Chapter 16
Ironwood's scowl remained, but something in his posture shifted.
Not defeat.
Not surrender.
But acceptance.
He wasn't a fool.
Ozpin had given him every reason to understand why Jaune Arc could not become his enemy.
A united frontier.
Advanced weaponry.
A legend turned into a cause.
If Atlas pushed too hard, they wouldn't just be fighting an individual.
They'd be fighting a movement.
And the worst part?
It wouldn't just be the frontier.
Every kingdom had people who felt abandoned by their governments. Who felt forgotten. Who had seen the world's flaws and would flock to something greater if given the chance.
And Jaune Arc?
He wasn't just greater.
He was beyond them all.
Ironwood exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Then what's your plan?"
Ozpin, ever composed, took a sip of his coffee.
"I'll work on getting him back to Beacon," he said simply.
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "You already said that wasn't an option."
"I said it wasn't an option under normal regulations," Ozpin corrected. "But if that is all it takes to put you at ease, then I will make an exception."
Weiss blinked, startled. "You would… violate school regulations?"
Ozpin's lips curled into a small, amused smile. "It wouldn't be the first time."
Blake let out a quiet breath. "You really think he'll come back?"
Ozpin's gaze was thoughtful.
"I think," he murmured, "that allowing a man who never had the chance to be a child… to experience, even for a moment, what it is to not plan for the day after—"
His fingers tapped against his cane.
"—is worth the effort."
Ruby swallowed.
She thought back to that burned-out home.
To the graves.
To the idea of a boy left alone, digging graves with hands too small for the weight he carried.
He never had the chance to be normal.
Never had the luxury to simply live.
And now, Ozpin wanted to give him that.
Even if just for a little while.
"Even those who have lost everything," Ozpin continued, "should have a place to return to."
The room was quiet.
Ironwood clenched his jaw.
Then, reluctantly—
"…Fine."
A wave of relief washed over Team RWBY.
Yang let out a breath. "Holy shit."
Blake sat back, tension draining from her shoulders.
Weiss pressed a hand to her forehead. "I don't care how it happened—just that it did."
Ruby grinned. "We have a chance."
No.
They had more than that.
Jaune had already told them.
They were one.
No longer separated. No longer divided by teams.
He would come back.
Not because of rules.
Not because of politics.
But because of them.
Ironwood rubbed his temple. "I'll place some pressure on Vale's council to allow his team to return—temporarily."
Ozpin raised a brow. "Temporarily?"
Ironwood scowled. "One step at a time, Ozpin."
Ozpin merely smiled.
Yang nudged Blake. "We actually did it."
Blake smirked. "I'm more surprised that it worked."
Weiss exhaled, shaking her head. "Jaune always plans ahead. I think he wanted this to happen."
Ruby's grip on Crescent Rose tightened slightly.
They knew Jaune.
And they knew he wouldn't leave them behind.
Ironwood's voice pulled them back.
He eyed Ozpin warily. "I hope you know what you're doing."
Ozpin chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee.
"My dear General," he murmured, "so do I."
The meeting ended, but the weight of it lingered.
Ironwood's image flickered out, the video call cutting off with a final sharp look from the General before the screen went black.
Beacon's headmaster's office was silent once more, save for the faint clink of Ozpin setting his coffee down.
Glynda was the first to speak.
"This is reckless."
Her voice was firm, yet uncertain, as if she was still trying to process what had just been agreed upon.
"Allowing someone with that level of power to remain unchecked—"
Ozpin's gaze flickered to her, calm, unwavering.
"He isn't unchecked, Glynda."
She frowned, crossing her arms. "He answers to no one but himself."
Ozpin's lips curled into something subtle, almost amused.
"Then it is fortunate he has chosen to answer to something greater than himself."
Blake's ears twitched. "The frontier."
Ozpin nodded. "And perhaps… soon, something else."
Team RWBY shared a look.
Something else?
Yang leaned back in her chair, exhaling. "So… what now?"
Ozpin tapped his cane against the ground lightly. "Now, we wait. The General will push Vale's council in the coming days. If successful, Jaune and his team will be allowed to return."
Ruby's eyes flickered with hope. "And if it works?"
Ozpin's gaze settled on her.
"Then it will be up to you to make sure he stays."
Silence.
But Team RWBY didn't falter.
They weren't uncertain.
They weren't nervous.
They knew.
Jaune had already made that choice.
He wouldn't leave them.
Because they were his team now.
Weiss inhaled, tapping her fingers against the armrest. "And if he doesn't?"
Ozpin smiled softly.
"Then we will know," he said simply, "exactly where he stands."
Blake's golden eyes darkened slightly. "And where does that leave us?"
Ozpin didn't answer right away.
He didn't need to.
Because Team RWBY already knew.
Jaune had given them a choice.
A path.
A reason to think differently about the world.
And no matter what happened next…
They could never go back to how things were before.
"Go rest," Ozpin finally said. "Process what you've learned."
Team RWBY stood, each of them lost in thought as they made their way to the elevator.
As the doors slid closed, they knew one thing for certain.
No matter what happened next—
The world would never be the same again.
The void stretched before him—an infinite, unyielding canvas upon which he had painted his vision.
Jaune Arc stood at the command deck of The Tempest, his arms crossed as he gazed out at the massive structure looming before him.
It was nearly complete.
His Citadel amongst the stars.
His station.
His legacy.
Suspended above Remnant like a silent colossus, its reinforced alloys gleamed under the distant sunlight, a stark contrast to the fragile, fractured kingdoms below. This was no mere outpost. No simple sanctuary. No home.
It was the future.
A machine of industry, of survival, of progress unchained from the limitations of the world beneath it.
A foundation that needed nothing from the kingdoms. A bastion that owed them nothing.
And soon…
They would see what had been forged beyond their reach.
At its core, a sprawling central tower connected by five radiant arms, each a titan in its own right.
They were more than mere extensions of a station.
They were pillars of an empire yet to be born.
Jaune's glowing blue eyes flickered over each one, feeling the weight of their purpose settle in his chest.
The first radiant arm of his celestial haven.
His workshop. His wellspring. His answer to "not enough."
It would create without ceasing, a symphony of automation capable of bringing any dream into reality—from weapons to infrastructure, from tools to ships.
With the StarForge, the word scarce would fade from memory like morning mist beneath the rising sun.
And this…
This was just the beginning.
Then there was the garden suspended in infinity.
A self-sustaining biome, untouched by conflict, freed from the constraints of Remnant's wounded ecosystems.
Here, food would be plentiful. The land below might struggle to feed its people, but not here.
And when the moment arrived—when Remnant was prepared to receive it—he would invite its people to taste what had always been their birthright:
Abundance.
A sanctuary of healing among the constellations was here.
A floating cathedral of renewal.
Its medical modules stood ready, designed to descend at a moment's notice, bringing relief to those the kingdoms had abandoned.
No longer would suffering go unanswered while help remained tantalizingly out of reach.
With LifeArk, he could preserve life on a scale no kingdom had ever dared to imagine.
Then his contingency.
A guardian. A sentinel. A promise.
The protective embrace ensuring that nothing—not shadows, not hatred, not fear itself—could threaten what he had built.
It was a silent declaration to the world below.
The Citadel was untouchable.
And if the kingdoms ever sought to challenge that truth…
Then they would witness firsthand why Jaune Arc was no longer bound by their expectations.
Jaune exhaled slowly, his breath steady as he took in the sight before him.
The Tempest hummed quietly beneath his feet, its systems synchronized with the Citadel, overseeing the final phases of construction. The station was alive, its construction drones self-replicating, an unstoppable force of progress, building itself into perfection.
The world below still clung to its traditions, to its outdated ways.
Still fought over lines drawn on maps, still clashed over politics and resources.
But up here?
Up here, he had built something different.
Something better.
And when the time came…
The world would see.
The cold was no longer an enemy.
It had been, once.
In the early days, the biting wind had clawed at their skin, hunger had gnawed at their insides, and the unyielding frost had threatened to break them.
But that time had passed.
Now, the cold was just another obstacle. And obstacles were meant to be overcome.
Ren and Nora moved through the frozen wasteland with quiet efficiency, their breath curling in the air like wisps of smoke.
Their clothes—once just rags and scavenged scraps—were layered with insulation they had built themselves, refined from the land and the remnants of the old world.
Every fiber, every stitch—their own hands had shaped them.
It was theirs.
Just like everything else they had now.
Nora crouched near a hole in the ice, her spear gripped tight, body still as she watched the water beneath.
No wasted movement.
No unnecessary noise.
The Nora of before—the one who laughed loud enough to shake walls, who leapt before she looked—would have struggled to sit this still.
But that girl had been shaped by a world of comforts.
This one?
This one had been shaped by necessity.
A flicker of movement below. A shadow.
She struck.
The ice cracked, the water churned, and when she pulled back, a fresh catch dangled from the tip of her weapon.
She grinned. A wide, satisfied smile—not reckless, not wild, but filled with earned confidence.
"Another one."
Ren, kneeling nearby, nodded approvingly as he continued working on their shelter.
There was no need for excess words.
They understood each other now without them.
He moved with practiced precision, tightening the bindings, sealing the gaps, ensuring that the wind would no longer be a threat.
The first few days had been the worst.
Their bodies had screamed at them. Their instincts had begged them to stop.
But they had endured.
They had learned.
Hunger was no longer a fear. It was a reminder.
The cold was no longer an enemy. It was a teacher.
Discomfort was no longer suffering. It was a test.
Ren felt it now—a clarity he had never known before.
There was no room for self-doubt, no room for the hesitation that once plagued his heart.
The world outside their struggle no longer mattered.
There was only the next task, the next fire, the next breath.
They could not change the storm.
They could not force the world to be kind.
But they could survive.
They had always survived.
Nora sat beside him, nudging his arm playfully.
"You think Jaune will be impressed?" she asked, smirking.
Ren exhaled, looking up at the frostbitten horizon.
"I think he'll see what we've become."
Nora grinned, resting her spear against her shoulder. "Good. 'Cause I plan on showing off."
Ren smirked. "You always do."
Nora laughed—not the loud, boisterous cackle of old, but something steady, grounded. A laugh that carried weight, that carried experience.
Jaune had sent them here to break them free from the comforts they had once relied on.
He had sent them to grow.
And now?
Now, they were ready.
Jaune stood at the helm of The Tempest, his omni-tool casting a dull glow across his fingertips as he sent the final commands. The station was no longer unfinished—though still under construction, it no longer required his oversight. The automated systems would handle the rest.
His work there was done. Now, there was another task.
His gaze drifted toward the frozen wasteland below, where two figures moved through the snow with precision and purpose.
Thirty days.
Thirty days of struggle. Of endurance. Of trial.
And they had survived.
He had no doubt they had changed, honed themselves against the edge of hardship. He had not cast them into the frost to break them—he had done it to prepare them. To strip away illusion. To force them to see what the world had always tried to hide.
Survival was not given. It was earned.
And now, they had earned their place.
The Tempest's engines roared to life, the ship responding to his will as he guided it downward. Not as their overseer. Not as their judge.
But as the one who had prepared them for what came next.
It was time to conclude their test.
The fire crackled softly, its embers glowing like dying stars against the frozen abyss that stretched endlessly beyond them. The wind howled through the skeletal trees, whispering its frigid secrets, but neither of them flinched. The cold had long since lost its teeth.
Nora leaned into Ren's side, her breath curling in soft wisps in the night air. His warmth, steady and unyielding, was as much a comfort as the fire itself. She didn't shiver. She didn't huddle. She simply was, as much a part of this relentless world as the ice and stone beneath them.
She sighed, stretching slightly before settling back into place. "You know, I was thinking about something."
Ren continued running his fingers along the crude but dependable edge of his spear. "You're always thinking about something."
She smirked. "True. But this one's important."
"Alright," he said, humoring her. "Let's hear it."
She lifted a hand and gestured vaguely in his direction. "You've changed."
Ren arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yup." She shifted, turning to see his face better, her eyes twinkling with the amusement that had refused to die, no matter how harsh things had become. "Back in Beacon, you were all quiet and studious. The broody bookworm type. Always reading philosophy, tactics, whatever. And if you weren't doing that, you were meditating. Or training. Always so serious."
He exhaled softly. "And now?"
Nora grinned. "Now? You're like… this mysterious survivor guy. The kind who stares into the fire all dramatic-like before dropping some cryptic wisdom about life." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You would do that, wouldn't you?"
Ren considered her words, then turned his gaze to the flames.
In a perfectly calm and deliberate voice, he said, "Fire is just a memory of the warmth we left behind."
Nora gaped at him before bursting into laughter, smacking his arm. "Oh my god! That was perfect! You've totally been practicing this, haven't you?"
Ren allowed himself a small smirk. "It felt appropriate."
"Oh, it was." She shook her head, still giggling. "I swear, you've got this whole 'wandering warrior' thing going on now. I bet if someone found us out here, you'd be all stoic and cool, giving them cryptic wisdom about survival."
Ren tilted his head slightly, amused. "And what about you?"
Nora blinked. "What about me?"
"You haven't changed."
She frowned at him. "What? That's crazy. I definitely have."
Ren shook his head. "No. You're still you."
She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated.
Because… he wasn't wrong, was he?
She had adapted. She had learned to move through the cold, to listen to the silence instead of fight it, to endure the hunger without complaint. She had felt exhaustion weigh on her bones, had gone days without comfort, had lived in a world that wanted her to break.
But she hadn't.
She was still Nora. The same fire. The same boundless energy. The same unshakable force of nature that had carried her through life, no matter how brutal it became.
"…Huh." She crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed. "You're just saying that because you think I'm perfect already."
Ren sighed. "I regret saying anything."
Nora grinned. "Nope! No take-backs."
They sat in silence for a while, the firelight flickering against their faces, casting long shadows across the snow.
The world around them remained unchanged—cold, vast, and indifferent—but they had learned to carve their place within it. The wind howled. The trees creaked. The ice shifted in the distance. None of it fazed them anymore.
Then, after a long pause, Nora shifted against Ren. "…You think Jaune's just waiting for us to be done with this?"
Ren didn't answer immediately.
Because he knew Jaune.
And Jaune didn't wait.
"No," he said finally. "He's been doing something."
Nora perked up slightly, intrigued. "Like what?"
Ren's eyes drifted upward, past the fire, past the trees, into the endless sky above.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But knowing him… something useful. Something efficient."
Nora considered that for a moment before smirking. "Think he's making us a reward? Like a feast? Maybe a hot spring?"
Ren exhaled softly, amused. "If he thought that would serve a purpose."
She laughed. "Yeah. Probably not."
But even as she joked, her mind turned over the thought. Because Jaune never wasted time. Never acted without reason. If he had left them out here to survive, then whatever he had been doing in the meantime wasn't small. It wasn't trivial.
Her grin faded into something more thoughtful. "You think it's something big, don't you?"
Ren nodded. "Something that lasts."
Nora frowned in thought, rolling his words over in her mind. "Like… a home?"
Ren was quiet for a moment before responding. "Something like that."
Not just a shelter. Not just a place to rest before the next battle.
Something real.
Something permanent.
And that idea—having a place—made something tighten in her chest. Because what was the hardest part of all this? It wasn't the cold. It wasn't the hunger. It wasn't even the endless struggle to survive.
It was the fact that they didn't belong anywhere.
They had been thrown into the wilderness, forced to fend for themselves, and all this time, they had never once considered what came after.
But Jaune had.
Jaune always planned ahead.
And if he had been working on something this whole time, then whatever it was, it wouldn't just be a place to stay.
It would be a place to live.
"…I really wanna see it now," Nora admitted, a small smile creeping onto her lips.
Ren felt himself relax slightly.
Because that—her enthusiasm, her fire—that was what had kept him going all this time.
And soon, they would see just how far Jaune had come.
Outside, the wind howled. The snow continued to fall.
And high above them, cutting silently through the night sky, their way home was already descending.
They just didn't know it yet.
Outside, the wind howled.
The cold carved through the landscape like a blade, relentless and unyielding. The snowfall thickened, blanketing the world in ice and shadow, as if trying to smother all who dared to exist within it.
But the storm didn't touch him.
Jaune Arc moved through the frozen wasteland with an absolute ease that defied logic.
He was clad in far less than they were—wearing nothing over his simple, well-fitted clothes. No layered insulation. No furs or scavenged materials wrapped around his body for warmth.
He didn't need them.
Where the cold had once been their enemy, a force they had fought against tooth and nail, Jaune walked through it as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze.
It did not bite at him.
It did not weigh on him.
It did not touch him.
If anything…
He looked comfortable.
His boots crunched over the frozen ground, his breath curling in the air like mist. The blizzard swirled around him, but it did not slow him. The wind howled, but it did not hinder him.
He walked with the kind of deliberate certainty that only a man who had never feared the elements could.
Jaune Arc was not something to be conquered by the cold.
The cold bowed to him.
And as he approached the firelight, his glowing blue eyes flickered with something quiet—something knowing.
They had survived.
And he had never doubted that they would.
Ren and Nora remained oblivious at first, still lost in their quiet conversation, the warmth of the fire shielding them from the outside world.
Then—
SNAP.
A branch cracked underfoot.
Instantly, instinct took over.
Both of them jerked their heads toward the sound, muscles tensing, hands flying to their weapons.
And there—just beyond the glow of the flames—
Jaune Arc stood.
Watching them.
Waiting.
Nora's breath hitched.
Ren's fingers loosened on his blade.
The sight of him was… jarring.
Not just because he had arrived without warning—not just because the storm had done nothing to slow him—
But because he stood there like the cold itself did not exist.
The frost that clung to their clothes, the ice that burned at their skin, the wind that had tormented them for weeks—none of it had touched him.
He did not shiver.
He did not flinch.
His shirt barely looked dusted with ice, his expression calm and sure, like he had never once doubted that he would find them exactly as they were.
Alive.
Strong.
Ready.
His blue gaze swept over them, taking in their weathered forms, their reinforced shelter, the catch of the day speared at Nora's feet.
Approval glimmered in his eyes.
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
They had endured.
They had grown.
And Jaune saw it.
Saw them.
The storm had tried to break them.
And they had become something greater instead.
Her legs moved before she could even think.
"JAUNE!"
The name tore from her throat, raw and unfiltered, filled with weeks of pent-up emotions.
She crashed into him with all the force she had left, her arms wrapping tight around his torso, holding him like he might disappear if she let go.
The second she felt his warmth, her resolve cracked.
Tears spilled down her frostbitten cheeks, her breath hitching as the relief rushed through her. She didn't care how she must have looked—red-faced, exhausted, trembling with emotion.
Because he was here.
Their fearless leader. Their anchor.
The one who had believed in them when they barely believed in themselves.
Jaune chuckled softly, his arms coming up to steady them both.
"Yeah. I'm here."
His voice—steady, familiar, strong—grounded her in an instant.
Ren exhaled slowly, the tension that had been holding him together for weeks melting in a single breath. His sharp eyes scanned Jaune, taking in the way he stood—not just strong, but in control. Unshaken.
This was the Jaune Arc they had chosen to follow.
The Jaune who had given them this trial, who had tested them, who had known—before they had even known—that they would make it.
Relief bloomed in his chest as Jaune extended a hand toward him.
Ren clasped it firmly.
No words needed to be spoken.
The gesture said everything.
Jaune gave a small, approving nod before looking between them both.
"This means you passed."
Nora sniffled, still clinging to him, though her usual grin was beginning to push through.
"Pfft, like there was ever a doubt."
Jaune smirked, tilting his head.
"There were plenty of ways to fail." He pulled back slightly, making sure he had both their attention. "But you didn't. You didn't hesitate. You saw what needed to be done, and you reacted. You endured. You adapted. And you survived—despite everything thrown at you."
His voice was warm, full of certainty.
"I knew you could do it."
Nora froze for a second, blinking up at him, her face heating up. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear that until now.
She sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes, trying to play it off despite the emotions crashing over her.
"W-Well, yeah, obviously! We're awesome."
Jaune let out a small laugh, shaking his head.
Ren, on the other hand, felt something settle deep within him.
This wasn't just some test they had scraped through.
This was proof.
They were getting better. Stronger. More capable. Just like they had wanted.
Jaune watched them for a moment longer, something unreadable in his blue eyes, before his smirk returned.
"Now," he said, stepping back, "how about we get you two out of here?"
For the first time in weeks—
The cold didn't seem so suffocating anymore.
As they stepped onto The Tempest, the familiar hum of the ship's systems washed over them like a steady pulse—reliable, grounding, safe.
The air was crisp but leagues warmer than the frozen wasteland they had endured. The walls hummed faintly with energy, the dimmed lighting casting a soft glow over the corridors, welcoming them back like an old friend.
Yet, as Nora rubbed her arms and Ren exhaled, watching the faint wisp of his own breath, they both noticed something.
It was cooler than they remembered.
"Huh…" Nora frowned slightly. "Did The Tempest always feel this cold?"
Ren adjusted the collar of his makeshift insulation, taking in the difference. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't the welcoming warmth they had expected either.
Jaune, leading them inside, glanced back, his expression calm, matter-of-fact.
"I lowered the temperature so your bodies can adjust gradually," he said. "If you go from freezing to full warmth too quickly, your body might shut down instead of adjusting properly. The same goes for the water. Your showers and drinking water will be kept cooler for a few days to let you acclimate."
Ren nodded in immediate understanding. "That's… smart."
Nora, despite her usual energy, gave Jaune a grateful look. "Wow. You really thought this through."
Jaune smirked slightly. "I always do."
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Could've at least met us with a pile of blankets or something. Maybe a 'Congratulations on Not Freezing to Death' banner."
Jaune chuckled. "Would you have wanted a celebration?"
Nora blinked, then grinned. "Actually, yeah. Confetti, cake, maybe a parade—"
"I'll make you a meal instead," Jaune cut in smoothly, shaking his head in amusement as he led them toward their quarters. "Go clean up, get some rest. When you're ready, come to my room, and I'll have food waiting for you."
The mere mention of a proper meal had Nora's stomach growling audibly. She placed a hand over it with a sheepish laugh. "Okay, yeah, I definitely like your idea better."
Ren sighed, his body already relaxing at the thought of real food and a proper bed. "Thank you, Jaune. For all of this."
Jaune simply nodded. "You earned it."
As they reached their rooms, Ren and Nora both cast glances at Jaune's door—left open, just like always.
A silent invitation.
A reminder that, no matter what, they were still a team.
Still together.
Nora smirked as she leaned against her doorway. "Guess that means we're having a team night."
Ren gave a tired but content nod. "Wouldn't feel right if we didn't."
Jaune gave them one last look before heading inside. "Take your time. I'll handle everything else."
And for the first time in weeks, they could finally let go.
The cold was behind them.
The trial was over.
And now, for the first time in a long while—
They could just… breathe.
The air in the council chamber was thick—suffocating—with tension.
The long conference table sat in a semi-circle, lined with the highest-ranking officials of Vale's governing body. Their gazes flickered between the glowing screens before them—displays filled with battlefields, ruined strongholds, decimated Grimm hordes, and the charred remains of White Fang installations, reduced to smoldering rubble.
The common thread in all of them?
One man.
Jaune Arc.
Ironwood stood at the head of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You all thought he was just another student."
His tone wasn't mocking. It wasn't condescending. It was simply factual.
"That's where you were wrong."
A scoff came from Councilor Holloway, a man whose voice had always been dripping with skepticism. "He was just another student. One who couldn't even get into Beacon through the proper channels. He lied his way in, and the only reason he lasted as long as he did was because Ozpin refused to—"
"You forced him out."
Ozpin's calm voice cut sharper than a razor's edge.
The council chamber stilled.
Ozpin leaned forward, fingers laced together, his emerald gaze piercing.
"I petitioned for him to stay. I explained that he was no ordinary trainee. That despite his unconventional entry, he had already proven himself in ways that none of our students ever had." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "Also, for the record, he did not lie his way in. I created a student profile that did not exist to insert him into Beacon."
His gaze swept across the council, his voice steady.
"However, he exceeded that profile. His presence—his experience—was invaluable."
His eyes flickered with something sharper, something colder.
"And you denied me."
Councilor Holloway narrowed his eyes. "We denied you because you wanted to bend the rules for a boy who didn't belong there."
Ironwood's gaze hardened. "You denied him because you wanted control."
He turned to the screens, gesturing toward the images flashing before them again. "Jaune Arc wasn't just some no-name from the frontier. He was the only thing holding Vale's outer territories together. Bandits, Grimm, the White Fang—he fought them all. Alone. With no backup, no kingdom resources, no Huntsman teams to support him."
His voice dropped slightly.
"He stood against them with nothing but his own skill, his own strength."
He let the moment linger before finishing.
"And he won."
Silence.
A silence so deep, so heavy, it felt like the walls of the room were closing in.
Ozpin finally broke it.
"The Arc family is synonymous with greatness. Some of the most celebrated Huntsmen in history bore that name. But they weren't just warriors." His voice darkened. "They were protectors. Defenders."
His next words were measured.
"And because of that, the White Fang saw them as a threat."
Holloway shifted uncomfortably.
Ironwood's expression remained grim.
"They didn't just kill his family," he said. "They hunted them. Erased them. They wanted the Arcs gone."
His next words were final.
"And they almost succeeded."
A quiet voice, almost disbelieving, came from Councilor Greene.
"Except for him."
Ozpin nodded. "Except for him."
The screens changed again—Jaune Arc, standing amidst the wreckage of another White Fang outpost, his armor stained with battle, his sword reflecting the flames around him.
The last Arc.
And the strongest one to ever live.
Ironwood turned back to the council, his voice measured, but laced with disappointment.
"You thought forcing him out of Beacon would make him disappear."
His steel-blue eyes hardened.
"But all you did was send him back into a world where he was already a legend."
He let the words sink in before delivering the final blow.
"He didn't stop."
"He didn't need Beacon to become something great."
Ironwood's voice dropped slightly.
"He was already greater than any of us realized."
Holloway clenched his jaw, his frustration visible. "And now what? You expect us to let him walk back in?"
Ozpin took a measured sip of his coffee before setting it down.
"You don't have a choice."
The weight of those words settled over them like a hammer.
Ironwood leaned forward, hands braced against the table.
"You have two options. You can bend the rules you were so insistent on upholding, or you can leave him out there—beyond your control, beyond your reach—and watch as he builds something greater without you."
The council members exchanged uneasy glances.
Then, Holloway exhaled sharply through his nose.
"This wouldn't even be an issue if she had stayed."
A new tension gripped the room.
Ozpin's fingers tightened slightly around his mug.
"Pyrrha Nikos was never yours to claim."
Holloway's expression darkened. "She was ours the moment she chose Beacon."
"She was supposed to be Vale's champion," he snapped. "She came to our kingdom, our school. She was meant to be our next great warrior."
Ironwood's voice was flat.
"But she left."
And that was the real wound, wasn't it?
The Invincible Girl of Mistral. A prodigy. A symbol of Vale's strength.
Gone.
Not because she was cast out.
But because she chose to leave.
Because she received an offer to join the Royal Hunters of Mistral—an honor that was almost unheard of for someone so young.
A calling that should have been impossible to refuse.
Yet she had refused.
Until she met him.
Until she realized that, next to Jaune Arc, she wasn't the strongest anymore.
Mistralian pride was absolute.
To be the best was not just a privilege—it was an identity.
And standing beside Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos had felt something she never had before.
Unnecessary.
And so she left.
Not because he had asked her to.
Not because he had forced her hand.
But because she couldn't be second.
She had broken their team.
Not Jaune.
Ironwood let the silence stretch before speaking again.
"You lost them both."
His gaze swept across the room.
"And now, you have a decision to make."
His voice was iron.
"You can acknowledge the mistake you made and take the necessary steps to fix it."
His tone dropped slightly, warning.
"Or you can let your pride blind you once again—and watch as Jaune Arc—the Invincible Human—rises beyond anything you could have ever controlled."
The council sat in silence.
Because deep down, they all knew the truth.
Jaune Arc wasn't just some dropout.
He wasn't just some rogue Huntsman.
He was the Huntsman.
And if they didn't act now—
They would never get him back.
The atmosphere in the council chamber was suffocating.
It wasn't just the weight of the conversation—it was the weight of power being played like a delicate game of strategy.
General James Ironwood sat at the end of the table, unshaken by the hostility in the room. The Vale Council members were tense, on edge—some outright scowling at his presence.
But he didn't mind.
Because he wasn't just here to negotiate.
He was here to claim a legend.
And every person in this room knew it.
At his side, unbothered, amused, waiting—sat Ozpin.
Stirring his coffee lazily, saying nothing—yet saying everything.
He understood Ironwood's game.
Whether the council bent or not, whether they allowed Jaune Arc back into Beacon or forced him into exile—Ironwood won.
Because either way, Ozpin would still have reach.
Through Ironwood.
Through Atlas.
But the council?
They risked losing everything.
And Ironwood was about to remind them of that.
"You want to talk about rules?"
Ironwood's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
He leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed—almost amused at the absurdity of it all.
"Vale's regulations are so rigid you'd rather lose a legend than rewrite a policy. Tell me, how exactly does that benefit your kingdom?"
Councilor Versetti scoffed. "You act like we discarded him! The rules exist for a reason—"
"Oh, I'm aware," Ironwood interrupted smoothly. "Beacon operates under a four-person team structure. But you refused to bend for a man who doesn't even need a team."
His gaze flickered, sharp, cutting.
"Instead, you prioritized a Mistrali prodigy—because it looked better politically."
A ripple of tension spread across the council.
"That is not why—" Mason started.
Ironwood raised a hand.
"Don't insult my intelligence."
The councilor went silent.
Ozpin smirked behind his cup.
Ironwood's voice remained calm—firm. "You put your faith in a so-called rising star," he continued, "while your greatest warrior—a true legend in the making—stood in front of you, and you let him go."
He let the words settle—let them sink in—before delivering the next blow.
"And what happened to that prodigy?"
The room stiffened.
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "She left."
His voice was sharp. Precise. Unforgiving.
"She left because Jaune Arc shattered her illusions. Because standing next to him made her irrelevant."
The impact of those words landed hard.
He gave them no time to recover.
"Mistral took her back into their Royal Hunters. No hesitation. No bureaucracy."
He turned his gaze back to them—cutting through their defenses like a razor's edge.
"Meanwhile, Vale—" he gestured around the room, "—sat on their hands while the last of their own walked away."
Councilor Fenwick clenched his jaw. "That's a gross oversimplification."
"Is it?" Ironwood countered.
Silence.
A heavy, weighted silence.
Then, the general smiled.
A smile with no warmth.
"You speak of rules," he said, "but what you truly fear is control."
Mason's expression darkened.
Ironwood nodded, his voice dropping lower—steadier.
"Jaune Arc is stronger than any Hunter you've seen in decades. And you don't know how to control him."
The words settled like thunder.
"But Atlas?" Ironwood's blue eyes sharpened. "We understand strength. We understand control."
The implication was clear.
And it landed exactly as he wanted.
If Vale refused to take Jaune back—
Atlas would.
And the worst part?
They knew Ironwood wasn't bluffing.
The council was visibly uneasy now.
Time for the final push.
Ironwood studied their shifting expressions, their barely concealed anxiety. Now they understood the weight of what was at stake. Now they grasped how deep this situation ran.
"My forces have already seen what Jaune Arc is capable of," he said, watching them closely.
Councilor Versetti narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
Ironwood leaned forward slightly, his posture unchanged, his expression unreadable.
"A classified operation in Mantle."
The room froze.
Not a flicker of movement.
No whispers. No murmurs. Just a cold, suffocating silence.
Ironwood continued, his voice steady.
"A creature."
He let the words settle—let them loom.
"Unkillable."
Fenwick exhaled sharply.
Ironwood's tone remained even, but the pressure behind it was crushing.
"It took everything. Every bullet, every explosion, every strike—and healed through all of it."
Mason swallowed.
"We threw everything at it," Ironwood said, letting the weight of their failure sink in. "Atlas' best. Nothing worked."
Fenwick looked pale.
Versetti's fingers twitched against the table. "And Jaune Arc?"
Ironwood met his gaze, his words final.
"He killed it. Alone."
Silence.
The room held its breath.
A moment stretched into eternity.
"He had no weapons," Ironwood said, letting that realization settle over them. "His teammates were ineffective. Including the prodigy you wanted to keep."
Fenwick sucked in a sharp inhale.
"But Arc?" Ironwood's voice honed into a blade. "He broke it. He dismembered it with his bare hands. Crushed, tore, and ripped until it died."
A quiet horror settled over the council.
Because this wasn't a battle.
This wasn't strategy.
This was raw, undeniable supremacy.
Versetti finally found his voice, hoarse and strained. "And your forces?"
Ironwood leaned back slightly, his final strike already in place.
"They were more than happy to have him in their ranks."
And there it was.
It was done.
The council wasn't just feeling the pressure.
They were drowning in it.
Atlas had already welcomed him. Already recognized his worth.
And Vale?
Vale had let him go.
And then—
"Tell me, Councilors," Ozpin's voice broke the silence, smooth as ever, swirling his coffee as though the conversation was nothing more than idle chatter, "have you ever considered the origins of the Arc family?"
Ironwood turned slightly, his interest piqued.
Ozpin was playing his hand.
Mason exhaled sharply. "This isn't the time for history lessons."
Ozpin merely smiled. "Oh, but I think it is."
A flicker of hesitation passed through the council members.
They were no longer just uneasy.
They were afraid.
Ozpin continued, his words slow, deliberate. "The Arc name has carried immense historical weight for centuries. But some believe its significance is even greater than officially recorded."
Versetti frowned. "What are you implying?"
Ozpin's emerald eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light.
"There have always been rumors."
Ironwood watched as the council members visibly stiffened.
They knew what he was about to say.
They had heard the whispers before.
"Rumors," Ozpin continued, "that the Arcs are the last direct descendants of the King of Vale."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Versetti's face lost all color.
Fenwick's hands clenched against the table.
Mason's breath hitched.
Holloway, for the first time, looked genuinely shaken.
Ozpin took his time, letting the truth spread through the room like wildfire before speaking again.
"The King of Vale," he mused, "the one who stepped onto the battlefield and changed the world forever."
The silence was deafening.
Because this wasn't just about Jaune Arc, the Invincible Human.
This was about Jaune Arc, the heir.
The heir to a forgotten throne.
Ironwood, ever the strategist, watched the council grapple with the revelation.
This wasn't just about one man.
This was about legacy.
A legacy that Vale had let slip through their fingers.
A legacy that Atlas was more than willing to claim.
"So tell me, Councilors," Ozpin said smoothly, "if you let Atlas take him—if you let them foster his loyalty, nurture his strength—do you truly believe you'll just be losing one warrior?"
The words hit them like a hammer.
They wouldn't just be losing Jaune Arc.
They would be losing Vale's very history.
They would be losing their kingdom's rightful legacy.
And for the first time that evening—
The council looked afraid.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
"Get me the analysts—now!" Councilor Mason barked, nearly knocking over his chair as he turned to his aides.
"Historians! I want every record we have from the monarchy era!" another councilor shouted, voice strained, bordering on panic.
Aides scrambled out the door, their frantic footsteps echoing through the grand halls of the council chambers. Papers were flung across the table, hands grasping at old documents, searching for something—anything—that could refute what had just been unveiled.
But there was nothing.
The weight in the air thickened into something suffocating, something that crushed their carefully maintained order beneath the gravity of what had just been revealed.
Fenwick's hands trembled against the table. His voice was raw. "You're telling me we've had the heir of Vale walking around this whole time, and we didn't know?"
Across from him, Ozpin remained calm, adjusting his glasses as if this had all been inevitable.
"I did."
A staggering silence followed.
Then—
Documents, hastily retrieved from Vale's archives, were spread across the table.
Faded ink. Worn parchment. Centuries of lineage traced back to the very foundations of the kingdom.
And right there—
The Arc crest.
The seal of Vale's oldest bloodline.
The bloodline they had left behind.
Mason went ashen.
Versetti let out a breathless, horrified laugh. "This—this is a disaster."
It was.
Vale's most legendary warriors. The last of them—the only living heir to the King of Vale—had been wandering the world, defending everyone but his own kingdom.
And Atlas had figured it out first.
Ironwood sat with the patience of a man already victorious.
"Fascinating," he mused, his voice smooth, measured. "You were all so focused on a Mistrali prodigy that you didn't even notice your own legend."
He gave them a polite, knowing smile.
"Fortunately, Atlas recognizes strength. And history."
The implications hit like a warship crashing into the sea.
Vale had let their own heir slip away.
And worse—he wasn't just in Mistral.
He was everywhere.
Mason gripped the table with white-knuckled hands. "He—he's been in Mistral, in the frontier—"
"He's been celebrated in the frontier," Ironwood corrected, leaning forward slightly.
He let the words linger.
"In Vacuo, they already have holidays named after his legends."
The council chamber was in ruins—not physically, but in spirit.
Their carefully maintained order had been shattered.
Vacuo already honored the Arc legacy through The Invincible Human.
They had holidays celebrating his deeds. They had embraced Vale's heir before Vale had even realized what he was.
And now—
The truth was out.
The entire Arc line—gone.
Wiped out by terrorists.
Their last heir left to bury his own family alone, unguarded in the frontier, with no banners raised in their honor.
Left to avenge his legacy alone, without the might of his own kingdom behind him.
This was what Atlas had uncovered before them.
This was what Vale had tossed aside.
The councilors felt it now.
The weight of their failure.
The political nightmare was unavoidable.
They had failed to secure Mistral's prodigy, only to realize—too late—that they had discarded Vale's very heart.
They had dismissed the last heir of Vale as nothing.
As if he were just another lost soul in the wind.
A name that meant nothing to them—
Until now.
Ironwood?
He could see it—
The fear in their eyes.
The desperation clawing at their carefully built façades.
Because they knew—
Atlas was right there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Ready to take everything Vale had thrown away.
Ironwood leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the tension snap.
"If Jaune Arc chooses us—" he let the words drip with certainty, calculated, measured.
"—then history will remember Vale as the kingdom that abandoned its own legacy."
And in that moment—
They weren't just desperate.
They were trapped.
Now, they could see it.
The unrest. The rage.
How would Vale's people react when they learned of this betrayal?
That their legacy—the last heir of their kingdom—had been cast away, left to fend for himself in the wilds, while Atlas extended its arms?
Would the sons and daughters of Vale take up arms?
Would they rise in protest?
Would they demand their heir's return by force?
The chamber was suffocating with dread.
And then—
Ozpin spoke.
His voice was quiet, but it cut through the storm like a blade.
"If you will not grant me the power to bring him to Beacon, then he will never return to Vale."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy. Absolute.
Settling into every crack and crevice of the council's will.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Ozpin set down his coffee with a soft clink, his gaze sweeping across the chamber.
"I have enough sway over the young Arc and his friends to convince him to come," he continued, each word measured, striking like a nail in their coffin.
"But if I cannot bend regulations when needed, then the last Arc will find his home elsewhere."
The council was frozen.
They had no real options left.
This was checkmate.
If they refused, the royal bloodline would be lost.
The heir of Vale—the last heir—would walk away, leaving the kingdom abandoned and disgraced.
It would look like Vale's own history was ashamed of itself.
And the people of Vale?
They would never forgive them.
The unrest would boil over.
The foundations of their authority would crack.
The streets would rage with those who refused to let their kingdom's legacy be erased.
Vale would not fall to an enemy from the outside.
It would implode from within.
The council had been cornered.
And Ozpin knew it.
His gaze flickered to Ironwood, who remained silent, arms crossed, watching.
Atlas had been so close.
A single misstep, a single refusal, and Jaune Arc—the last Arc, the forgotten heir—would belong to them.
The kingdom would never recover from such a failure.
Ozpin took a slow breath, his voice soft but final.
"This is your only chance to reclaim what you abandoned."
His eyes glowed faintly in the dim chamber.
"I suggest you take it."
The silence stretched.
It stretched until it broke.
A slow exhale from Mason.
A sharp glance from Fenwick.
A hesitant look from Versetti.
And then—
"What will it take?"
The words were bitter.
But they were surrender.
Ozpin smiled.
"Now we're finally speaking sense."
The Tempest soared through the sky, gliding effortlessly across the endless heavens. Below, Remnant stretched out in all directions—a masterpiece of untouched beauty, vast and eternal. The dying light of the sun spilled across the horizon, casting the clouds in hues of gold and crimson, while the land beneath shimmered in twilight's embrace.
Nora sat forward, eyes wide with wonder. The world looked different from up here—endless, untamed, beautiful.
Ren, sitting beside her, exhaled slowly, the tension in his body melting away like snow under the sun. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't focused on survival. He wasn't planning his next move, anticipating the next fight, or bracing for what came next.
Up here, there was only the sky.
Jaune, hands steady on the controls, glanced at his friends with an easy smirk. "You're looking at Remnant in a way most people never will," he said, his voice calm, carrying a quiet sense of appreciation. "Most live their whole lives on the ground—caught up in survival, in war, in everything that keeps them moving forward. But up here? It's different. This is the world as it should be. Not just a battlefield, not just something to be conquered… but something to admire."
Ren's gaze followed the winding rivers below, their surfaces gleaming like liquid fire. He had spent so long moving from one place to the next, never stopping long enough to see the world he fought for. But now, in the cockpit of The Tempest, with nothing but the open sky ahead of him—he finally did.
"It's incredible," he murmured.
Nora pressed a hand against the glass, as if she could reach out and touch the beauty beyond. "I almost forgot the world could look like this," she admitted, her voice softer than usual. "Like… I knew it was out there, but seeing it? Actually seeing it? It makes everything we went through feel like—" She stopped, shaking her head with a small, breathless laugh. "I don't know. Just… wow."
Jaune's smirk deepened. "Yeah. Wow."
For a moment, none of them spoke.
There was no need.
The world spoke for itself in a language of light and color, of sky and earth, of quiet, undeniable beauty.
Jaune leaned back slightly, letting them take it all in. "So," he said, his tone casual yet laced with something more, "how do you feel? After everything. Do you think you're ready to move on to bigger things?"
Nora practically bounced in her seat, her blue eyes alight with excitement. "Bigger things? Yes!" she said without hesitation. "Jaune, you always have something up your sleeve, and if it's anything like this, then I cannot wait to see what's next!"
She turned to Ren, nudging him with her elbow. "Come on, you gotta admit, you're curious too!"
Ren, still gazing at the world below, took a slow breath.
He wasn't just looking at the scenery—he was memorizing it. The rolling clouds, the distant shimmer of rivers, the untouched forests stretching beyond sight.
This was their world.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like something that was trying to kill them—it felt like something worth fighting for.
Ren gave a small nod, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in what you have planned," he admitted. His gaze flickered toward Jaune. "You wouldn't have come all this way just to pick us up unless there was something more. Something big."
Jaune smirked, his grip tightening slightly on the controls. "You'll see when it's ready. But for now, we wait."
Nora grinned. "Oh, I knew it! You've been scheming again, haven't you?"
Jaune chuckled. "Planning, not scheming. There's a difference."
Ren and Nora exchanged a look—Jaune may have seen a difference, but to them, it was one and the same.
Whatever he had in store, it was going to be something they never could have expected.
And then Jaune glanced at them both, his expression shifting ever so slightly—something warmer, something certain.
"You're not just waiting anymore."
His words carried a weight that neither of them had anticipated.
"The next time we land at Beacon, you won't just be students. You won't just be part of the training teams. You'll be Task Force."
Nora blinked, then grinned wider. "Wait, wait, wait—you mean Team RWBY's officially in?"
Jaune nodded.
"They'll start Phase One once we're all back."
Ren exhaled, his hands folding together as he processed it. This wasn't just talk anymore. Team RWBY had made their choice. They had chosen Jaune.
They weren't just standing beside him.
They were becoming something more.
Nora chuckled, leaning back in her seat with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Ohhh, I can't wait to see how they handle Phase One."
Ren smirked slightly, shaking his head. "They'll adapt."
Jaune gave a knowing smirk. "They'll have to."
And with that, the conversation settled into something comfortable, something natural—like they had never been apart.
The two of them turned back toward the cockpit windows, taking in the last light of the day. The sky was awash in streaks of orange and deep indigo, stars beginning to poke through the thinning light.
They didn't know what awaited them.
But they knew one thing for certain—
Jaune Arc never did anything small.
The flickering light of the terminal cast deep shadows over Pyrrha's face, highlighting the tension in her clenched jaw. The recording looped again, each frame etching itself into her mind, branding her with a truth she couldn't escape.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Her fingers curled tightly, nails digging into her palm. Jaune was supposed to be potential, raw and unshaped, waiting for her to mold him. He should have been hers to guide, hers to elevate, hers to transform. Instead, the screen before her showed something else entirely.
He had never needed her.
The battle at the docks played out again, a brutal symphony of efficiency, power, and inevitability. Ren and Nora moved like warriors forged through fire and hardship, stronger than she had ever imagined them being. They fought as his soldiers, not hers. The synchronized precision of their attacks, the sheer force behind every strike—it was undeniable.
And Jaune…
Pyrrha's breath hitched as she watched him again, the man who was never supposed to be strong, only promising.
The footage showed him tearing through a Heavy Paladin as if it were made of paper. Not dodging, not outmaneuvering—breaking it. He caught its mechanical fist mid-swing, his silver and gold armor barely shifting as he held back thousands of pounds of force with a single hand. Then, with a decisive twist, he ripped the arm clean off. The Paladin's massive form staggered, metal screeching, but it had no time to recover before his blade carved through its core in a single, effortless motion.
A precise, unstoppable force.
Pyrrha swallowed hard.
Jaune Arc had not become strong.
He had always been strong.
She had been blind.
She had mistaken him for something lesser, something malleable, something waiting for her hand to shape and refine. But Jaune was not soft iron to be tempered. He was unyielding steel—absolute, immovable, unshakable.
And against him, her strength—the strength that had once been unrivaled, the strength that had made her Mistral's pride—was polished bronze, gleaming and fragile, shattering the moment it struck against something truly unbreakable.
Her breathing was uneven now, her hands trembling.
How had she been so wrong?
It wasn't just him. He had made Ren and Nora strong too. They had once looked to her as their leader, their best fighter. But in the footage, they stood with Jaune, not beneath him, but beside him, as equals. He had elevated them beyond what she could have ever imagined—without her.
Her stomach twisted.
It was never supposed to be this way.
She had left to prove herself. To stand above others, to become something greater.
But all she had done was fall behind.
She was still Pyrrha Nikos, the champion, the undefeated—
But what did that even mean anymore?
The battle ended as it had each time before. Jaune stood amidst the wreckage of his victory, unshaken, untouchable, undeniable. He had changed the course of the battle the instant he arrived, not as a contender in someone else's war, but as a force of history itself.
The recording paused on the final frame.
Jaune Arc, sword in hand, backlit by the burning remnants of the battlefield, his golden armor unmarked, his piercing blue eyes unreadable.
She stared at his image, her pulse thundering in her ears.
He was not supposed to be this.
He was never supposed to be out of reach.
Pyrrha's fists tightened, the bitter taste of failure sitting heavy on her tongue.
She should have been the one at his side.
Instead, she had never even been part of his story.
The screen remained frozen on his image—Jaune Arc, standing tall amidst the wreckage, his golden armor pristine, his sword lowered but still gleaming in the firelight of destruction. A man who was not merely strong, but undeniable. A legend, not a champion.
Pyrrha squeezed her eyes shut, but the memories flooded in anyway.
She had once been so certain.
Jaune had been perfect.
Calm, polite, unassuming. When they first met, he had carried himself with none of the arrogance she had come to expect from the strongest warriors of their generation. There was no sharpness in his words, no expectation of admiration in his tone.
He had smiled at her like she was just another student. Not Mistral's Champion. Not the Pride of Sanctum. Not Pyrrha Nikos.
He hadn't known who she was.
That had made him perfect.
In Mistral, they called it the Mistra Amaza—the path of great women shaping greater warriors.
To take a partner not for power, but for potential. To be the guiding hand that forged legends. To be known not just as strong, but as the one who brought strength into the world.
Pyrrha had seen Jaune as her chance.
He was supposed to be weaker. Someone she could mold, someone who would rise with her, and because of her. She had imagined herself teaching him, guiding him, lifting him toward greatness.
And if he earned it—if she truly deemed him worthy—she might have even given him the highest honor of all: to share her name, her legacy, her bloodline.
That was the way of Mistra Amaza.
But Jaune Arc had shattered that path before she could even take a step.
He had never been weak.
His strength had been there all along, hidden beneath that easy, unassuming smile. It hadn't needed her hand. It hadn't needed anything.
And now, he had gone beyond anything she had ever dreamed of achieving.
Her fame had once stretched across all of Mistral. She had been revered, respected, called the next great warrior of her age.
And yet, when she sat among Mistral's finest in the Royal Hunters' war rooms, she had heard his name spoken instead.
Not Pyrrha Nikos.
Not the Invincible Girl.
The Invincible Human.
A legend of the frontier. Whispered in awe, in terror, in certainty.
His influence stretched beyond the borders of kingdoms, beyond the structured arena fights of tournaments, beyond the admiration of crowds.
She had fought for glory.
He had fought for history.
And history had already chosen him.
Pyrrha swallowed, her hands trembling as she reached to replay the footage again.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
But Jaune Arc had never been meant to follow anyone's path but his own.
And she—she had never been meant to shape him.
She had simply been left behind.
The soft rustling of silk and the rhythmic tap of heeled steps against polished stone announced the arrival of her visitor before she even knocked. Pyrrha sat still, staring at the frozen image on her screen, her mind trapped in a loop of frustration and realization. She had barely pulled herself together when the knock came—three sharp raps, precise and practiced.
She knew who it was before she even turned.
Lady Atsumi.
A woman of impeccable poise, clad in the flowing crimson and black robes of a Court Lady of Mistral. Her silver hair was pulled into an elaborate coil, not a strand out of place, and her hands—aged but steady—remained clasped in front of her as she bowed.
Pyrrha rose instinctively, her body moving through the motions of etiquette even as her thoughts churned.
"Lady Atsumi," she greeted, bowing in return, as was expected.
It was no small thing for a Court Lady to be assigned to a warrior, let alone one of Pyrrha's station. These women dedicated their entire lives to the service of the Royal Hunters Association and the Academy, their duty to ensure the needs of the chosen few were met with the utmost care and discretion. They were confidantes, advisors, and representatives of the court's will.
And Atsumi had been hers.
Since her ascension as Mistral's Champion, Lady Atsumi had ensured her every summons, her every formal invitation, was met with the dignity befitting her rank. To serve a Royal Huntress was an honor.
But to be chosen to serve Pyrrha Nikos? It had been Atsumi's greatest honor.
And yet, despite the fondness Pyrrha had once felt for her ever-loyal attendant, an uneasy weight settled in her gut.
Because Atsumi was here with a message.
And messages from him were never ones she could ignore.
Atsumi straightened from her bow, her face a mask of quiet reverence, but her dark eyes held a sharpness that had always unnerved Pyrrha. The unwavering discipline of a woman who had long since surrendered herself to duty.
"It is my greatest honor to deliver this message to you, my lady," she said, her voice smooth, unwavering. "Your sponsor and benefactor, His Royal Highness, Prince Koujiro of Mistral, has called for your presence at once."
The words settled heavily in the room.
Prince Koujiro.
Pyrrha exhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to steady.
Her summons had come.
And she had no choice but to answer.
The Tempest roared across the desert sky, cutting through the arid winds like a predator descending upon its domain.
Its thrusters hummed, deep and commanding, sending ripples through the sand as it hovered just beyond the village, casting an immense shadow over the settlement.
For a moment—
Silence.
A hush fell over the village, as if the very air itself had stopped to listen.
Then—
"LOOK! UP THERE!"
Sun Wukong's voice exploded through the village like a thunderclap.
Heads snapped toward the sky.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
Children playing in the sand froze, eyes wide.
And then—
The moment the Tempest broke through the desert haze, realization crashed over them like a tidal wave.
A legend had returned.
Sun shot to his feet, knocking over his chair, his chest heaving with excitement.
Then, at the top of his lungs, he bellowed—
"THE INVINCIBLE HUMAN HAS RETURNED!"
The words struck the village like a shockwave.
A beat of pure silence.
And then—
Chaos.
Children screamed with joy, their tiny feet kicking up dust as they ran through the streets, their voices overlapping in sheer exhilaration.
"He's back! He's real! The Invincible Human is here!"
Parents turned to each other, faces etched with anticipation. Some clutched their children close, not in fear—but in awe.
The elders, men and women who had seen him before, who had lived through the day he saved them, sat forward in their chairs, eyes alight with memories long thought buried.
Because they knew.
Silver and gold armor.
A warrior's gleaming shell.
A bright blue visor.
A mask concealing all but the legend.
A blade that no one could name.
A weapon that cut through armor, through aura, through everything—as if nothing had ever been there at all.
Some called it a blade of the gods.
Others whispered it was a relic of the ancients.
None had ever known its true name.
But they did not fear the blade.
They feared the man who wielded it.
A warrior so fast that no strike had ever landed upon him.
A swordsman so precise he could cleave through steel and flesh alike—as if they were made of air.
A force so unstoppable that armies broke before him.
The Invincible Human.
And now—
He had returned.
The Tempest let out a low, reverberating hum as its landing struts deployed, settling onto the shifting sands just outside the village.
A metallic hiss filled the air as the rear ramp began to lower.
The villagers held their breath.
But what descended first was not a man.
It was a machine.
A six-wheeled beast of steel and power.
It rolled down the ramp with smooth, predatory grace, its suspension shifting effortlessly against the terrain.
Sleek, armored, and built for speed, it looked like a predator given form, its very presence commanding respect.
And then—
It moved.
The Nomad lurched forward—and then shot off like a bullet.
Its thrusters ignited, kicking up a roaring cloud of dust as it sped toward the village at impossible speed.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
It moved like the wind.
Faster than any skiff, smoother than any desert runner they had ever seen.
Elder Wukong, leaning heavily on his cane, let out a slow breath.
His weathered hands trembled—not with fear, but with recognition.
He had seen this before.
Not the machine.
The force behind it.
Because there was only one man who could wield such untamed speed, such impossible power.
The Invincible Human was not just a warrior.
He was a storm.
And as the Nomad tore across the sands, drawing closer with every second, the villagers braced themselves.
Not out of fear.
But because they were about to witness a legend step into the light once more.
The Nomad screeched to a halt just in front of the village, its powerful wheels kicking up a swirl of sand. The thrusters let out a final hiss, engines winding down to silence—leaving behind an almost eerie stillness, broken only by the distant howling of the Vacuoan winds.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—
A whisper rippled through the crowd.
Then another.
And another.
And suddenly—
The village awoke.
Jaune remained seated in the driver's seat, his gaze sweeping over the settlement.
New defenses lined the perimeter—strong, reinforced watchtowers, barriers that had not been there before. This was no longer the small, defenseless place he had first visited years ago.
The people here had changed.
Hardened.
They had learned.
This was the kind of place that demanded strength, that refused to be weak.
Jaune could sense it, feel it in the way they stood, in the quiet intensity in their gazes.
They had built this place not because someone had protected them—
But because they had protected themselves.
And yet—
The moment the villagers saw the silver-and-gold armor, saw it reflecting the harsh sun, their reaction was instantaneous.
Some gasped.
Some took a step back.
But none looked away.
Their Invincible Human had arrived.
Jaune knew they recognized him.
Not just by the armor—
But by the Infinity Blade resting across his back.
The blade had become a legend in itself. A weapon none could name. A weapon that cut through aura, through steel, through anything that stood in its way.
But they did not fear the blade.
Because the blade was not what made him legendary.
He was.
The sword was a symbol—but not of power or fear.
It was a promise.
A reminder that the Invincible Human fought for others. That he had always fought for others. That his strength had never been for conquest, but for protection.
And as the whispers turned to cries of recognition, as children darted through the streets shouting his name, as the elders straightened with eyes filled with memory—Jaune felt something stir in his chest.
In the back of his mind, Young Jaune couldn't help but feel a surge of joy.
For all his stoic detachment, for all his years of experience, the young part of him that had once dreamed of being a hero was alive again.
Here, in this village—
He was not forgotten.
He was not just a traveler.
He was a hero.
And as the villagers stepped forward, their voices rising, their admiration pouring out into the desert air—
For the first time in a long time—
Jaune Arc could almost hear the echo of the cheers he had once dreamed of.
It began as a whisper, then spread like wildfire.
At first, it was only the watchmen who noticed them—three armored figures, their forms distinct against the backdrop of shifting sands.
They moved with purpose—silent, disciplined, unstoppable.
Each step sent ripples through the village.
The older villagers knew the stories.
"The Invincible Human…?"
"Is it truly him?"
"And he does not walk alone."
Yet no one rushed forward.
No one spoke too soon.
The village had learned the weight of silence, the power of presence.
Jaune saw it then.
Boys and girls, no older than ten, holding training swords. Their grips were strong, their stances steady.
Young warriors, the village militia, standing with real blades at their hips.
Even the elders, those who had lived through his arrival all those years ago, stood ready, their hands resting lightly on weapons—not as a threat, but as a sign of respect.
Jaune approved.
Though his face was hidden beneath his helmet, he let his gaze settle on them, an unspoken acknowledgment.
No words were needed.
The warriors among them straightened their backs, standing prouder beneath his silent judgment.
For the young ones, it was different.
They stared—wide-eyed, watching history walk before them.
One boy tightened his grip on his wooden sword.
A girl beside him whispered, "I want to be like him one day."
Jaune did not slow his pace, but he took it all in.
They had learned.
They had endured.
That was all that mattered.
Elder Wukong was already outside his home, waiting.
He did not need confirmation. He knew.
And so, he bowed—not as a subject, but as one who understood the weight of history.
Behind Jaune, Ren and Nora followed in his wake, their armor sealed, their identities hidden. They were no longer just themselves.
They were part of the myth.
The villagers lowered their heads, the silent reverence of those who had once been saved. Even the young warriors, those who had thought themselves strong, could not meet the gaze of the legend before them.
Jaune's voice, calm and measured, carried undeniable weight.
"Your people are stronger than before."
Elder Wukong's lips curled into a small smile.
"They remembered."
Jaune gave the smallest of nods.
Approval.
Recognition.
"Then I have not walked in vain."
The elder gestured toward his home.
"Come inside. There is much to discuss."
Without another word, Jaune, Ren, and Nora followed him in, leaving the village to absorb the truth:
The legend had returned—not as a ghost, but as a reality.
The warmth of the Elder's home was a stark contrast to the cool desert air outside. Though modest, the house was filled with life, the hum of conversation and the scent of spices lingering in the air. The Wukong family was large—uncles, aunts, cousins—all gathered within, their presence creating an atmosphere of familial warmth and unity.
Yet despite the usual noise, tonight was different.
Because tonight, a legend had stepped through their doors.
Sun practically vibrated with excitement as he stood near the entrance, waiting for them. His golden tail flicked back and forth, his usual carefree grin wider than ever.
And then—
They entered.
Jaune Arc, Ren, and Nora.
Fully armored.
Their presence was immense.
Jaune, standing in front, radiated authority, his regal silver-and-gold armor gleaming under the dim lantern light. His glowing blue visor cast an almost ethereal glow across the room, sending a ripple of awe through the assembled family members.
It was a sight to behold.
He did not need to speak.
His presence alone was enough.
Sun beamed, throwing his arms out. "Finally! Took you guys long enough!"
Jaune stepped forward, his movements precise, measured, yet unmistakably warm. His voice, even through the helmet's modulator, carried a tone of genuine welcome.
"It's good to see you again, Sun."
The elegance in the way he stood, the way his visor gleamed in the dim lighting—it sent another wave of silent astonishment through the gathered family members.
Sun Wukong—their Sun—had spoken of this man, of his exploits, his legend.
But to see him here, standing in their home?
It was unreal.
The Family's Awe
The Wukong family, once lively and talkative, had gone almost completely silent.
Aunts, uncles, cousins—all watched.
They did not know Jaune Arc.
But they knew The Invincible Human.
And now, he was in their home, standing beneath their roof, his armor pristine, untouched, even after years of legend.
No one dared to break the reverence.
Even the youngest of them, children who had only heard the stories, stood frozen, their tiny hands clutching at their parents as they stared in absolute awe.
Jaune, aware of the weight of their gazes, simply let them look.
This moment belonged to them.
Sun, having no patience for silent reverence, turned to Ren and Nora. "So, how was the whole 'mysterious training' thing? You guys still alive under all that armor?"
Nora snorted, crossing her arms. "Oh, we're alive. Barely."
Ren shook his head, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "We just finished Phase Two."
That got the family's attention.
Elder Wukong, seated at the head of the room, raised a curious brow. "Phase Two?"
Nora froze for a split second before remembering—
"Everything after Phase One is a secret."
She and Ren exchanged a quick glance before she smoothly deflected. "Oh, you know, just more training stuff."
But before the conversation could move on—
"What was Phase One like?"
A young Wukong cousin blurted out the question before clamping a hand over their mouth, embarrassed at speaking out.
The room turned toward them.
For a moment, Nora just grinned.
Then she leaned back, sighing dramatically. "Phase One? Oh, Phase One was… brutal. Just the most overwhelming, non-stop, muscle-tearing, soul-crushing physical training you can imagine."
Sun blinked. "That bad?"
Ren's tone was completely serious. "Worse."
The family listened, entranced.
Even Elder Wukong's expression turned thoughtful, as if considering the depth of such a training regimen.
They had known warriors. They had known hardship.
But what Ren and Nora described…
This was on an entirely different level.
And then—
With cheeky amusement, Nora added—
"Oh, and I heard Jaune's waiting for Sun to be ready before he trains him."
The room fell into complete silence.
Every single Wukong family member turned to stare at Sun.
The prankster. The goofball.
The man who had spent years making trouble and dodging responsibility—
Was going to be trained by The Invincible Human.
The reality of it hit them all at once.
Elder Wukong, who had been silent for most of the conversation, finally spoke.
"Is that true?"
Jaune, still standing like a living monument, nodded once.
"It is."
The family exchanged stunned glances.
One of Sun's younger cousins practically vibrated in excitement. "Sun's gonna be a warrior like him!"
An uncle shook his head in amazement. "Imagine that. A Wukong trained by the Invincible Human."
Sun, finally registering what had just happened, rubbed the back of his head. "Okay, okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Jaune said I gotta be ready first."
But the family was already talking amongst themselves, the realization settling in.
Jaune Arc—The Invincible Human, the man whose name alone made entire groups of bandits and terrorists reconsider their actions—
Had chosen Sun Wukong.
And that was a moment none of them would ever forget.
"Please, make yourselves at home," Elder Wukong said, his voice gruff but filled with genuine respect. "It is an honor to feed the Invincible Human and his companions."
Jaune and his team exchanged glances before nodding in unison.
They had been prepared for this moment.
Jaune had already decided they would show the Wukong family the same respect they had shown him all those years ago.
As Elder Wukong took the first bite, the others followed suit.
At first, there was a sense of formality—the family watched them closely, almost unsure if it was truly happening.
But as the meal continued, the air shifted.
It was still reverent, but there was something else now—warmth.
This was not just a meal.
This was a moment of honor, tradition, and humility.
A moment where a legend dined among them.
A few moments passed before the elders of the Wukong family spoke quietly among themselves.
Sun gave a subtle nod to his comrades.
It was time.
Jaune, Nora, and Ren slowly reached for their helmets.
And then—
The hiss of their armor releasing pressure filled the room as the helmets retracted, revealing who they truly were.
For the first time, the Wukong family laid eyes on the faces of the warriors in their home.
Jaune's features were sharp, chiseled by battle and time, his expression remaining unwavering.
A man of few words, few emotions—
Yet his eyes spoke of something greater.
Strength. Certainty.
A presence that could level mountains without raising his voice.
Nora's face lit up with her signature, cheerful grin, though she kept herself measured, knowing this moment belonged to them.
Ren, as always, was calm, composed, his sharp green eyes reflecting both patience and wisdom.
The room went still.
And then—
The older girls of the Wukong family turned red.
One covered her mouth, her golden tail flicking frantically behind her.
Another took a sharp inhale, trying (and failing) to maintain her composure.
A third stared outright, her plate forgotten entirely.
The younger boys snickered, while some of the uncles exchanged knowing glances, their smirks barely concealed.
Nora immediately noticed.
Her eyes gleamed with pure mischief.
She leaned toward Jaune, resting her chin in her palm. "Ohhh, Jaune, I think you've got some admirers."
Jaune, ever composed, barely reacted.
His legendary presence remained unshaken, his face a perfect mask of regal indifference.
"They are simply reacting to the moment," he said, his voice as measured as ever.
But that did not stop the elders from turning toward their daughters with teasing amusement.
"Well, well," one uncle mused, stroking his beard. "I don't believe I've ever seen you this quiet before."
"You're usually so good with words," an aunt added with a smirk.
One of the girls whipped around, hissing under her breath. "I swear, if you say another word—"
But it was too late.
The entire Wukong household was now grinning, their earlier reverence momentarily replaced by pure familial mischief.
Even Elder Wukong—the most composed of them all—let out a knowing chuckle.
"It seems the Invincible Human's legend extends beyond battle."
Jaune said nothing.
He simply took another bite of his meal, maintaining his unyielding air of elegance—as if the entire situation was irrelevant to him.
But Nora was having too much fun.
"Oh, I love this," she giggled. "We should take our helmets off more often."
Jaune finally turned to her, his golden eyes unreadable.
"That will not be necessary."
Sun burst out laughing.
The teasing continued, but beneath the laughter, beneath the playful remarks—
The awe never truly left their gazes.
Because no matter how flustered some of them were—
They all knew.
They were in the presence of a legend.