Hurry up and Wait

AN: This chapter is one I've been worried about. Not so much that you guys won't like it, but that it might be too "Filler" like. But it's also a chapter I felt was worth making. Hope you guys enjoy it.

The morning after the Battle for Atlas concluded with the roar of engines. Dropships descended to load heavy vehicles onto the capital ships, including the late King Theoden's flagship, Sleipnir. The massive vessel carried most of the heavy armor. At the same time, other ships from Atlas's fleet coordinated the transport of additional vehicles from the other kingdoms to the rendezvous point on Draco Island.

Ironwood suggested taking a direct route from Dragon's Claw Key, following the trail straight to the Black Gate. The journey would take two days at most. Jaune could only hope his message to Salem had been enough to divert her gaze, keeping her focus on their advancing armies and away from Mordor, giving Ruby the opening she needed to reach Mount Doom as intended.

Jaune stood at the command console, reviewing the data collected by their war strategists. First, he checked the promised contributions from the four kingdoms and Amazonia. Then his gaze shifted to the reports on who had answered his "Black Gate Bounty." The name, while crude, had been coined by the officers—and it was accurate.

Vale could send only half its forces to assist Atlas in the final battle. With the war turning toward Salem herself, Jaune convinced the council to commit as much as they could spare—their response: roughly ten thousand strong.

Crude but effective, their mechanized units included heavy Scorpion tanks with various ordnances, armored personnel carriers, and whatever Warthogs they could cobble together and arm with heavy weapons. These vehicles were blunt instruments, but their resilience had been proven during the months-long siege of Vale, where they held the line against overwhelming Grimm hordes. Huntsmen squads rode alongside militia volunteers, including some familiar faces from Laketown. Jaune smirked at the thought.

Despite months of devastating losses, Atlas's forces remained the most technologically advanced. Their seven thousand soldiers brought sleek mechs, humanoid combat drones, and Colossus-class battle suits—the pinnacle of cutting-edge design. Though diminished in number, each soldier was equipped with the most advanced weaponry their kingdom could muster.

Atlas also retained air superiority, with prototype fighters and bombers spared during the final battle in Mantle. Ironwood's foresight in preserving these assets before the capital fell now proved invaluable.

Mistral mustered a force of six thousand under Eomer's command, bolstered by reserves activated in the aftermath of the Atlas campaign. Though losses had taken their toll, Mistral's forces still fielded a formidable cavalry of armored motorbikes and vehicles salvaged from Atlas and Mantle's scrapyards. Repurposed jeeps and trucks, bristling with makeshift weapons, made for fast, maneuverable units—ideal for the hilly terrain Mistral warriors were accustomed to.

Vacuo promised five thousand desert-hardened fighters under Elrond's leadership. Their light dune buggies and fast attack vehicles were built for speed and guerrilla tactics, blending Semblance-driven combat prowess with the art of improvisation. Their adaptability would be critical in the harsh environment beyond Mordor's Black Gate.

Amazonia's army, led by Diaval, was the smallest but arguably the most disciplined and lethal. Four thousand Faunus warriors, including legendary archers, lancers, and cavalry mounted on motor vehicles, joined the march. Diaval also hinted at additional reinforcements Maleficent was working to rally, though bringing them into the fold would take time.

Though the combined forces of Remnant numbered thirty-two thousand on paper, they were a shadow of their former strength. Every kingdom had suffered grievous losses during Salem's opening salvo ten months ago, forcing them to hunker down and endure her relentless assaults.

Jaune lowered his head. "I'd hoped for more…"

Grun shrugged. "You called for as many as would answer, brother. At least they're standing with us this time instead of waiting for the end."

Ironwood crossed his arms. "I still don't like relying on this 'bounty' of yours. Sell-swords are unreliable at best… and bandits?"

Ozpin tilted his head. "The thing about sell-swords is that they usually side with whoever looks like they're going to win. By now, even they know that staying out of this war any longer will leave them with nothing but rubble to rule and a feral wasteland to survive in."

Jaune added, "It's a gamble, but it's the only card we have to play. Not like we've got an army of the dead with favors to call in."

Grun chuckled at that, though his amusement didn't last long. The CCT network buzzed with activity, proof of Ozpin's words.

Messages flooded in from across Remnant in response to the bounty:

"We've got a crew. We'll fight for half up front."
"Name your price. Just give us some Grimm to kill."
"Former Huntsmen and bandit clans are in. Coordinates?"
"Ten of us are on our way. If you want her head, we'll get it for you."

Grun scanned the responses, recognizing a few of the names. Some of those answering the call were impressive—and their involvement might rally others. Still, his brow furrowed as he looked over the data. "For now, it's just words on a screen. We won't know if they'll keep their promises or sit back and wait for the smoke to clear."

Jaune nodded in agreement, adding the "rogues" to their military roster with a swipe of his hand over the hologram. Huntsmen turned mercenaries, rogue warriors, and even infamous bandit clans were circling the bait. Anyone's guess was whether they would fight for the cause or turn the battlefield into chaos.

As the combined armies marched toward the Black Gate, one thought hung heavy in the minds of those who dared to hope: would this be enough to break Salem's seemingly endless tide?

The Sleipnir buzzed with activity, its engines thrumming steadily, their low hum echoing through the steel halls. Soldiers and crew hurried to their stations, the clatter of boots on metal punctuated by barked commands over the intercom. Anticipation hung thick in the air—a palpable mixture of fear and resolve. Yet, despite the chaos, the ship's vastness allowed for moments of quiet solitude in its hidden corners. Such moments were rare and precious for those who carried the war's heaviest burdens.

Blake stood on the observation deck, her gaze fixed on the endless expanse of stars beyond the thick glass. The assembled fleet glittered in the distance, a testament to the fragile unity forged in the fires of war. But Blake's amber eyes seemed unfocused, turned inward as her thoughts wandered.

Beside her, Sun leaned casually against the railing. His usual easygoing demeanor was tempered with a quiet concern as his eyes flicked to her exposed Faunus ears, no longer hidden beneath the bow she had once worn so faithfully.

"You stopped wearing it," Sun remarked softly, breaking the silence.

Blake glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The bow was a disguise for a life that's long past. It doesn't matter anymore. The future is what I need to focus on now."

Sun's grin widened though there was a flicker of admiration in his gaze. "You're incredible, you know that? I mean, taking down a Nazgûl like the Winter Witch—that's the kind of thing people write songs about."

Blake chuckled, the sound low and dry, her shoulders lifting slightly. "I only did what I had to do to survive and protect the king. Besides…" She turned her eyes back to the stars. "…it's not over yet."

Her voice softened, the weight of her words heavy. "It feels like we've been fighting for so long. Sometimes, I wonder if there will ever be a life beyond this."

Sun nudged her shoulder gently, his tone warm and reassuring. "Of course, there will be. And when that happens, we'll find it. Together."

Blake turned to him, her gaze questioning yet hopeful. "You really think so?"

Sun's grin softened, sincerity shining through. "Blake, I didn't follow you halfway across Remnant just to let you slip away now. You've got me—completely. I'm not going anywhere."

A faint smirk curved Blake's lip. "You're persistent. I'll give you that."

Sun's hand brushed hers, the brief contact lingering as his voice dropped gentler. "I mean it, Blake. Whatever comes after this, I'm in it for the long haul. No more running, no more distractions."

For a moment, Blake hesitated. Then, her fingers curled around his, a small but genuine smile breaking through her guarded exterior. "Okay. Together, then."

Sun's tail curled around Blake's side as their hands intertwined, gently tugging her closer. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her gaze returning to the stars, the distant fleet a glimmer of hope against the darkness ahead.

In the bustling common area, Weiss sat across from Neptune at a small table near a viewport. She cradled a porcelain teacup in her hands, the delicate porcelain a stark contrast to the warships looming beyond the glass. Her posture was noticeably more relaxed—something rare for her until recently. The usual weight that accompanied her noble bearing seemed lighter now, as though casting off her father's legacy had freed her in more ways than one.

Neptune, however, was anything but relaxed. He fidgeted with his scroll, stealing glances at Weiss every few moments. His hand occasionally drifted toward his right temple, fingers brushing against the faint seam where his artificial eye met his skin. He rubbed at it absently—a habit he hadn't quite broken since the Battle of Helm's Deep.

Weiss noticed, of course. She always did.

"You know," Neptune began, his voice awkward and uncertain, "I'm not exactly sure why you agreed to sit here with me. I mean, I'm not complaining, but—"

"Relax, Neptune," Weiss interrupted, smirking faintly. "You've earned it. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate a moment to breathe before we march to war."

Neptune rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. His fingers hesitated near his artificial eye again before pulling away. "Well, yeah, but—wait, does this mean you're not mad at me anymore? Like, for all the dumb stuff I've said in the past?"

Weiss set her teacup down with a soft clink, her icy blue eyes locking onto his.

"You're still hopelessly foolish sometimes, but…" She leaned in slightly, her smirk softening into something warmer. "…I think I can overlook it."

Neptune's jaw dropped, his face lighting up in surprise. "Wait, really? Does that mean—"

Before he could finish, Weiss leaned forward and stole a quick kiss, leaving him stunned.

"Don't make me regret it," Weiss said with a sly smile as she leaned back in her chair.

Neptune blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. His hand twitched toward his temple again—whether out of habit or sheer nervousness, even he wasn't sure.

Not a chance," he blurted out, grinning like an idiot.

Weiss rolled her eyes, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement. Despite everything—the war, the injuries, the artificial eye that he sometimes itched absentmindedly—she still saw him. The real him.

And, against all odds, she was still fond of him.

Pyrrha sat on a crate in the dimly lit lower levels of the Sleipnir, turning a small trinket over in her hands. It had once belonged to her late uncle, the king, and its familiar weight offered her a strange sense of comfort. Nearby, Robin Loxley leaned against the wall, his bow slung casually across his back. His armor was battered but well-kept, a testament to his countless battles.

"I always thought your uncle would outlast us all," Robin said softly, his tone laced with wistfulness. "Stubborn old man."

Pyrrha smiled faintly, her thumb brushing over the trinket's surface. "He was. But in the end, he was at peace. He told me he trusted us to carry on. I hope I can live up to that."

Robin crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. "You've already done enough to make him proud, Pyrrha. And for what it's worth…" He hesitated, his tone softening. "…I think Jaune has, too."

Pyrrha looked up, surprise flickering across her face. "You've never been particularly fond of him."

Robin shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "What can I say? I'm protective. You're like a sister to me, and I wasn't sure he was worthy of you."

"And now?" Pyrrha tilted her head slightly.

Robin's smirk softened, his tone genuine. "Now, I see what your uncle saw. He's a good man, Pyrrha. Maybe even the best of us. If you believe in him, then so do I."

Pyrrha stood and placed a hand on Robin's shoulder, her voice warm with gratitude. "Thank you, Robin. It means a lot to me to hear you say that."

Robin chuckled, his smirk returning. "Don't let him know I said that. I've got a reputation to uphold."

Pyrrha laughed softly and patted his shoulder. "Right, can't have that." She held her uncle's trinket and stood up, "I'm going to check on him. See you at mealtime."

"Always," Robin waved her off.

The Sleipnir's war room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the holographic map on the central table casting shifting shadows across the walls. Scattered reports, maps, and marked-up battle plans lay in disarray, a testament to the frantic planning of the past few days. Most of the commanders had already retired for the night, leaving the room to a select few.

Ren, Nora, Jacob, and Candice sat around the table, the steady hum of the ship's engines filling the quiet. The air was heavy—not just from the weight of the battle ahead but also from the unspoken tension lingering among them.

Nora leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her eyes flicking toward Jacob. His usual sharp demeanor was muted, and his gaze was fixed on the cluttered table before him. Candice sat beside him, her composure unbroken as always, but her sharp gaze never strayed far from her partner as though silently keeping him anchored.

"You've been white this whole time," Nora said, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes on Jacob. "Even during the meeting. That's not like you. You ok?"

Jacob shifted in his seat but didn't look up.

"It's not exactly easy to explain," Candice said softly, glancing at Jacob. "But I guess now's as good a time as any."

She nudged him gently. After a moment of hesitation, Jacob straightened in his chair, though his voice remained subdued.

"Last time we talked was after you guys got back from Helm's Deep," he began. "Let's just say, after that… the Vacuo campaign wasn't just brutal—it felt endless. It was like a nonstop mission when the CCT Network went dark because of the Winter Witch's blizzard surrounding Atlas. One led to the next almost immediately after…"

He rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to ease a weight that had settled there.

"First, as you know, we had to find Radagast," Candice added, her voice calm but tinged with weariness. "Going in the East of Mirkwood was like walking into a nightmare. The rumors around that Grimm Spider, Roodaka, were not exaggerated. It was a menace."

"We had some help along the way that helped us deal with the beast," Jacob added, "We came across Emerald, Mercury, and Neapolitan."

Ren looked surprised to hear those names. "Really? Aren't they still under parole? What were they doing in Mirkwood?"

"Roodaka's spiders intercepted their transport," Candice answered. "After freeing them, they were more than happy to join the hunt."

Jacob continued faintly. "After killing the spider and freeing the old man, he was able to point us in the right direction to find Raven Branwen."

Nora asked, "What was it like meeting Yang's mom?"

Candice tilted her head slightly with an honest expression, "It was… interesting. Though, I suppose it makes sense why they are so estranged… woman was intense."

"But it didn't take long to convince her to join our side of the war," Jacob said, leaning back in his chair. He looked visibly exhausted, thinking about what verbal gymnastics he had to endure to convince a bandit leader to join the war.

Jacob's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a murmur. "And then came the Battle for Shade Academy."

The room fell silent. Nora leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. Even Ren's usually impassive expression softened as he regarded Jacob.

"We lost a lot of good people there," Candice said quietly.

Jacob clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. "Vixen died protecting the students. She believed in me, and I let her down."

Nora straightened, her tone gentle but firm. "Jacob, you didn't let her down. Without you, my Aunt Tohru and our clan wouldn't have survived after Moria, let alone Shade Academy. You gave them a chance."

Jacob shook his head, his voice cracking. "But it wasn't enough. Not for her. She deserved better."

Candice placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip steadying. "You did everything you could, Jacob. Vixen knew the risks—she always did. She'd never blame you for what happened. None of us would."

Jacob looked away, his jaw tightening. "At least I got some payback. That scorpion bastard that killed her won't be hurting anyone else…" His fists tightened white at the knuckles.

"Grief has a way of clouding our vision," Ren said, his voice calm and measured. "It makes us doubt ourselves, even when we've done everything possible."

Jacob glanced up at him, his eyes shadowed with doubt.

Ren continued, "There's someone who might help you find clarity. Queen Maleficent has a mirror she inherited from her mother, Midori. It can show potential futures… or the choices ahead of you. It might not give you the answers, but it could offer clarity. Perhaps that's what you need."

Jacob frowned the words turning over in his mind. "The road not taken, huh? I don't know. I don't want to bother her with this."

Nora tilted her head, smirking faintly. "Oh, she already knows you're troubled by now…"

Jacob and Candice looked confused, waiting for Nora to elaborate.

"She can read your thoughts pretty easily from a distance," Nora recounted her first meeting with the Queen of the Faunus, "When we were in Amazonia, she spoke with each of us with her mind; she knew us well but was very respectful of our privacy. She knew what to say to help; she might be able to help you."

Ren nodded in agreement, "Besides, sometimes seeing the possibilities is enough to remind us why and who we fight for."

Jacob hesitated, then sighed. "All right. I'll talk to her. But don't expect me to come out of it enlightened."

Candice smirked faintly, squeezing her partner's shoulder, "No one's expecting that, Jacob. Just don't punch the mirror if it shows something you don't like."

A faint smile crosses Jacob's face, fleeting but genuine, and for a moment, the heaviness in the room seemed to lift.

Nora reached out, placing her hand over Jacob's shoulder. "You've done so much for so many, Jacob. Maybe it's time to look into the mirror and see what you need rather than what you want."

Jacob nodded, understanding her meaning. He left the room, leaving Candice behind with the Valkyrie and Ninja.

Jacob stood outside the ornate door to the royal quarters, his hand hovering near the polished wood. His thoughts churned like a storm. He had spent the entire walk here rehearsing what he would say, but now, standing at the threshold, every word he had prepared felt woefully inadequate.

Before he could summon the courage to knock, a calm, melodic voice drifted from beyond the door.

"Come in, Jacob."

He blinked, startled. Lowering his hand, he pushed the door open cautiously and stepped inside.

The room was grand, yet it carried an air of serene tranquility. Soft light bathed the space, seeming to emanate from everywhere at once. Tapestries of intricate designs adorned the walls, and vines and blossoms wove through the corners as though the room was alive. At its center sat Queen Maleficent in a high-backed chair, her piercing golden gaze locking onto him with an almost otherworldly intensity. It was as if she had been expecting this moment all along.

Jacob's eyes flicked briefly to the familiar furnishings—the regal bed, the armor stand that once bore the late king's battle-worn plate. His brow furrowed slightly.

"I see you've quickly settled into the late king's room," he observed, his tone neutral.

Maleficent nodded, her expression solemn. "Supreme Commander Éomer felt it was only right that I take this room. He wasn't sure he would return to it after his uncle's passing."

Her voice was quiet and reverent, indicating respect for the space she now occupied. Jacob could tell she hadn't simply claimed it for herself—she was preserving it, honoring the memory of the fallen king.

Maleficent inclined her head gracefully, a faint smile curving her lips. "There's no need for formalities, Jacob. Please, have a seat." She gestured to the chair across from her.

Jacob obeyed, lowering himself into the chair. His movements were deliberate and cautious, as if he were afraid to disrupt the delicate balance of the room. He shifted uneasily under Maleficent's unwavering gaze, his carefully prepared words dissolving into silence.

"You are troubled," she said, her tone calm yet confident. "I can see it in your eyes and know what you will say. You've been reciting it to yourself since you left the war room, over and over."

Jacob blinked, taken aback. "You could hear that far?"

"Not exactly," she replied, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "But you were loud enough."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Guess I'm not great at keeping my thoughts to myself."

"Not when doubt clouds your mind," she said gently. "But that's why you're here, isn't it?"

Jacob nodded slowly, his hands gripping the edges of the chair. "I wanted to ask… about the mirror. The one that shows the 'road not taken.'"

"The Mirror of Midori," Maleficent said, her tone reverent. "It is no simple relic. It is a guide—not to give you answers, but to show you what you need to see."

Jacob frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Others have looked into it, haven't they?"

She nodded. "Yes. Jaune gazed into the mirror and saw a memory—a glimpse of his ancestor, the King who Fell to Darkness, succumbing to the Arkenstone. Ruby looked and saw what would happen if she didn't accept the mission to carry the Ring of Darkness."

Jacob's gaze dropped to his hands. "And me? What will I see?"

Maleficent studied him for a long moment, her golden eyes unblinking. "That," she said softly, "is something I cannot tell you. The mirror shows only what you need to see, not what you want."

Jacob hesitated, doubt flickering in his expression. But the quiet certainty in her voice steadied him. With a deep breath, he nodded. "All right. I'll do it."

Maleficent rose gracefully, her dark gown sweeping the floor as she moved toward the mirror on the far side of the room. Its frame was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, carved with twisting vines and stars that pulsed faintly with a soft, ethereal glow.

She gestured for him to follow. "Stand here," she instructed her tone firm yet calm.

Jacob approached the mirror, its surface rippling like water. Maleficent remained nearby, silent as he stepped forward, his reflection shifting with each movement.

The ripples stilled, and the image began to change.

Jacob's breath hitched as the reflection morphed into a brightly lit training room. The space was simple but welcoming, with padded mats on the floor and racks of training weapons lining the walls. Faint laughter echoed through the room, and Jacob was drawn into the scene.

At the center of the room stood a young boy, no older than eight or nine. His messy black hair was streaked with pale blond, mirroring Jacob's. The boy held a practice staff, his tiny hands gripping it tightly as he twirled it earnestly. He stumbled slightly but caught himself, trying again with a fierce focus that tightened Jacob's chest.

The boy paused, wiping his brow. Then, as if sensing someone's presence, he turned toward Jacob, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Dad!" the boy called, his voice filled with unbridled joy.

Jacob staggered back a step, his eyes wide. The word echoed in his mind, sinking into his heart with shock and warmth.

The boy dropped the staff, letting it clatter to the floor as he ran toward Jacob. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around Jacob's waist. The touch felt real—warm and grounding—and for a moment, Jacob forgot it was a vision.

"I've been practicing!" the boy said excitedly, looking up at him with pride in his shimmering eyes.

Jacob knelt, his hands resting on the boy's shoulders. He studied the child's face, his breath catching at the unmistakable resemblance. Then his gaze settled on the boy's irises—shimmering, glowing silver.

Silver eyes.

Jacob's chest tightened, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, but the boy stepped back, turning toward the door at the room's far end.

"Mom's here!" the boy exclaimed, his smile growing wider.

Jacob turned, his heart racing as the door began to open. A figure with flowing hair stepped into the room, her silhouette familiar yet shrouded in the haze of the vision.

The mirror's surface rippled violently before Jacob could see her face, and the image shattered like water disturbed by a stone.

The vision was gone.

Jacob stood frozen, his breath uneven as he tried to process what he had seen. The warmth of the boy's embrace lingered, and his laughter echoed faintly in his ears.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Maleficent's voice broke the silence, calm yet knowing.

Jacob turned to face her, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. "Was that…?"

"A glimpse of what might be," she said gently. "The mirror reveals only what you need to see—nothing more, nothing less."

Jacob swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "He had silver eyes…"

Maleficent inclined her head, her golden gaze steady. "Destiny has touched you, Jacob Cobalt. What you saw is a possibility shaped by your choices from here on."

For a moment, Jacob said nothing, his mind reeling. But amidst the whirlwind of emotions, a flicker of something new took root in his heart.

Hope.

With a respectful bow, Jacob turned and left the room. As he stepped into the dimly lit corridors of the Sleipnir, the flicker of hope in his heart burned brighter than before.

The soft hum of the Sleipnir reverberated through the quiet observation deck. Jaune sat alone, elbows resting on his knees, gazing through the wide viewport. Beyond the glass, the fleet stretched into infinity, its lights shimmering against the vast, star-strewn sky. Below, the ocean mirrored the heavens, a perfect reflection of the stars above.

There was peace for a fleeting moment amidst the weight of war and the looming final battle.

Footsteps echoed against the metal floor, breaking the stillness. Jaune didn't turn, but he knew the presence behind him before a word was spoken.

"This seat taken?"

Jaune glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Standing there, arms crossed, was Grun—one of the few people he could call a brother, not by blood, but in every way that mattered.

"No…" Jaune gestured to the empty seat beside him.

Grun settled into the chair with a deep, relieved sigh, his broad frame sinking into the seat. For all his strength and endurance, even he wasn't immune to the exhaustion of war.

"We did it," Jaune murmured, almost to himself.

Grun nodded, his expression softening. "We all did it together. Couldn't have happened without you."

Jaune huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "It wasn't just me."

Grun leaned back, his eyes following Jaune's to the breathtaking expanse beyond the glass. "Hell of a view."

"Best seats in the house."

Neither spoke for a while, simply taking in the moment. The tension in Grun's shoulders seemed to ease as he exhaled, letting himself relax for the first time in what felt like years.

"Lord…" he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Feels like forever since I just… sat down and looked at the world."

"Now would be the perfect time to rest," Jaune offered.

Grun chuckled. "Tell me, brother, do you ever think about how different life could've been if nothing had happened? No Beacon, no Cinder, no war, or even if you never snuck into Beacon in the first place?"

Jaune smirked, shaking his head. "Sometimes."

Grun looked down at the engagement ring on his finger, absentmindedly turning it with his thumb. His thoughts drifted, and his voice was quieter and more confident when he spoke again.

"When this is over, I look forward to starting a family with Yang."

Jaune's smile widened. "Oh yeah?"

"Of course."

Jaune leaned back, arms crossed. "The aftermath of a war is usually an era of new beginnings."

Grun chuckled, nodding. "Indeed it is. Is it one you see for yourself someday? Settling down with the 'Invincible Girl'?"

Jaune hesitated, his grin faltering slightly. His voice grew softer. "I've thought about it… but I don't know if I'd be an 'ideal parent.'"

Grun tilted his head, studying him. "Don't be so sure. I think you'd be a great father."

Jaune turned to him, brow raised. "You really think so?"

Grun smirked, resting an elbow on the armrest. "Really. For starters, you've got honor and love, and you know how to teach respect to others. You fight for what's right and never give up on the people you care about." He paused, then grinned. "Besides, just imagine your kids running around, bragging to everyone, 'Our father is Jaune Arc.'"

Jaune chuckled, shaking his head, but amusement didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't know about that…" His voice grew distant. "Not everything I've done is something to be proud of."

The weight of past mistakes lingered in his thoughts—the hunger for power that led him to the Arkenstone, the chaos he nearly unleashed between Atlas and Vale, and the moment he almost hurt Ruby in his blinded rage. He had returned from the edge, but the scars of those choices remained.

Grun, ever perceptive, placed a firm hand on Jaune's shoulder, grounding him.

"I'm proud of you," he said, his voice steady. "And I know that your father would be too."

Jaune looked up, searching Grun's face for any sign of doubt. He found none. Slowly, a warm smile broke through his somber expression.

"Thank you, brother."

Unbeknownst to either of them, Pyrrha stood in the doorway, her hand resting gently on the frame. She had come to join them but stopped when she overheard their conversation.

She smiled softly as she watched the two, their bond evident. Slowly, her hand drifted to her stomach.

She wasn't pregnant, but the thought of settling down with Jaune, of the future they could build together, warmed her heart.

If he asked her, she knew her answer without hesitation.

"Yes," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. Then, with one last look at the two, she turned and left, leaving them to their quiet moment.

The remainder of the night aboard the Sleipnir was spent in much-needed rest, though few truly slept. The hum of the engines, the occasional shuffle of restless soldiers, and the sheer weight of what lay ahead kept most from finding proper peace.

At dawn, the flagship and its escort fleet arrived at Dragon Claw Key, unloading wave after wave of troops and supplies. The march inland was grueling but necessary. It led them past rocky ridges and rolling dunes until they reached their designated base camp—a wide-open field near a freshwater lake far enough from the Black Gate to remain undetected.

Ironwood had given it a name: First Light.

The name stuck quickly. For some, it represented the dawn of the final battle. For others, it was a poetic symbol—the first glimpse of hope in an otherwise endless war.

Jaune walked alongside Eomer, Thomas, and Faramir, taking in the sprawling camp as they moved. The air was thick with the sounds of preparation—hammers striking metal, distant drills being run, and the murmurs of soldiers steeling themselves for what was to come.

"How many so far?" Jaune asked as they strode past a line of Valean Warthogs being refitted with fresh ammunition.

Thomas glanced at his wrist-mounted scroll. "About 30% of the total force has arrived."

Faramir ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "Our Sky Knight reserves are gone. It's down to the ground forces now."

"And let's hope they're punctual," Eomer muttered.

Jaune chuckled. "We work with what we're given. But this is a good start. Have your divisions ready. I want a vanguard in position once we hit 70% of our projected numbers."

The other Star Knights quickly saluted before breaking off to organize their troops.

Jaune continued onward, his thoughts occupied with the looming battle. His footsteps slowed briefly as he adjusted the strap on his armored boot, shifting his weight to check its fit.

Walking just behind him, Nora squinted as she saw something. Then she grinned. "Wait a second."

Jaune barely had time to react before she crouched down, snatching up his ankle to flip his boot over. There, written in bold black ink, was the word Right.

Nora burst out laughing. "Oh my gods, you still do that?!"

Jaune sighed, giving her an amused look as he gently pulled his foot away. "Old habits."

Nora wiped a tear from her eye. "I thought you were supposed to be a big, legendary Zenith warrior now, not a guy who needs help remembering his left from his right."

Jaune smirked. "Look, if I ever get knocked in the head too hard, I want to be sure which direction is which."

Nora snorted, crossing her arms. "You're unbelievable."

Jaune just shook his head with a small, knowing smile. "And yet, here we are."

As Nora continued to chuckle, Jaune resumed his walk, the brief moment of levity easing some of the tension in his chest.

Ahead, Diaval approached him purposefully, the Amazonian advisor's expression unreadable.

"More good news on reinforcements," Diaval reported. "We'll be receiving some well-needed natural assistance."

Jaune nodded. "I look forward to seeing them in action. And the Queen?"

Diaval hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "She is ready," he admitted. "Despite my recommendations for her to stay behind."

Jaune tilted his head. "You don't think we'll succeed?"

Diaval lowered his gaze, his voice carrying a weight of concern. "No disrespect, Commander… but if this is to be a last stand, I would rather see the Queen safe in Amazonia, not throwing herself into the front lines."

His golden eyes flickered toward the Mistral encampment, where mounted warriors tightened their ranks. "Theoden's heart was in the right place, but a King's place is not in the first charge."

Jaune was silent for a moment before nodding. "I understand. But there's a difference between bosses and leaders." His gaze sharpened. "Bosses command from the rear. Leaders command from the front."

Diaval straightened, bowing his head in acknowledgment. "Of course, Commander." With that, he turned and returned to the Amazonian encampment.

Jaune exhaled, glancing over the growing forces of First Light. The anticipation was thick, pressing down on everyone like a storm waiting to break.

They weren't ready yet.

But soon, he would need to make sure they were.

Jacob sat on a crate, running a sharpening stone over his twin swords in one of the prefabricated armories they set up in First Light. His hands moved out of habit, but the weight behind them was heavier than usual. Across from him, Grun adjusted the straps of his gauntlets, the faint hum of his gravity field pulsing through the metal. The soft glow of campfires illuminated their surroundings, casting long shadows over the restless soldiers and Huntsmen preparing for the battle ahead.

Despite the camp's activity, there was a stillness between the two warriors.

Grun finally broke the silence, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "You always that focused, or do you just like looking broody?"

Jacob glanced up, arching an eyebrow. "Depends. You always that blunt, or do you just like talking?"

Grun smirked. "Bit of both." He leaned against a nearby crate, watching as more fighters passed, some adjusting their armor, others exchanging tense farewells. "I never thought we'd be fighting the same war. But I've heard of you."

Jacob blinked. "You have?"

Grun nodded, flexing his fingers over his gauntlets. "You and your team made a mess of Salem's forces in Vacuo. We even got Raven to fight on our side. That's no small feat."

Jacob scoffed. "Wasn't easy. She's not exactly the trusting type."

Grun let out a short laugh. "Yeah, no kidding. She nearly took my head off when we first met." He shook his head, then nodded toward the Amazonian section of the camp. "Queen Maleficent isn't much different. She listens, but getting her to stay out of a fight? Damn near impossible."

Jacob smirked faintly, returning his focus to his blades. "Seems to be a common theme with powerful women."

A brief silence settled between them before Grun spoke again, his tone more serious.

"You lost someone, didn't you?"

Jacob's grip on his sword tightened slightly. He didn't answer immediately, but the shift in his expression told Grun everything.

Finally, Jacob exhaled. "Vixen. One of my teammates."

Grun nodded, his expression solemn. "I know that weight." He tapped a finger on his chest. "Carried it plenty of times myself. It doesn't get easier, but it makes us fight harder."

Jacob let out a slow breath. "That's what I keep telling myself."

A few feet away, a group of soldiers passed their laughter light despite the tension in the air. Grun rolled his shoulders, sighing. "I figure people like us… we don't get the luxury of thinking too far ahead. We do what we can while we're still breathing."

Jacob gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well… maybe I do."

Grun raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

Jacob hesitated before finally meeting his gaze. "Ren told you I looked into Midori's mirror, right?"

Grun's interest sharpened. "Yeah. Said you went quiet after. That's saying something, considering you were already brooding before that."

Jacob exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wouldn't call it brooding… just thinking."

Grun crossed his arms. "So, what did you see?"

Jacob hesitated for a beat, then spoke carefully. "A boy. Training with a staff. Looked a lot like me—except for one thing."

Grun tilted his head slightly. "What was that?"

Jacob's expression softened, his voice quieter. "Silver eyes."

The humor in Grun's face faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. He let out a slow breath. "Well, damn."

Jacob gave a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah. That was my reaction, too."

Grun was quiet for a beat before nodding toward him. "And what do you think it means?"

Jacob exhaled, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. "I don't know everything yet… but I think I know what I'm fighting for now."

Grun smirked. "Guess that means you have the luxury of thinking too far ahead after all."

Jacob let out a dry chuckle, glancing back at him. "Yeah. And now I plan to fight like hell for it."

Grun grinned, nodding approvingly. "That's what I like to hear."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the distant sounds of the camp filling the space between words.

Grun finally clapped Jacob on the shoulder, his smirk widening. "Tell you what—let's both make it through this. Then you can buy me a drink and tell me more about this kid of yours."

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head. "You're assuming I'd let you drink on my tab."

Grun shrugged. "I'm assuming you won't have a choice."

Jacob smirked, gripping his swords a little tighter. "We'll see about that."

The low rumble of engines filled the air, accompanied by the occasional clang of metal and the murmur of mechanics making last-minute checks. The motor pool was a hive of activity—soldiers loading up their gear, mercenaries leaning against their rides, some looking confident, others unnerved by the looming battle ahead.

Jaune stood beside one of the armored personnel carriers, resting his gloved hand on the reinforced plating. His fingers idly traced the edge, his gaze distant as he took in the familiar hum of military vehicles.

Grun approached, brushing dust off his gauntlets as he eyed Jaune's contemplative stance. "Something on your mind, brother?"

Jaune exhaled through his nose, glancing at the APC beneath his palm. "This thing… it reminds me of the Grizzly." His voice was quiet, almost nostalgic. "Feels like a lifetime ago."

Grun tilted his head. "The one you rode into Beacon and the Battle of the Five Armies?"

Jaune gave a small, wry chuckle. "Yeah. It wasn't much to look at—held together with prayers and duct tape—but it got us where we needed to go." He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Funny. Back then, we thought we were charging toward our future, toward something bigger than ourselves."

Grun smirked. "And now?"

Jaune's expression hardened slightly as he turned toward the men and women preparing for battle. Soldiers, Huntsmen, freelancers, and mercenaries—all drawn together by his call to arms. Some checked their weapons grimly, others exchanged quiet words, and a few sat in silence, eyes distant, thoughts likely drifting to whatever—or whoever—they had left behind.

"They're scared," Grun noted, crossing his arms as his sharp green eyes scanned the crowd. "And who could blame them? This isn't just another mission. This is it."

Jaune's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he exhaled and climbed onto the top of a parked APC. He gestured to an officer nearby, who quickly handed him the receiver for the camp's intercom. Jaune raised it, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Good morning," he began, but the microphone crackled weakly, and his voice faltered.

His hand shook as he stared at the receiver, and for a brief moment, the weight of it all threatened to overwhelm him. He lowered the device, clenching it tightly, closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath.

When he looked back at the crowd, his resolve hardened.

"Good morning!"

His voice was carried over the intercom this time, cutting through the camp's ambient noise. The gathered warriors stilled, and all eyes turned to him.

"In six hours, I will give the order to move our forces into standby positions ten miles from the Black Gate. By then, those who have answered the call to join this battle will have arrived. Together, we will form the first wave in what will be the largest ground and air assault in Remnant's history."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle over them. The silence that followed was charged with anticipation.

"If this war has taught us anything, it's that the time of separate peoples must end. We've fought our battles in isolation for too long—divided by borders, grudges, and differences. But no more."

Jaune's voice softened, but it carried an undeniable strength. "Because today, we are not divided by kingdoms or species. Today, we are one. Today, we are all children of Remnant. This is our home. And it is our right—our duty—to fight for it."

He met the eyes of those nearest to him, his sincerity radiating from every word.

"I can see it in your faces—the same fear I feel in my heart. And I'll admit it: I'm scared. Anyone who says they aren't is lying to themselves. But being afraid doesn't mean we've already lost. It means we know what's at stake. And that fear? That fear will not control us today."

His voice grew louder, rising with conviction.

"Because today is not a day to be afraid! Today is a day to be strong! Today is a day to stand and fight—not just for ourselves but for those who are counting on us. For those who love us, who are waiting for us to come home. They are why we fight. And they are why we must not fail."

Jaune raised his fist high, his voice ringing out across the camp.

"Every one of you has already proven your bravery. You chose to be here. You chose to fight, knowing the odds. And now, I ask you to choose once more: to stand with me—not as soldiers from Vale, or Atlas, or Mistral, or Vacuo—but as one. To stand as Knights of Remnant!"

The camp erupted in cheers and shouts, a deafening roar that washed over him like a wave. Soldiers raised their weapons high, huntsmen clapped each other on the shoulders, and the faint flicker of hope grew more vigorous.

Jaune stepped back from the edge of the APC, his heart pounding. He wasn't sure if he'd said everything perfectly, but the response told him enough. They believed in him. And, perhaps more importantly, they believed in themselves.

The air was thick with heat and ash, and the ground beneath them shifted between hardened rock and treacherous crags. Mount Doom loomed above them, its peak shrouded in dense, rolling smoke. The occasional glow of molten fire cast eerie shadows across the jagged terrain.

Ruby, Yang, and Sméagol pressed forward, their movements slow and deliberate. They had long abandoned their orc disguises, leaving them with nothing but their worn clothes, weapons, and sheer determination. Every step was an effort, the oppressive weight of Mordor dragging at their limbs.

Yang wiped the sweat from her brow, her golden locks dull with soot and grime. She exhaled heavily and glanced at Ruby, who was taking slow, measured breaths. Her hands tightened on the straps of her belt to steady herself.

Sméagol's body trembled, his fingers twisting nervously. "Not far now, no… but…" He hesitated, licking his lips, his large eyes darting between them. "Are we sure? Must we go all the way in?"

Ruby looked at him, her voice gentle but firm. "Yes, Sméagol. We must."

He swallowed hard, nodding, but his grip on his own wrists tightened. "Fire burns… fire takes all…"

Yang let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, … that's kind of the point, buddy."

Ruby didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stopped and looked back, her silver eyes trailing down the long, winding path they had climbed—the wasteland stretching beyond it, all the way to the barely visible silhouette of the Black Gate. The armies of Remnant were out there, fighting, hoping for their success.

For a moment, she imagined the others—Jaune, Weiss, Blake, all—preparing to march. And yet, here they were, walking a path that didn't seem to have an end.

Yang must have caught the look in her eyes because she reached into the small pouch at her hip, pulling out her water flask. She lifted it slightly, inspecting how little was left before handing it to Ruby.

Ruby hesitated. "There won't be enough left for the return trip…"

Yang gave her a sad, knowing smile. "We're too far along to worry about the swim back, Sis."

Ruby stared at her momentarily before taking the flask and drinking carefully, savoring every drop. When she lowered it, she met Yang's gaze. There was no fear in her sister's expression—just a quiet acceptance, a shared understanding.

They both knew.

Sméagol tilted his head at them, his large eyes blinking. "We are close now, yes. Closer than ever…" His voice dropped, almost reverent. "But the way is hard… harder than anything before."

Yang smirked despite herself. "Yeah, well… that's never stopped us before."

Ruby exhaled through her nose, then straightened up, adjusting Crescent Rose on her back. "No, it hasn't."

They shared one last look before turning forward again, pressing on toward the looming inferno ahead.

Beyond them, the sky rumbled, and far in the distance, the armies of Remnant were preparing to make their final stand.

The air was thick with anticipation, an eerie silence stretching across the battlefield as the Vanguard took its final positions before the looming fortress of Mordor.

Back in First Light, Maleficent waited for the others she had requested from Amazonia to join in on the fight besides her soldiers.

For now, the Vanguard soldiers, huntsman and mercenaries will have to do.

The Black Gate stood before them, an impenetrable wall of obsidian and iron, its jagged spires clawing at the sky like the gaping maw of some ancient beast waiting to devour them whole. Runes of forgotten languages pulsed faintly along the metal, carved deep into its structure by long-dead hands. There was no movement along its ramparts, no sentries stationed atop its battlements.

And yet, they knew they were being watched.

The Vanguard had assembled in perfect formation, a patchwork force of soldiers, Huntsmen, and mercenaries—all bound together by necessity, not allegiance. There was no illusion of conquest, no delusions of glory or triumph.

This battle was never meant to be won.

Jaune had made that painfully clear.

It was to be loud, destructive, and a spectacle that Salem could not ignore. Their purpose was simple—hold the line, force her hand, and pray that Ruby succeeded.

The battlefield was a calculated display of power. Heavy tank units and Atlas walkers lined the field, their turrets locked onto the Black Gate, ready to fire at the first sign of hostility.

Troop transports positioned themselves just behind, their metal hulls carrying the brave souls who would be the first into the fray.

Infantry units, composed of veteran Huntsmen and soldiers, wove between the armored divisions, ready to charge alongside the metal giants.

Air units, a deadly assembly of gunships and fighter squadrons, hovered in low stand-by formations bristling with weapons—no capital ships, no cruisers—only the fastest, most lethal aircraft designed for immediate destruction.

Everything was set.

Now, they only needed the enemy to answer.

A select delegation separated from the Vanguard, crossing the barren wasteland toward the gate.

Jaune led the group, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Excalibur, the legendary blade humming faintly in his grip. Flanking him were the other three Star Knights, their armor gleaming under the dim light, a testament to the warriors of old who had once stood against darkness.

With them stood the leaders of this resistance. Ozpin, his eyes shadowed with ancient knowledge. Ironwood, a soldier to the last, his remaining hand resting on the grip of his pistol.

Pyrrha, her presence calm but focused, her spear at the ready. Ren and Nora, side by side, one silent as ever, the other restless in the heavy stillness. Blake and Weiss, former Huntresses, now battle-hardened warriors.

Jacob and Grun, their gazes sharp, their weapons primed for whatever lay ahead. Diaval, the trusted shadow of Amazonia's Queen, his golden eyes surveying every inch of the darkness before them.

And yet, as they walked, something felt wrong.

No movement along the walls.

No war horns sounded from within the fortress.

No roars of Grimm nor the hissing laughter of Orcs.

It was too quiet.

Jaune's fingers tightened around his sword as his eyes swept across the lifeless ramparts.

"They're hiding," Ren murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blake's ears twitched, straining against the unnatural silence. "But why?"

Jaune exhaled sharply—enough waiting.

He stepped forward, his voice ringing clear and unwavering through the dead air.

"Let the Mistress of the Dark Land come forth! We wish to parley!"

For a long moment, there was nothing.

Not even the wind dared to stir.

Then, a deep groaning of metal.

The Black Gate shuddered, its titanic locks groaning as ancient mechanisms creaked and twisted within. The air seemed to thicken as if the very land recoiled from what was about to step forth.

But the gate did not fully open.

It parted just enough for something to emerge.

A Grimm— a Nuckelavee, to be exact.

Its four legs moved like a nightmare—two handlike feet in front, with the pair in the rear having horse hooves—carrying it forward with an unnatural grace. Its body was slick and shadowed, shifting unnaturally as though composed of liquid darkness. But the thing attached to its back made the warriors tense.

A pale, stretched humanoid torso emerged grotesquely from the beast's spine, its elongated arms curling at its sides like talons. Its face, long and sunken, twisted in an unsettling mockery of a smile—teeth jagged, gums blackened, lips stretched far too broad.

It spoke, and its voice was oil—smooth yet dripping with contempt, each syllable slithering into the air like a poison.

"I am the Emissary…"

The creature's head twitched, its grotesque lips peeling further apart as it took in the gathered warriors.

"My master, Salem the Magnificent, bids thee welcome…"

And then—it smiled.

A grotesque, jagged-toothed grin, stretching unnaturally wide in a mockery of amusement.

The warriors stood frozen, revulsion curling in their stomachs.

AN: And this is where the chapter will leave you all. Sorry, but have to build suspense, LOL.

But the next one will be THE Big One. No stopping till the finish. My biggest chapter yet! Be prepared for a LONG read.

As always, ARKOS!