luck."
Jaune knelt beside the wheel, inspecting the damage. His gloved fingers traced the cracks in the wood, noting the misalignment of the axle.
"It won't hold for long," he said after a moment. "Even if you fix it, it won't last more than a mile before breaking again."
The father cursed under his breath. The mother sighed. The children looked between them, worry creeping into their expressions.
Jaune looked at Juniper.
Then back at the family.
"My jackalope can pull your cart though."
Silence.
The offer hung in the air, unexpected and strange.
The father's brows furrowed. "That beast of yours strong enough?"
Jaune's lips curled into the faintest ghost of a smile beneath his helmet.
"Stronger than she looks."
With Juniper hitched to the cart, the family gathered their belongings, relieved that they wouldn't have to abandon their supplies.
They traveled slowly, the road uneven and treacherous, but Juniper moved with steady patience, her powerful legs pulling the load as if it weighed nothing at all.
Jaune walked beside them, one hand on the cart's frame, his gaze sweeping the horizon for any signs of danger.
The father eventually broke the silence. "You a huntsman?"
Jaune considered the question.
Once, he might have answered yes.
Now?
"Something like that."
The father hummed, but didn't press further.
Instead, the conversation shifted.
And Jaune listened.
Remnant was changing.
The roads were more dangerous than ever, not just because of Grimm, but because of bandits and rogue huntsmen, those who had lost faith in the system and now lived only for themselves.
Kingdom borders were tightening, trust between them dwindling.
And then there was Merlot.
"I don't trust him," the father muttered, adjusting his grip on the reins. "A man who thinks he can tame the Grimm? That's madness."
The mother sighed, rocking their youngest. "But what if he can?"
The father's jaw tightened. "Then what?"
The mother hesitated. "If the Grimm stop attacking us… if we don't have to live in fear anymore… isn't that a good thing?"
The older boy scoffed. "You don't stop a snake from biting by teaching it tricks. You just make it a weapon."
Jaune remained silent, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet.
"The Grimm aren't mindless." The mother's voice was quiet, hesitant. "They're drawn to our suffering, to our pain. But what if they could feel something else? What if they could be more?"
The father let out a harsh laugh. "More? They're monsters."
The mother turned to Jaune. "What do you think?"
Jaune met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"I think you're both right."
Silence followed.
Jaune sighed, looking toward the dark horizon.
"If Merlot's goal is to remove the Grimm as a threat, then yes, that could be a good thing. But what happens next? Without a common enemy, do the kingdoms turn on each other? Do people stop fearing the Grimm, only to start fearing their neighbors?"
His voice was quiet, but heavy.
"History has always been written in blood. And war doesn't need monsters to exist."
The mother's expression softened, but the father scoffed.
"You sound like you've seen it before."
Jaune closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, the memories surfaced.
He had.
He had seen it over and over again.
Jaune exhaled slowly. "I've seen enough to know that peace isn't won with force alone."
The family fell silent.
Hours later, the settlement came into view, a small gathering of homes, barely more than a dot on the map, nestled against a riverbank.
The family sighed in relief, finally nearing safety.
Juniper slowed, her golden fur dusted with dirt, but she remained strong, unbothered by the journey.
Jaune unhitched her from the cart, patting her side gently.
The father turned to Jaune, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't have much to offer as thanks."
Jaune shook his head. "I didn't ask for anything."
The man hesitated. "…Even so."
The mother smiled softly. "You're a good man, Sir Knight."
Jaune stiffened slightly at the title.
She wasn't the first to call him that.
And she wouldn't be the last.
He glanced at the small village, at the people who had built their lives on the edges of ruin, who had fought for everyday of peace they could manage.
They weren't warriors.
They weren't huntsmen.
But they endured.
And maybe that was what mattered most.
Jaune turned back to the family, nodding once before stepping back toward Juniper.
As he mounted, the younger girl, who had been silent for most of the trip—spoke up.
"Will we see you again?"
Jaune hesitated.
Then, softly," Perhaps."
The wind was soft, carrying the faint scent of rain over the distant hills. The road was rough, the wheels of passing carts carving deep ruts into the dirt. With the sun hung low, burning the sky in streaks of gold and crimson, as if the world itself were bleeding into dusk.
Jaune rode slowly, his armor dull beneath the evening light, his cloak billowing behind him like the last embers of a dying fire. Juniper, his golden jackalope, moved with effortless grace, her ears flicking at the sounds of the rustling of dry grass, the distant chirping of insects, the whisper of soil shifting in the wind.
He had been traveling for days, wandering through small, nameless villages, always arriving just before nightfall, always leaving before the morning sun touched the horizon. Jaune did not stay long. He never did.
But wherever he passed, he left behind more than just stories.
He left behind small kindnesses.
Jaune first heard the soft sobbing before he saw her.
The forest was dense, the trees stretching tall and shadowed, their leaves whispering like unseen voices in the twilight.
He slowed Juniper's pace, scanning the trees until his eyes caught a small figure huddled beneath a twisted oak, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was young, no older than six or seven, her clothes torn and covered in dust.
Jaune dismounted, his armor creaking softly, the weight of it familiar, grounding. He approached carefully, not wanting to startle her.
The girl sniffled, rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks, then looked up, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
Jaune knelt before her, his gauntleted hand resting on his knee, his voice gentle beneath the weight of his helmet.
"Are you lost?"
The girl nodded hesitantly, her lower lip trembling.
"I—I don't know where my house is."
Jaune glanced at the sky, at the darkening horizon.
The Grimm would come soon.
"Let's find it together," he said.
She hesitated, then slowly reached out, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of his gloved hand.
Jaune held it carefully, like something fragile.
And together, they walked through the trees, his towering figure shielding her from the night, his footsteps steady, reassuring.
When they reached the village, her mother came running, tears streaming down her face as she pulled the child into a fierce embrace.
The woman looked up at Jaune, her breath catching as she saw the Jackalope
"You… you're the Rusted Knight."
Jaune did not answer. He simply nodded and turned to leave.
Before he could, the girl ran to him, tugging on his cloak.
"Thank you, mister knight!"
Jaune paused.
Then he knelt once more, ruffling her hair.
"Be careful next time, alright?"
She nodded eagerly, and with that, he disappeared into the night.
The next morning, Jaune found himself on a dusty road, passing through farmland that stretched for miles, golden fields swaying in the wind.
Ahead, he saw an elderly farmer struggling to load bales of hay onto a wooden cart. His back was bent with age, his arms trembling under the weight, and for every bundle he stacked, another would slip and fall.
Jaune pulled Juniper to a stop, dismounting in one swift motion.
The old man barely noticed him at first, too focused on grumbling under his breath. It wasn't until Jaune stepped forward, as if rolling up his sleeves, that the farmer looked up.
His eyes widened.
"You a huntsman?"
Jaune shook his head.
"Just a traveler."
The old man eyed him warily.
"And you wanna… help?"
Jaune simply nodded.
For the next hour, they worked in companionable silence, Jaune lifting the heavy bales with ease, stacking them onto the cart while the farmer muttered something about "good folk with proper manners."
When the last bundle was secured, the old man wiped the sweat from his brow, chuckling under his breath.
"You know, boy, I've seen plenty of huntsmen ride past. Never had one stop for something like this."
"I'm… actually a farmer myself." Jaune dusted off his gloves. "Grimm aren't the only problems in the world."
The farmer gave him a long look. "Oh, you really are! Haha, then as a fellow farmer, accept this!"
He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small apple.
"For your trouble."
Jaune hesitated.
He had never asked for rewards.
But there was something in the gesture. Something simple, something kind, that made him take the apple with a grateful nod.
The farmer watched as Jaune mounted Juniper once more, watching as the Rusted Knight rode off, his red cloak billowing behind him.
Night fell quickly in the open road.
Jaune had been riding for hours, following the faint glow of lights in the distance when he heard it.
A cry of fear.
Spurring Juniper forward, he crested the hill just in time to see a caravan under attack, surrounded by a pack of Grimm with spined backs and glowing red eyes.
The guards trembled, their hands gripping their weapons, their faces pale with fear.
Jaune did not hesitate.
He pulled Crocea Mors from his belt, the blade gleaming with an eerie light, and charged.
The enemies barely had time to react before he was upon them.
His blade flashed—one fell, then another.
The Grimm howled, lunging for him—
Jaune met them head-on, cutting them down with precise, merciless strikes, his movements too fast, too sharp, too practiced.
By the time the last Grimm collapsed into dust, silence fell over the road.
The caravan leader, a man with weary eyes, stepped forward.
"Who… who are you?"
Jaune sheathed his sword.
"Just a traveler."
The caravan guards exchanged glances, muttering among themselves.
The leader hesitated, then nodded.
"Then we owe you, traveler. Thank you."
Jaune simply nodded once, then turned to leave.
Jaune knew he was just one man.
He could not stop wars.
He could not rewrite history.
But he could help.
He could lift a cart.
He could guide a lost child home.
He could chase away the dangers in the dark.
He could be the hand that reached out when no one else would.
Because he had learned long ago that one small kindness, in one small moment, could transform a world.
Perhaps that's why he roamed instead of letting Juniper go there directly.
The sun hung low in the sky, drenching the fields in golden light. The wind carried the scent of fresh hay and tilled earth, rustling through the rolling fields of Mistral's quiet countryside.
Ruby Rose pulled up to a modest farmstead, dust trailing behind her hoverbike as it hummed to a stop. She kicked down the stand, brushing stray strands of long dark hair from her face.
A farmer, aged with time but sturdy in build, stood by his cart, hands on his hips as he observed her approach.
Ruby swung one leg off the bike, offering a charming smile. "Evening, sir. Hope I'm not interrupting."
The farmer squinted at her, clearly wary, but Ruby had met plenty of folks like him before.
"That depends. You a merchant? A soldier? Huntsman?"
Ruby chuckled. "Huntress!"
The old man grunted. "What's your business, then?"
She tapped her scroll, pulling up a holographic image of a crude sketch—a knight in rusted armor, wielding a sword, riding atop a massive jackalope.
"I was wondering if you've seen him."
The farmer's expression shifted.
His weathered face softened into something reminiscent, almost amused. He glanced toward his stacked hay bales, then back at her.
"Handsome fella, broad shoulders? Polite? Real quiet?"
Ruby grinned. "That sounds about right."
The farmer let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I saw him. Did me a solid, actually. Damn near lifted those bales like they were feathers. Haven't met a man that strong in a long time. My back would've given out before I even finished loading."
Ruby folded her arms, sighing theatrically. "Of course he did. Should've figured he wouldn't just pass through without helping someone."
The farmer smirked, clearly entertained. "Heh, seemed the type. Didn't ask for a thing in return, just gave a nod and rode off."
Ruby shook her head, but her smile lingered. "Sounds like him alright. Thank you for your time."
She turned, walking back toward her bike, reaching for her helmet, but just as she did, her scroll buzzed.
She sighed, already knowing who it was before she even answered. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I haven't checked in yet."
"Nope, actually just calling to see if you're still alive." Yang's teasing voice filled the speaker. "Where the hell are you, Rubes? You've been dodging me for, like, two weeks!"
Ruby rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I'm on a mission. Investigating something for Goodwitch."
"Hah. What, did you finally decide to do actual work?"
"Hey!" Ruby gasped, mock offended. "I do plenty of work. I just also happen to be really cool and spontaneous."
Yang laughed. "Uh-huh. So, how are things in Mistral?"
Ruby swung a leg over her hoverbike, checking her fuel levels. "Quiet, for now. Roads are okay, not too much bandit activity. Grimm is still a pain, but nothing crazy."
"Good. You're being careful, right?"
"Nope, I'm running through the woods, screaming my name at the top of my lungs. Seems like a fun idea."
Yang sighed dramatically. "Why are you in Mistral, anyway? Thought you were staying put in Vale?"
Ruby leaned back, staring up at the cloud-streaked sky. "Goodwitch told me to check something out. Said it was important."
"Look, just be careful, alright? And maybe stop by Patch sometime. Dad misses you."
Ruby smirked. "That sounds like a trap. Every time I visit, you, Blake, spend the whole time flirting in front of me."
Yang snorted. "Yeah? And?"
"And it's annoying!" Ruby huffed. "Literally, everyone is flirting! Blake, Weiss, Pyrrha, even Ren and Nora, and I just have to sit there like a third wheel!"
Yang cackled. "Maybe you're just jealous."
"I am not."
"Are too."
"Yang, I'm hot and badass. If I wanted to be flirting with someone, I would be."
"Pfft. Sure. Totally believe you."
Ruby groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead. "I hope you realize that one day, I'm gonna date someone way cooler than all of you."
Yang laughed again. "Oh, so you're aiming to steal someone's partner? Following in super-mom's footsteps now, huh?"
Ruby mock-gasped. "I would never! How dare you slander me like this!"
Yang's laughter was genuine, and despite her irritation, Ruby smiled faintly.
"Just come visit soon, yeah? I know you're busy, but… you don't have to do this alone, Rubes."
Ruby softened. "I know, sis. I'll be fine."
Yang sighed. "Alright. Just don't run off and get married to a fairy tale creature without telling me first."
Ruby smirked. "No promises."
With that, the call ended.
Ruby let out a breath, staring at her scroll before tucking it away.
Then, adjusting her gloves, she pulled her helmet over her head, the visor flickering to life with a soft hum.
She turned to the farmer, who had been quietly observing the conversation, arms crossed.
"Well, you're certainly a lively one," he chuckled.
Ruby shrugged, revving her bike's engine. "Gotta keep things interesting somehow."
The old man smirked, shaking his head. "You really think you'll find him?"
Ruby smiled beneath her visor, the engine rumbling beneath her like a heartbeat.
"Oh, I know I will."
With a flick of her wrist, she sped off, dust trailing behind her as she chased the trail of a knight who never stayed in one place for long.