Secrets of Arc

by The Builder's Return

The Worker of Secrets is reborn into the body of a deceased Jaune Arc. Watch as the worker of Secrets embarks on a new journey to fulfill Jaune's dream of being a hero. Romances are not determined but may be possible later on. Rated M for trauma and darker themes. Infinity Blade and other games/RWBY Crossover.

9. Chapter 8

Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I had been working irl and working on this story in my free time. Here is a bulk upload. I hope you enjoy the new direction. Shifting from the blatant idolization to a more subtle unease and more of an uncomfortable understanding. I have finished the first Volume and working on the 2nd volume. Hope you guys enjoyed it till this point. I have an Omake being posted after Chapter 10. Please enjoy

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Chapter 8

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The roar of the incoming Atlesian dropship thundered across the camp, sending ripples through the air and kicking up loose dust that clung to the battered remains of their tents and equipment. The deafening hum of its thrusters drowned out the quiet conversations, swallowing the fragile sense of relief that had begun to settle among the survivors. Soldiers, Huntsmen, and students alike turned their gazes skyward as the massive ship descended, its powerful engines causing even the sturdier supply crates to tremble under the force.

The moment the landing struts touched the ground, the doors hissed open, and before the gangplank had even fully extended, General James Ironwood stepped out.

The man himself.

His long white coat billowed in the artificial wind, every inch of him composed and commanding as his steel-blue gaze swept across the gathered personnel. His eyes moved with precision, scanning faces, assessing injuries, cataloging the damage—not just to bodies, but to morale. He was searching for something. Confirmation. A silent tally of the dead and the living.

And then—for the briefest of moments—his features softened. Relief. A small, fleeting expression, barely there before his mask of discipline fell back into place. He had come expecting far worse, and the fact that so many still stood before him… it was a victory he had not anticipated.

"I have to say," he called out, his voice carrying over the clearing, "I was expecting a debrief… not a full camp of survivors."

It was almost a joke. Almost. But the weight beneath his words said everything.

The Atlesian soldiers, once rigid with tension, exhaled ever so slightly, their stances relaxing just enough to show their own silent relief. A few shared brief glances, confirming amongst themselves that they had, in fact, survived.

Winter Schnee stepped forward, spine straight despite the fatigue weighing on her like an iron chain. "General," she greeted, crisp and professional, though the exhaustion in her voice was impossible to miss.

Ironwood's gaze lingered on her, his sharp eyes flicking over the bruises, the subtle stiffness in her stance, the way she kept her shoulders squared as if sheer force of will could mask her injuries.

"You look terrible," he remarked dryly.

Winter exhaled through her nose, shaking her head ever so slightly. "You should see the others."

His eyes moved beyond her, to the soldiers behind her. The ones who had been trapped inside that nightmare. The ones who had seen things that could never be unseen. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. "I have," he admitted. His tone remained even, controlled. Professional. But there was something beneath it. Something heavier. "And to be honest… I wasn't expecting this many of you to make it out."

Then, his gaze shifted.

And for the first time, his expression hardened.

Jaune Arc sat at the edge of the tent, finishing his meal.

He did not rise. He did not react.

He merely watched.

---

"That's the nicest I think I've ever heard him sound," Yang muttered, arms crossed, her sharp lilac eyes flicking between Ironwood and the gathered survivors.

"He's relieved," Weiss murmured beside her, her expression calculating as she watched her old mentor. "He doesn't let emotions show often, but… he cares about his people."

Blake's ears twitched slightly. "It's strange," she admitted after a pause, a frown tugging at her lips. "I always thought of Atlas as cold and calculated, but seeing them like this… it's different."

"People are people," Pyrrha added softly, the words slipping out in a quiet breath. "We all want to protect those we care about."

Ren nodded. "And sometimes, we just want to survive."

But Ruby wasn't listening.

Her silver eyes were locked on Jaune.

He wasn't tense. He wasn't tired. He wasn't anything.

He sat still, unmoving, his posture loose yet controlled, as if everything around him were simply background noise—an event unfolding in real-time that he had no emotional investment in. No relief. No exhaustion. No sense of shared survival.

Just watching.

And Ruby hated it.

---

The debriefing took place inside the Atlas field base, where the artificial lighting was harsh and sterile, where the walls were too clean and too white, where the silence felt heavier than it had in the ruins.

Pyrrha hadn't spoken once since they had entered.

She sat straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, expression unreadable. Not tense. Not upset. Not anything.

But Ruby could feel it.

She wasn't happy.

Not about surviving—no, for that, she was beyond grateful.

But for everything else.

She had spent years hearing the same thing. The same title. "Pyrrha Nikos, the Strongest." A champion. A prodigy. A warrior without equal.

And yet, none of it had mattered.

Jaune had never looked up to her. Never idolized her. Never needed her. From the moment she had met him, he had never treated her like the unreachable warrior the world had painted her as. He had never seen her as a leader. He had never seen her as someone to follow.

Because, he had never been beneath her to begin with.

He had surpassed her without ever acknowledging her as an obstacle.

She had spent so much of her life being seen. She had lived in the spotlight, known by name and title alike. But now… even Weiss, who once dismissed Jaune without a second glance, had felt it—that suffocating presence. When standing next to The Invincible Human, there was no space left for Pyrrha Nikos.

She had thought she would lead him.

She had thought she would be his mentor.

She had thought—foolishly, naively—that he would grow under her guidance.

Instead, she was the one who had been left behind.

Her fists clenched under the table.

She would not let this stand.

She would return to Mistral. She would reach out to her family. She would seek training—true training. The kind that no tournament had prepared her for. The kind that would ensure she would never be forgotten.

She refused to be an afterthought.

She refused to be nothing.

---

The holographic display flickered to life, playing the grainy, helmet-cam footage of the Terrormorph's emergence.

Gasps filled the room. Someone swore under their breath. A soldier flinched. Another covered her mouth.

Weiss turned her face away. Blake's fists clenched. Ren's posture went rigid.

And Jaune?

Jaune watched.

Expression calm. Eyes sharp. As if it were nothing more than a moment in time.

Then came the moment he should have died.

His body slammed into the walls, rebounded off the ceiling, and crashed—lifelessly—to the ground.

Ruby flinched. She felt it all over again. The helplessness. The fear. The overwhelming certainty that she had just watched someone die.

And then—he rose.

Not Jaune Arc.

Not a Huntsman-in-training.

Not human.

Something else.

Something far worse.

And as Ruby sat in that cold, sterile room, watching it all play out again, one realization settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

She didn't know what he was anymore.

And neither did he.

---

The recording ended.

Silence settled over the room, heavy and suffocating, pressing down like a weight none of them could escape. It wasn't the natural kind of silence—the kind that came from stillness or peace. This was the silence of something being too large to put into words.

The Atlas officers sat stiffly, their bodies betraying their discomfort. Some stared at the blank projection screen as if it might change, as if watching it again would make it make sense. Others looked down at their hands, gripping the edges of the table, white-knuckled, as if grounding themselves in something real would keep the nightmares from creeping in.

Winter Schnee sat perfectly straight, back rigid, hands clasped tightly in her lap. A picture of discipline. But not calm. Her fingers were laced together so tightly the joints had gone white, a minute tremor running through them.

Across the room, Team RWBY sat together, shoulders close but minds worlds apart.

Yang was the first to move, exhaling sharply as she shook her head, her usually cocky posture absent. "I mean…" she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "Seeing it was one thing."

"But reliving it?" Weiss finished for her, her voice quieter, almost hollow.

"It felt impossible," Blake admitted.

"It was impossible," Pyrrha murmured, finally speaking.

Pyrrha's voice was quiet, almost lost to the room, but Ruby heard it.

And the way Pyrrha said it—not in awe, not in relief, but in quiet, bitter certainty—made Ruby's chest tighten.

She turned, glancing at Pyrrha from the corner of her eye, seeing her sitting there, her posture as composed as Winter's, but her expression…

It wasn't grief. It wasn't even frustration.

It was realization.

Pyrrha Nikos had spent her life at the top. A warrior beyond her peers. A prodigy of legend. She had known the weight of expectations, the burden of greatness.

But she had never been forced to watch someone effortlessly surpass her without ever acknowledging her as competition.

She had never been unnoticed in a room before.

But now, even Weiss—Weiss, who once dismissed Jaune without a second thought—had been drawn into his presence, unable to ignore the impossible.

Jaune had never looked up to Pyrrha.

He had never needed her.

And that hurt.

Because the world had always told her she was the strongest.

And yet, when she sat in a room with Jaune Arc—she wasn't even a contender.

Her fists clenched in her lap, her resolve solidifying. She would go home. She would find training. Real training. The kind that would not let this stand.

But even then… even if she became stronger… would it ever be enough?

Ruby swallowed hard and forced herself to look at him.

Jaune hadn't moved.

He stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his posture perfectly balanced—not stiff, not slouched, just present. He did not fidget. He did not react. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, not with rage or satisfaction, but with nothing.

Like he had watched the recording of his own death and rebirth with the same emotional response one would have to the weather forecast.

And that was what scared Ruby the most.

She had already told him—he wasn't just the Invincible Human.

But watching that fight again… watching him do things no one else could…

How much of Jaune Arc was still there?

The silence stretched unbearably, pressing against her skull like static before Ironwood finally spoke.

"Mr. Arc."

Ruby jumped slightly.

Jaune, however, did not react.

Not immediately.

He let the silence sit for another moment before finally, slowly, tilting his head toward Ironwood, his blue eyes settling on the general.

"...What are you?"

Ruby barely breathed.

For a second—just a second—she thought she saw something in his expression.

Not hesitation. Not surprise.

But consideration.

Like he had to choose how to answer.

His eyes flickered. And then—nothing.

Not indifference. Not arrogance. Just absence.

He didn't answer.

Because, somehow—he didn't know.

---

The moment passed, but the tension did not.

Jaune exhaled through his nose, as if bored, as if unimpressed with the question. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing, before finally straightening his posture, letting his arms fall at his sides.

His voice was calm, even, unreadable.

"I am Jaune Arc," he said, his tone devoid of weight, as if he were stating something obvious. "Huntsman-in-training. Leader of Team JNPR and the Task Force."

His blue eyes flickered slightly, the glow barely noticeable—except Ruby noticed.

Then, just as the weight of the moment settled—he turned to her.

And, completely deadpan, he added:

"And owner of the super advanced Tempest."

Silence.

Ruby blinked.

Her brain stuttered.

Then—

"OH MY GOD!"

Ruby's entire face went up in flames, her silver eyes widening in pure horror.

Laughter exploded around her.

"That's what you're going with?!" Weiss choked, unable to contain her snorts of amusement.

Yang lost it, gripping her stomach. "No way! He actually said it!"

Blake chuckled, shaking her head, an amused exhale escaping her lips. "Well, that's officially canon now."

"I can't believe he just did that," Pyrrha murmured, covering her mouth with her hand. But despite everything, despite her frustration—she laughed.

Nora, always the loudest, was cackling so hard she had to lean against Ren for support.

Ren, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow at Ruby. "Ruby, did you really call it the 'super advanced Tempest?'"

Ruby sputtered in complete betrayal. "STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!"

Jaune, completely unfazed, turned back to Ironwood, as if none of this was even slightly relevant to him.

"That answer good enough for you, General?"

Ironwood sighed, rubbing his temple like he was too old for this. "...It'll do."

Yang grinned, elbowing her in the ribs. "Okay, but seriously, why 'super advanced Tempest?'"

"I just—" Ruby flapped her hands uselessly. "It was the first thing I thought of, okay?!"

"Super Advanced Tempest sounds like something a kid would name their toy spaceship," Weiss smirked.

"No, no, this is perfect," Nora grinned. "This is its legacy now!"

Ruby groaned dramatically before spinning to face Jaune, pointing at him furiously. "You said it just to embarrass me, didn't you?!"

Jaune shrugged, expression blank. "I just used the best description available."

The team howled with laughter. Ruby groaned into her hands.

And Jaune—he was already looking away.

As if none of this had ever mattered in the first place.

One of the Atlas soldiers, still recovering from the overwhelming absurdity of the conversation, let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he glanced at Jaune.

"I have to admit," the soldier mused, rubbing his chin. "For a name like Invincible Human, I didn't expect you to say something like Super Advanced Tempest with a straight face."

Ruby could already see it—the perfect opportunity for Jaune to redirect attention, to shift the weight of the moment onto someone else.

And he took it immediately.

Jaune, without missing a beat, turned the focus away from himself. "Ruby came up with it," he said smoothly, voice flat, matter-of-fact. "She's the one you should be asking."

Ruby's brain screeched to a halt.

"EXCUSE ME?!"

She whipped around to face him, silver eyes wide with complete and utter betrayal. "I DIDN'T NAME YOUR SHIP!"

"You kinda did," Yang chimed in, grinning in that infuriating way she always did when she knew Ruby had no way out of a situation.

"I CAN'T WIN WITH YOU PEOPLE!" Ruby threw her hands into the air, exasperated.

Jaune didn't even smirk. He didn't laugh, didn't gloat, didn't do anything that would suggest he was reveling in the chaos he had just caused.

No, he had already moved on.

And Ruby saw it now—the way he did this, the way he pulled attention away from himself without effort, without pause.

She hadn't noticed it before, but now that she was watching for it, it was impossible to ignore.

When things got too close, when the weight of their questions or expectations started pressing too hard, Jaune had a habit of redirecting, deflecting, shifting.

And he was good at it.

Too good.

How often had he done this before? How many times had he guided the conversation away from himself so effortlessly that no one even realized?

Because now that she was thinking about it, she wasn't sure she could remember the last time Jaune had actually given a real answer about himself.

A loud, deliberate throat-clearing cut through the lingering laughter, snapping everyone's attention back to reality.

Ironwood stood at the head of the room, arms crossed, expression deeply unimpressed.

"As entertaining as this has been," the General said, fixing Jaune with a level stare, "there is still an official matter I need to discuss."

Ruby saw it—the immediate shift.

Jaune's humor, if it had ever really been there, vanished instantly. His posture changed, something more controlled, more unreadable. It wasn't a soldier's stance—it was something colder.

Ruby swallowed.

Jaune wasn't human in moments like this.

Not really.

His blue eyes met Ironwood's without hesitation, his tone even, measured. "What is it?"

Ironwood studied him carefully, as if he knew the moment could tip in any direction.

"Your ship—The Tempest," he clarified. "Would you be willing to talk about it at a later time?"

Jaune tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. Or maybe just tired of hearing it.

"Depends on what you're asking."

Ironwood didn't miss a beat. "I'm asking if you're willing to sit down and have a discussion about its capabilities, construction, and—possibly—its technology."

There it was.

The thing Atlas wanted.

Ruby felt a chill creep up her spine, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she realized—of course Atlas was interested in The Tempest.

Of course they wanted to know what made it tick.

What had they been doing while the mission was ongoing? While Jaune had been fighting?

Had they been studying it? Analyzing it?

Had they been trying to figure out how to build one of their own?

Ruby flicked her gaze to Weiss, catching the way her sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.

She had caught it, too.

Jaune, however, gave nothing away.

"We'll see," he said simply.

And just like that—he ended the conversation.

Ironwood didn't push further.

Ruby could see the frustration in his stance, in the way his shoulders held tension. But there was nothing he could do.

Because Jaune Arc wasn't someone who could be pushed into anything.

And Ironwood knew that.

The General exhaled, the weight of the conversation still lingering. Then, shifting slightly, he turned his attention to Winter.

"Escort them back to The Tempest and wait for further instructions."

Winter, still composed, still professional, nodded crisply. "Understood, sir."

Ironwood gave them all one final look.

Not at Ruby. Not at Weiss, or Yang, or Blake. Not even at Pyrrha.

His gaze landed on Jaune.

And for a moment—just a fraction of a second—Ruby could have sworn Ironwood looked… uncertain.

Like he didn't know if he was looking at an ally or something else entirely.

"I need to report back to Headmaster Ozpin and inform him of your safe return and the mission's completion," Ironwood said at last.

Then, quieter, almost to himself, he added, "I doubt he'll believe half of what I tell him."

Jaune, finally—finally—smirked.

A faint, ghost of a thing.

"I get that a lot."

Ironwood let out a slow breath, shaking his head. His lips twitched, something almost amused, almost weary.

"That, I don't doubt."

With a final nod, he turned and left.

Leaving them standing there.

Leaving them to process everything that had happened.

And to prepare for whatever came next.

---

The flight back to The Tempest was, for the first time in what felt like days, uneventful. No shadows creeping from the darkness, no nightmarish monstrosities waiting just beyond the veil, no overwhelming sense of dread suffocating them in its grip. Just the low hum of the engines, the rhythmic motion of the transport, and—perhaps most importantly—the familiar sounds of laughter.

Weiss sat near Winter, arms folded, watching as their ragtag group slowly unwound.

The Atlas team spoke in hushed but animated tones, their expressions still tinged with disbelief that they had made it out alive. Some exchanged relieved smiles, some simply stared at the floor, as if still waiting for reality to collapse beneath them.

The Beacon team was no different.

They laughed, they joked, they let themselves feel normal again.

Even Pyrrha, who had been noticeably quiet since their escape, managed a small smile when Nora nudged her and whispered something in her ear. That was good. Pyrrha had been far too withdrawn lately.

But, of course—Yang decided to stir trouble.

"So, Jaune," Yang began, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Weiss immediately knew where this was going.

Jaune, who had been quietly enjoying the ride, barely flicked his gaze to her, already wary. "Yes?"

"Now that Ironwood officially knows about your ship," Yang grinned, "I guess it's safe to call it by its proper title."

Jaune's expression remained unreadable, but Weiss caught the small tensing of his jaw.

"Don't," he said, a warning.

Yang smirked.

"The Super Advanced Tempest."

Laughter immediately rippled through the team.

Ruby groaned loudly, slumping back into her seat as her face turned beet red.

"Can we PLEASE stop calling it that?"

Jaune, calm as ever, simply shrugged. "I don't know, Ruby. You're my Vice Leader. That means you're responsible for The Tempest as well."

A beat of silence.

Then—Ruby blinked.

"...What?"

She sat up so fast that Weiss could hear her seat shift.

Her silver eyes were wide, staring at Jaune like he had just spoken in another language.

"Did you just—" she swallowed, her voice catching. "Did you just say that I'm—"

"You may fly it one day," Jaune clarified smoothly, as if he hadn't just flipped Ruby's entire world upside down.

Ruby froze.

Weiss saw it immediately—the way her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of those words.

"I—wait, are you serious?!"

Jaune simply nodded.

Ruby opened her mouth—then shut it.

Then, as the full weight of his statement sank in, she let out a breathless laugh.

And then—she punched him.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Jaune barely reacted. He didn't even flinch.

"You're always talking about how much you love flying and speed," he said smoothly, voice calm, unaffected. "This is the best way to give you both."

Ruby's face burned red, but this time—it wasn't from embarrassment.

It was joy.

Weiss stared.

She knew how much Ruby loved weapons, how much she adored tinkering with mechanics and anything that involved moving faster than what was probably safe. But she had never seen her like this.

The way she clutched her hands into fists against her chest, the way her eyes lit up, the way she was shaking from sheer excitement—

Ruby was practically vibrating.

And then—

She let out a high-pitched squeal.

"I GET TO FLY THE SHIP!—I mean—one day! But STILL!"

"Excuse me, WHAT?!" Weiss exclaimed, whipping her head toward Jaune.

"Wait, hold on, HOLD ON," Yang leaned forward, grinning. "You're actually letting Ruby fly your ship?!"

"One day," Jaune corrected.

"He said it!" Nora whooped. "No take-backs!"

"Why do I feel like this is going to end in disaster?" Blake muttered, but she was clearly amused.

"Because it probably will," Ren sighed.

Pyrrha remained silent, but her gaze flicked toward Jaune.

Jaune, however, was already leaning back again, completely at ease.

"I trust her," he said simply.

And just like that—the laughter faded.

Weiss could see it in the team's eyes—the quiet weight of that statement.

Jaune didn't hand over responsibility lightly.

He was not the kind of person to delegate unless he meant it.

And he had just said it outright.

He trusted Ruby.

And that meant something.

---

Weiss wasn't the only one watching.

From her seat, Winter sat with perfect posture, her arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes locked on Jaune.

But Weiss knew that look. She had seen it before.

That was Winter's assessment face.

It was the way she looked at a problem she couldn't quite solve.

Weiss felt a small chill.

Jaune hadn't given Winter a single direct answer since they had first arrived.

And yet—somehow—he was still controlling the flow of conversation.

He had shifted attention away from himself effortlessly, distracted everyone with humor, turned questions into jokes, given just enough to appease Ruby's curiosity without actually revealing anything.

And all the while—Winter was taking note.

Weiss could feel it—the slow, creeping understanding that her sister, a specialist trained in military tactics, was trying to find Jaune's weakness.

Not out of malice.

But out of caution.

And, for the first time, Weiss wondered—if she were in Winter's place, would she be doing the same?

Weiss glanced back at Jaune, watching the way he remained completely composed.

As if the mission had never happened.

As if he had already moved past it.

And that—more than anything else—unnerved her.

Because if Winter was watching him, if she was trying to figure him out…

Then Weiss needed to be watching, too.

---

The transport hummed steadily beneath them as it closed the distance toward Mantle's outskirts. The conversation among their group had settled into a comfortable lull, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to everyone.

Weiss took the moment to glance around—Yang leaning back with her arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but alert; Blake subtly watching the horizon, as if expecting some last-minute threat; Ren and Nora sitting side by side, a quiet understanding passing between them; Pyrrha still unnervingly silent, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

And Ruby—still glowing.

Even now, her fingers twitched, likely itching to hold a flight stick, her silver eyes flicking toward Jaune every few minutes, as if she still couldn't believe his words.

Jaune himself was as he always was. Seated near the front, entirely still, his expression giving away nothing.

Winter had noticed too.

Weiss saw it in the occasional glance her sister shot his way, her expression unreadable. Winter had been analyzing Jaune since Mantle. This wasn't just a casual curiosity anymore—this was a military officer assessing an unknown element.

And Weiss, for once, wasn't sure if she wanted Winter to succeed.

Then—

A murmur rippled through the Atlas team, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

Weiss turned her gaze forward.

And The Tempest came into view.

For a few seconds, there was only stunned silence.

Then—

"No way," one soldier breathed, eyes wide as he leaned forward against the transport's railing.

"That's his ship?!" another blurted, disbelief thick in their tone.

"What the hell is that design?!"

A mix of awe, frustration, and sheer bewilderment filled the transport as every single Atlas operative reacted in real-time to what they were seeing.

Weiss pressed her lips into a thin line, resisting the urge to sigh.

She should have expected this.

The Tempest wasn't just a ship. It was a statement.

An airship of unknown origin, technology surpassing what even Atlas' most advanced models could achieve. A ship so ahead of its time that even her own father's resources couldn't have replicated it.

And now—

Now it was surrounded by dozens of scientists, engineers, and military personnel.

Atlas hadn't wasted a single second.

Temporary workstations had been erected all around The Tempest's landing zone. Researchers in crisp uniforms moved frantically between terminals, scanning, documenting, arguing over theories, desperate to piece together something—anything about the ship's construction.

Weiss could see it in the way they moved—frustration etched into their very posture.

They had all the tools in the world at their disposal, and yet none of them understood what they were looking at.

"…What am I looking at?"

Jaune's flat tone cut through the murmuring conversation.

Weiss turned to him, watching as he observed the scene before them with mild interest, as if this wasn't a significant event.

For a second, just a flicker of a moment, she thought she saw it.

A shift.

A quiet, distant amusement.

Then it was gone.

Before anyone could react, Yang smirked.

"Looks like your ship got captured, Jaune."

Jaune finally tore his gaze away from the growing swarm of frustrated scientists and turned toward Yang with a neutral expression.

"By nerds."

A beat of silence—then, laughter exploded from their team.

Even Winter exhaled through her nose, the closest thing to amusement Weiss had ever seen her show in an official setting.

Ruby groaned into her hands.

"Can you ALL stop bullying Jaune's ship?!"

Jaune, ever composed, shrugged.

"I'm not the one who called it super advanced."

Ruby's head snapped up.

"STOP BRINGING THAT UP!"

---

The transport slowed, coming to a gradual stop near The Tempest's landing zone.

Atlas soldiers moved aside as the ramp lowered, their eyes lingering on Jaune.

Weiss caught it immediately—that moment of hesitation.

The way some of them stiffened, unsure how to regard him now that they had seen what he was capable of.

A single name, spoken in hushed tones.

"The Invincible Human."

She had heard it before.

But now? Now, it sounded different.

Jaune didn't react.

Of course he didn't.

Instead, he stepped off the transport with the same measured grace he always had, his presence commanding without effort.

Weiss found herself wondering—how much of that was Jaune Arc?

And how much of it was the being that stood in his place?

One of the Atlas soldiers, still blown away by what they had just witnessed, finally turned toward Jaune, voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

"So… you're really letting her fly the Super Advanced Tempest?"

Jaune tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes unreadable.

"You know," he mused, voice smooth, "since everyone keeps bringing it up… I'm starting to think it's a fitting name."

Weiss immediately felt Ruby tense beside her.

"JAUNE, NO!"

Jaune's mouth quirked ever so slightly.

And as their team finally stepped onto the ground, laughter rippling through them, Weiss allowed herself one small exhale.

They had survived.

And now—

They were going home.

---

Winter Schnee had spent years training to read people—to assess, analyze, and deconstruct individuals, whether in battle or negotiation.

It was a skill expected of an Atlas officer, one that had served her well in both military and political engagements.

And as she stood near the transport, arms crossed, sharp blue eyes fixed on Jaune Arc, she found herself entirely unsettled.

Because he was in complete control.

He hadn't lifted a weapon.

Hadn't raised his voice.

Hadn't even moved with any particular effort.

And yet—he dictated everything about this encounter.

Winter wasn't sure if the scientist realized it yet, but she did.

Jaune barely had a chance to step off the transport before a red-faced scientist stormed toward him, clutching a datapad so tightly it looked moments away from snapping in half.

"YOU!" the man snapped, pointing a finger at Jaune with the kind of fury that suggested he had been screaming internally for hours.

Jaune blinked, looking at him with mild curiosity. "Me?"

"YES, YOU!"

The scientist came to a sudden stop, barely a foot away, his breathing erratic, face flushed with what could only be described as pure, unfiltered frustration.

"WHAT—" he gestured wildly toward The Tempest, where dozens of scientists were still swarming the airship like desperate scavengers, their brows furrowed, their arguments growing more heated. "—IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE—IS THIS?!"

Jaune glanced at his ship, tilting his head. "An airship?"

The scientist sputtered so hard he nearly choked on air.

"AN AIRSHIP?! DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT AN AIRSHIP IS?!"

Jaune, entirely calm, raised an eyebrow. "Then why'd you ask?"

There was a moment of horrified silence.

Then—

The Beacon team collapsed into laughter.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Yang muttered, crossing her arms, her grin widening.

"This is already great," Blake added, her golden eyes glinting with amusement.

"I HAVE NEVER seen a scientist this close to breaking before," Nora cackled, elbowing Ren, who merely exhaled but smirked slightly.

"Oh, I can!" Weiss cut in sharply, positively agreeing with the scientist's distress. "This is completely justified! Because WHAT EVEN IS THIS SHIP?!"

The laughter from their teammates only intensified.

Weiss scowled. "I AM RIGHT!"

Jaune, utterly unfazed, simply turned back to the scientist, his tone impossibly smooth.

"You seem upset."

The scientist looked like he was about to have a stroke.

"UPSET?! I HAVE BEEN STUDYING ADVANCED SHIP ENGINEERING FOR OVER A DECADE, AND THIS—THIS THING—DEFIES EVERY LAW I HAVE EVER KNOWN!"

Jaune nodded slightly, as if considering his words.

"That sounds rough."

Winter almost felt bad for the scientist.

Almost.

---

The scientist took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly trying to regain a fraction of his sanity. His fingers jabbed at his datapad, then at the ship's sleek, nearly organic design.

"Explain. The engines."

Jaune followed the pointed gesture, looking at the four super-slim, streamlined thrusters extending from The Tempest's frame.

They didn't resemble conventional engines.

The exhaust ports were too narrow, the shape too smooth, the entire system too quiet.

Even powered down, they looked like something that didn't belong to this era.

The scientist waited impatiently.

Jaune turned back to him. "They provide thrust."

Winter watched in fascination as the scientist's entire body seized violently like Jaune had just punched him in the soul.

"YES, I KNOW THAT! HOW?!"

Jaune blinked, his expression betraying nothing. "Very efficiently."

The scientist let out a long, strangled groan, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off an oncoming migraine.

Winter pressed her lips together.

He's baiting him.

And the scientist doesn't even realize it.

"Alright. Fine," the scientist grumbled, gritting his teeth. He glared back at the datapad, voice tight with frustration. "The landing thrusters. UNDERNEATH the cockpit and cargo bay. I have personally examined them, and they do not function on any known form of propulsion."

Jaune nodded. "They function fine."

"HOW?!"

Jaune shrugged. "They use an alternative method."

The scientist's eye twitched. "AN ALTERNATIVE METHOD?! WHAT METHOD?!"

Jaune paused, as if deeply considering the question.

Then—

"A very good one."

Winter didn't miss the way Weiss twitched violently.

"JAUNE!"

Jaune turned to look at her with calm interest. "Yes?"

"STOP ANSWERING LIKE THAT!"

"Like what?"

"LIKE YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME ANGRY!"

Jaune, voice still impossibly smooth, replied, "I'm not trying to make you angry."

"THEN ANSWER NORMALLY!" Weiss practically shrieked.

Jaune turned back to the scientist, nodding. "The engines and thrusters work."

Winter watched as the scientist visibly gasped like he had just been stabbed.

Weiss groaned into her hands.

The Beacon team wheezed in laughter.

Winter stood to the side, quietly observing the chaos.

And it hit her.

Jaune Arc wasn't just dodging questions.

He was controlling the conversation.

Every reaction, every carefully chosen word, every moment of deliberate vagueness wasn't meant to evade—it was meant to manipulate.

He had reframed the entire situation.

The conversation wasn't about The Tempest anymore.

It was about the scientist's frustration.

It was about the laughter.

About giving everyone, after everything they had endured, something lighthearted to focus on.

And he had done it effortlessly.

Winter swallowed.

It was one thing to witness strength.

One thing to see a warrior who could not be killed.

But intelligence?

Social awareness?

Understanding of people—of their emotions, their needs, their weaknesses?

That was far more terrifying than any brute force.

Winter narrowed her eyes slightly, cold realization settling in.

Jaune Arc was not invincible because of his strength.

He was invincible because he knew exactly how to make people move the way he wanted.

And that made him more dangerous than anyone in that room had even begun to understand.

---

The scientist, despite standing on the verge of a full mental breakdown, tried one final, desperate attempt.

If nothing else—if there was any part of this abomination of an airship that he could logically process—he needed to know how the hull worked.

His hands trembled slightly as he clutched his datapad, his voice a forced attempt at stability.

"The hull," he began, taking a slow, deliberate breath. "It is shielded against scans. We have tried multiple scanning devices—thermal, electromagnetic, and even Aura-based detection methods, and it returns nothing." His eye twitched slightly. "How?!"

Jaune blinked slowly.

"The hull is built to resist scanning."

Winter watched as the scientist's shoulders seized violently.

His breath came out shakily. "Yes. I gathered that." His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. "But—HOW?!"

Jaune tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely considering the question.

Then—"With great effort and success."

Winter didn't even bother suppressing the amused breath that escaped her lips.

The scientist dropped his datapad.

Just let it go, like his soul had finally given up.

One hand came up to cover his face, his entire body sagging under the weight of pure, existential defeat.

And the Beacon team completely lost it.

"You know," Yang grinned, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "I think Jaune might be more dangerous to scientists than he is to actual enemies."

Jaune shrugged, voice calm, casual, effortless. "I do what I can."

The scientist let out a deep, guttural groan, pointing a shaky, trembling finger at Jaune.

"I. WILL. BREAK. YOU."

Jaune smirked. "You can try."

That was it.

The Beacon team collapsed again.

Ren actually let out a small, amused chuckle—which, for him, was the equivalent of outright hysteria.

Even Blake, usually stoic, had a small, entertained glint in her golden eyes.

Winter sighed, shaking her head slightly, not bothering to stop the chaos unfolding in front of her.

"I should intervene," she muttered, mostly to herself.

But she didn't.

Because—despite the undeniable ridiculousness of it all—

She wasn't going to ruin Weiss's meltdown.

Not yet.

The argument between Jaune and the scientist had already reached legendary levels.

But then—Weiss Schnee snapped.

Winter felt it coming before it even happened.

The way Weiss's fingers twitched, the way her shoulders tensed, the way her entire posture screamed pure, analytical frustration.

Her sister—the logical mind, the perfectionist, the heiress to the SDC—had reached her absolute limit.

And when she turned to Winter, the sheer level of exasperation in her ice-blue eyes was enough to nearly make Winter laugh.

"Winter," Weiss groaned, rubbing her temples aggressively, "do you not see the problem here?! That ship—that impossibility—defies everything we know about aerospace engineering!"

Winter raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I see no problem." She gave a small, amused shrug. "It's entertaining."

Weiss let out a strangled, horrified noise.

Jaune, meanwhile, was completely at ease.

Arms crossed. Relaxed. Unbothered. Watching the chaos unfold around him with calm, detached amusement.

And that's when Jaune struck.

"Weiss actually has a good understanding of aerospace engineering," Jaune commented smoothly. "She just learned about my ship yesterday and already has a stronger grasp on the impossibilities than most people."

Winter stiffened instantly.

Because she knew exactly what he was doing.

And the scientist—in his rapidly deteriorating state—fell right into the trap.

The scientist, who had been barely holding onto the last strands of his sanity, turned sharply—on Weiss.

"Wait—you understand aerospace engineering?!"

Weiss blinked.

"Wait—I do, but—"

The scientist zeroed in.

"Then WHY ARE YOU NOT AS ANGRY AS I AM?!"

Weiss's head snapped up. Her hands flew up in exasperation.

"I AM!"

And just like that—

The battlefield shifted.

Winter exhaled sharply.

Jaune had successfully redirected the scientist's rage.

Weiss—frustrated, emotionally charged, needing an outlet for her anger—took the bait immediately.

And now she was fighting against the only person who actually agreed with her.

Winter crossed her arms, watching in pure fascination as Weiss launched into an aggressive, exasperated argument with the equally distressed scientist.

"How is it possible that we are on the same side of this argument, yet you are still wrong?!" Weiss demanded, throwing her arms out.

"WRONG?!" the scientist yelled back, completely unhinged. "I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT!"

"CLEARLY NOT, BECAUSE YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING ABOUT THAT SHIP!"

"YOU CAN'T EITHER!"

"I LEARNED ABOUT IT YESTERDAY!"

Winter sighed.

There it was.

Weiss was too emotionally compromised to realize that Jaune had manipulated the conversation so smoothly that she had switched battlefields without even noticing.

And now—she was fighting against someone who had been supporting her argument from the very beginning.

The Beacon team watched in pure awe.

"Did—did Jaune just make Weiss argue with someone who agrees with her?" Yang asked, eyes wide, grin spreading.

"I think he did," Blake replied, smirking.

"That's actually impressive," Ren admitted, tilting his head slightly.

"Guys," Ruby wheezed, practically in tears, "she's fighting with someone on the same side!"

Weiss whirled around, furious, her hair whipping over her shoulder.

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING!"

Jaune remained completely unfazed.

His voice was calm, composed, precisely measured.

"I never said I would."

Winter exhaled slowly, her mind processing everything.

Jaune Arc wasn't just strong.

He wasn't just an impossibility of a warrior.

He was something far more dangerous.

He understood people.

Not just their actions—but their thoughts, their tendencies, their emotions.

He moved conversations like chess pieces, redirected attention with subtle, near-effortless precision.

And he did it without ever making it seem intentional.

Winter's fingers curled slightly against her arm.

If he wanted to,

Jaune Arc could rule a battlefield without ever drawing a weapon.

---

The scientist, his patience worn to the breaking point, clung to the last desperate vestiges of his professional composure. His hands trembled around the datapad he still held, and his face was taut with the frustration of a man standing at the edge of a revelation that he could not grasp.

"Fine. Fine!" His voice wavered between forced neutrality and outright exasperation. "Explain the gravitational distribution of the ship's mass under acceleration!"

Winter barely reacted to the question. It was a valid one, even an important one, but at this point, she had seen what happened when Jaune Arc was asked for answers. He had the uncanny ability to make people regret the very act of inquiring.

Jaune tilted his head slightly, as if considering. The motion was small, subtle, but Winter caught it. It wasn't the gesture of a man caught off guard or one struggling to formulate a response. He was deciding how much he wanted to say.

"You're asking about the thrust-based inertial compensation system?"

The scientist visibly recoiled, as if Jaune had reached forward and flicked him on the forehead. His entire body tensed, his jaw tightening in an attempt to hold back the overwhelming tide of sheer aggravation that had been steadily building.

"That is NOT what it's called, but continue!"

Jaune nodded, his expression one of calm, detached seriousness. "It works by dynamically adjusting the ship's mass distribution relative to its trajectory to maintain optimal flight stabilization. The system compensates for momentum shifts by utilizing electrostatic dampeners that negate inertia within an internal gravity loop."

Silence fell like a hammer.

Winter narrowed her eyes, her arms folding across her chest as she studied him closer.

The scientist blinked once.

Then his fingers curled into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"…That is correct."

Weiss let out a strangled noise beside her. "Hold on," she said, voice sharp with disbelief. "That sounded real."

"It was real," the scientist grumbled, his misery compounding exponentially.

Jaune shrugged. "Then why are you upset?"

Winter caught it immediately—the misdirection, the redirection, the subtle shift in control.

The scientist's eye twitched. "Because THAT DOESN'T TELL ME HOW IT WORKS!"

Jaune smirked.

"Sounds like a skill issue."

The scientist visibly malfunctioned.

Winter did not laugh.

Not because she wasn't tempted—but because this was something far more serious than mere entertainment.

She had seen many types of men before.

Ironwood was a leader of principle, a man who believed in structure, in hierarchy, in order. He commanded respect through his force of will, his power, and the unwavering belief in Atlas's doctrine of strength through unity.

Ozpin, by contrast, was a spider in a vast, intricate web, weaving secrets into plans within plans. He did not command outright—he suggested. He did not order—he nudged.

But Jaune Arc?

He was something else entirely.

Jaune did not lead through authority. He did not command like a general, nor manipulate like a politician.

He steered.

Without force, without exertion, he guided conversations where he wanted them to go. He let people move, let them think they were in control, and yet—at the end of it all, they always ended up exactly where he wanted them to be.

Winter had never even heard of him before this mission.

When she'd returned to Mantle's command tent, exhausted from the ruins, she had done what any officer of Atlas would do.

She had looked up Jaune Arc.

And that was the problem.

There was almost nothing.

The Beacon student registry had his name, his age, his combat team. The file was clean, too clean, like a newly fabricated record. No history of combat training, no prior military experience, no commendations, no disciplinary records.

Nothing.

A boy who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and inserted himself directly into Beacon Academy.

It should have been impossible.

Every Huntsman-in-training was vetted, tracked, placed.

Even prodigies like Pyrrha Nikos had a history. Their skills were documented, their backgrounds well-known.

But Jaune?

The only trace of the Arc family she could find led back to a long-forgotten frontier settlement.

A village, isolated and silent for years.

That was the only recorded information. No military lineage. No advanced education. No ties to engineering or flight training.

Yet here he was.

The pilot of an impossible ship. The slayer of an unkillable beast. The boy who did not exist—until he did.

Winter's fingers tightened on her crossed arms.

This wasn't a coincidence.

The scientist, meanwhile, was near his final collapse.

His hands shook as he tried, desperately, to reassert himself in a conversation that had long since left him behind. "Fine. If I can't get answers from you," he said, voice tight with frustration, "then who on this team actually understands this ship?"

Jaune nodded, serious.

"That would be my Vice Leader."

He turned to Ruby.

"Ask Ruby, she is the technical mind of the team. Very proficient with different types of things that the team needs. She is responsible for critical features in our base."

Ruby, who had been laughing seconds earlier, froze like a deer in headlights.

"WAIT WHAT?!"

"Excuse me?!" The scientist spun toward Ruby, his eyes wild with barely contained exasperation. "You're his Vice Leader?!"

"Yes!" Jaune confirmed without hesitation, before Ruby could so much as squeak out a response.

The scientist inhaled sharply, fingers twitching toward his notes like they were the only thing holding his sanity together. "Then explain how the ship's inertial dampening system prevents pilot destabilization!"

Ruby froze.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Her brain was screaming at her to say something, but she had never flown the ship. She had never studied its systems. She had only ever gotten the vague, maybe-one-day-you-can-fly-it promise from Jaune, and that was it.

Jaune was watching her expectantly.

The scientist was staring at her like a starving man eyeing his last meal.

Weiss was already looking like she wanted to die from secondhand embarrassment.

Ruby had nothing.

So she did what any reasonable, highly intelligent leader would do in this moment of crisis.

She opened her mouth and winged it.

"Through… complicated engineering processes."

A silence so profound it could have been studied in a lab followed.

The scientist's eye twitched.

The entire Beacon team inhaled sharply.

The scientist slammed his notebook onto the floor, throwing his hands into the air like a man who had just lost everything he had ever loved.

"THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!"

Ruby flailed her arms, panic skyrocketing. "WELL, I HAVEN'T FLOWN IT YET!"

The scientist screamed into his hands.

The Beacon team collapsed into a heap of wheezing, tear-inducing laughter.

"RUBY!" Weiss shrieked, her voice hitting a frequency only dogs could hear.

"I panicked!" Ruby wailed back.

Jaune, watching the chaos unfold like an amused deity observing the struggles of mere mortals, nodded approvingly.

"Good answer," he said.

Weiss turned to him in pure betrayal. "THAT WAS NOT A GOOD ANSWER!"

Jaune tilted his head slightly. "It was the most accurate answer."

Weiss shrieked again.

The scientist, now on the verge of a full mental breakdown, simply crumpled to his knees.

"I am never going to get a normal response on this ship, am I?" he whispered.

Jaune clasped his hands behind his back. "That depends on how you define 'normal.'"

The scientist let out a long, suffering groan.

Weiss aggressively rubbed her temples, looking one deep breath away from using her glyphs to throw Ruby into another dimension.

Ruby, meanwhile, was too busy trying to disappear into the floor.

Jaune, still completely unfazed, glanced back toward the scientist. "Would you like me to explain it instead?"

The scientist perked up instantly, desperate for any real information. "YES!"

Jaune nodded, perfectly composed. "The inertial dampening system stabilizes the pilot's experience by ensuring the ship's movements negate unwanted kinetic forces while maintaining spatial integrity."

The scientist paused.

Then slowly turned back toward Ruby.

His expression was a thing of absolute vengeance.

"WHY COULDN'T YOU SAY THAT?!"

Ruby wailed louder.

Jaune, with the same serene, unreadable look, shrugged.

"She's still in training."

Weiss dropped her head into her hands.

Yang was dying of laughter.

Blake just smirked, silently judging all of them.

The scientist screamed into his hands again.

Winter barely heard the chaotic aftermath, the scientist's anger shifting to Ruby, Weiss's exasperation, the Beacon team's howling laughter.

She was still thinking about Jaune.

Still thinking about how he had deflected everything with such ease.

Still thinking about the mystery of his existence.

She had seen commanders, tacticians, fighters.

But Jaune Arc was all of those things and none of them at once.

And that made him far more terrifying than any one man should ever be.

---

Winter exhaled slowly, forcing herself to rein in her thoughts.

She had seen too much, noticed too much.

Jaune Arc was not just an anomaly.

He was a fabrication. A ghost placed in Beacon's system.

A name that should not exist.

And if Ozpin had manually placed him there…

Then there was a far bigger game being played.

One that Ironwood needed to know about.

Winter cast one last glance toward Jaune, watching as he leaned back effortlessly, unfazed, unreadable.

He had fooled Weiss.

He had fooled Ruby.

He had fooled almost everyone.

But he hadn't fooled her.

And Winter Schnee was going to find out exactly who he really was.

---

The transport vehicle rolled to a steady halt, the quiet hum of its engines slowly dying down as the gathered soldiers relaxed, the tension in their shoulders melting as reality settled. The ruins were behind them, the terror they had faced buried beneath stone and dust, and yet the weight of what had transpired refused to leave their minds. Winter watched from her position near the door, her gaze sharp and searching.

Jaune Arc stood among them, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his presence still an enigma that no one had yet deciphered. He didn't seem fatigued or troubled. No signs of exhaustion, no relief in his posture—nothing to indicate that the horrors they had witnessed had left any kind of mark on him. It was almost unnatural, the way he carried himself.

Winter had seen many types of soldiers in her years serving under General Ironwood. The green recruits who carried themselves with stiff, nervous energy. The hardened veterans, their expressions tired and lined with experience. The officers, poised and composed, always aware of their image.

But Jaune was none of these.

He existed outside of those categories, neither green nor seasoned, neither uncertain nor proud. He was controlled—so much so that Winter wondered if anything in that temple had even affected him at all. And that was what unsettled her the most.

The soldiers nearby, still caught up in the aftermath of Jaune's earlier exchange with the scientist, chuckled amongst themselves. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a faint scar running down his cheek, clapped Jaune on the shoulder.

"Man," he said, grinning. "I've never seen someone drive an egghead that crazy. You had him on the ropes the whole time. That was impressive."

Jaune's expression remained neutral as he turned his head toward the soldier, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "I gave him answers he couldn't use."

Winter tensed.

There was no humor in his voice, no trace of amusement or arrogance. He was simply stating a fact.

The soldier blinked, his grin faltering slightly. "You mean you just… kept him from anything useful?"

Jaune nodded once. "That's exactly what I mean."

Weiss, standing just a step behind them, froze. Her blue eyes widened as realization dawned, her voice rising in disbelief. "Wait, you did that on purpose?"

Jaune's eyes flicked toward her, cool and impassive. "Did you really think I was incapable of answering the questions?"

Silence followed, stretching between them as the weight of his words settled.

Winter glanced toward Weiss, watching as her sister's expression twisted in conflicted disbelief.

Weiss had spent years studying, refining her mind and skills to perfection. She prided herself on knowledge, on understanding how things worked, and yet Jaune had just unraveled her entire perception of him with a single sentence.

The moment was broken when laughter bubbled up from the group. Yang threw her head back in a loud guffaw, Ruby giggled behind her hands, and even Ren let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. Blake smirked, arms crossed, while Pyrrha watched with a mixture of admiration and something deeper—something more uncertain.

"I can't believe you played them like that," Blake remarked, shaking her head.

Pyrrha's lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile. "Well, you certainly know how to get what you need."

Weiss, still caught between shock and irritation, shot Jaune a sharp look. "You're unbelievable."

Jaune, unfazed, simply turned his attention forward as the door to the transport opened.

And then, General Ironwood stepped out.

---

The moment Ironwood's boots hit the ground, the mood shifted. Laughter faded into quiet focus as the General's steel-blue gaze swept across the gathering. He took in the scientists still lingering around The Tempest, his jaw tightening at their persistence.

Winter straightened instinctively, folding her hands behind her back, her expression neutral.

Ironwood's gaze flickered briefly toward Jaune before settling on the crowd of scientists near the ship. His lips pressed into a thin line, his irritation apparent.

"Why are you still here?" His voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the air like a blade.

The scientists hesitated, looking up from their work. Many were exhausted, frustrated, yet unwilling to leave.

One of them, a burly man with a graying beard, finally stepped forward, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"General, we've never encountered anything like this before!" he exclaimed. "This ship—this Tempest—is beyond anything we've ever seen. It defies everything we know about engineering and technology!"

Ironwood's jaw tightened. He took a step forward, his presence alone commanding immediate attention.

"I didn't ask for a lecture." His voice lowered, the authority behind it undeniable. "You've had plenty of time to study it. Now leave."

The scientists hesitated, but the sheer finality in his tone left little room for argument.

Jaune, who had remained silent up until now, casually pulled out his Omni-tool.

The moment he tapped in a command, the Tempest responded.

The ship's lights flickered on, casting a soft blue glow across the hull. The engines hummed to life, sleek and silent, their power thrumming beneath the surface.

Winter watched as the scientists whirled around in shock, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and raw frustration.

Jaune, for his part, remained unbothered. His gaze drifted toward Ironwood, his expression unreadable.

Ironwood exhaled sharply, his curiosity tempered by something deeper. Something colder.

"I've seen enough," Ironwood said at last, his tone shifting. "That ship… The Tempest. It's a marvel. But I have to ask—can I have a tour of it?"

Winter tensed.

A direct request.

And yet, even as Ironwood extended the offer, Winter could already tell that Jaune held all the cards.

Jaune met Ironwood's gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. He didn't rush his answer.

And then—

"Fine," Jaune said. "But there are conditions."

Ironwood's brow furrowed. "Conditions?"

Jaune's gaze flicked toward the gathered scientists. "You can bring one engineer. And you can bring the team that was at the temple." His voice remained calm, steady, immovable. "But there's a rule. No tools. No devices. No note-taking."

Winter's fingers tightened.

That was not a suggestion.

That was a command.

Ironwood studied him for a long moment before his lips curled into a faint, approving smile.

"Understood."

The Beacon team exchanged shocked looks. Even Winter, standing slightly off to the side, took note of the subtle yet absolute way Jaune had asserted control over the situation.

He wasn't just issuing orders.

He was dictating the terms.

Winter's mind raced. She had always known Jaune to be a capable fighter. But this—this level of awareness, this understanding of power and relationships—it was on another level entirely.

This wasn't something a common soldier could do.

This was the maneuvering of a tactician, a strategist—someone who had played this game far longer than anyone realized.

Winter exhaled slowly.

She had already planned to inform Ironwood about Jaune's mysterious records.

But now?

She would have to do more than just report.

She would have to investigate.

Because the truth was clear—

Jaune Arc was not just a fighter.

He was a force.

And Winter needed to find out where that force had come from—before it was too late.

---

The ramp of The Tempest extended with a smooth, near-silent motion, the hydraulic hiss barely audible over the hum of the ship's active systems. A rush of cool, conditioned air greeted them as the doors parted, revealing the interior of the landing bay. It was pristine, efficient, and ruthlessly functional.

Winter had expected something… messier. More like an experimental prototype that had been cobbled together from stolen tech and risky design choices.

Instead, what she stepped into wasn't just a ship.

It was a fortress.

Ironwood strode in first, flanked by Winter and the hand-selected engineer he had brought along—one of Atlas' most skilled specialists in aerospace engineering. A handful of Winter's men followed, their expressions quickly shifting from mild curiosity to thinly veiled shock as they took in their surroundings.

The walls and floors were composed of a dark, reinforced plating, interrupted only by the strategic placement of soft illumination strips that cast an even, sterile glow. The design was unlike anything she had ever seen before—not Atlesian, not Mistralian, not even remotely close to any known aerospace doctrine.

Everything about this ship was precise, deliberate, and methodical.

This wasn't just a well-maintained vessel.

This was something entirely different.

Jaune, standing ahead of them, turned slightly, his expression neutral as he gestured around them.

"Welcome to The Tempest."

The engineer beside Ironwood barely heard him. His eyes darted over every surface, every detail, as if trying to mentally deconstruct the impossible. His fingers twitched, clearly itching for a scanner or a tool to run diagnostics—both of which Jaune had expressly forbidden.

Winter folded her arms, her brows furrowing as she turned toward her superior.

Ironwood, standing at her side, had remained silent, his expression unreadable as he took his first steps further inside. His steel-blue gaze swept over the bay, cataloging every piece of exposed technology with a keen, discerning eye.

Winter, sensing his intent, leaned slightly closer, keeping her voice low.

"This isn't like anything I've seen before," she murmured, careful to keep her words out of Jaune's hearing range.

Ironwood gave a slow nod, his jaw tight. "No. It's not."

There was a weight behind his words, a quiet realization forming in his mind.

Their eyes were drawn to a large, circular platform embedded seamlessly into the center of the landing bay floor. At first glance, it looked like an aesthetic design choice—some kind of structural reinforcement, maybe.

Then, Jaune activated his Omni-tool.

The edges of the platform lit up, emitting a faint hum before rotating effortlessly beneath them.

The engineer's jaw practically dropped.

"What—?"

Jaune, as always, remained composed.

"Rotary deployment pad." He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Allows for rapid reorientation of any deployed vehicle. No need to manually reposition or navigate in tight spaces."

Silence.

Then, Ironwood folded his arms, nodding slowly. "That's… remarkably efficient."

The engineer, still stunned, turned to Jaune. "Why would you need a vehicle in your ship?"

Jaune barely hesitated.

"Because I don't always land somewhere with infrastructure."

The simplicity of the answer made the statement all the more brutal.

Winter could feel the unspoken implications hanging over them.

Jaune wasn't just someone who traveled.

He was someone who prepared for the worst—someone who never expected safety, never assumed civilization would be nearby.

This wasn't a vessel designed for military deployment.

This was a self-sustaining lifeline built for someone who never expected backup.

Ironwood, without breaking stride, tapped something on the side of his wrist-mounted device.

Winter's own Omni-tool gave a brief vibration, signaling a private message.

She glanced down discreetly, her eyes narrowing as she read his encrypted words.

Ironwood: This isn't just a ship. This is a mobile base.

Winter inhaled sharply, exhaling through her nose before subtly inputting a reply.

Winter: And he built it himself.

There was a pause before Ironwood sent another message.

Ironwood: He had to have.

Winter didn't know what unsettled her more—the fact that Jaune had the knowledge to design something like this, or the fact that no one knew how he learned it.

She remembered the report she had compiled back at the field camp.

Jaune Arc's records were paper-thin.

He had no prior academy training. No history of advanced engineering coursework. No known connections to Atlesian aerospace programs.

And yet—this ship existed.

And somehow, Jaune understood every piece of it like it was an extension of himself.

As the Atlas group moved further inside, the engineer caught sight of a terminal near the wall.

He immediately approached, tapping the screen lightly before looking back at Jaune. "This terminal—what's it connected to?"

Jaune didn't hesitate.

With a single motion, he activated it.

The floor near the terminal rumbled.

A large section lifted, smoothly integrating into the next deck above. It wasn't just an elevator—it was a full-scale cargo lift.

Then—without a word—Jaune pressed another command.

From the floor and ceiling, mechanical racks descended and merged, forming shelving units designed to lock in supplies and equipment with perfect precision.

The engineer exhaled sharply. "This—this is ridiculous." His hands moved instinctively, as if reaching for a notebook before stopping himself. "The amount of automation, the space efficiency—" He turned to Jaune, eyes blazing with frustration and admiration. "This is just the landing bay?"

Jaune smirked slightly—the only trace of amusement breaking through his neutral expression.

"This is just the landing bay."

Winter caught the brief flicker in Ironwood's eyes.

Not just intrigue.

Calculation.

Yang, watching Winter's reaction, grinned. "You didn't expect this, did you?"

Winter hesitated for a split second.

Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No. No, I did not."

But it was Weiss who had stopped watching the ship.

Instead, she was watching Ruby.

Ruby, who hadn't laughed at Jaune's words.

Ruby, who had gone quiet.

Her silver eyes weren't filled with simple admiration anymore.

Now—they held understanding.

Weiss could see it clicking into place in Ruby's mind.

This wasn't just a ship.

It was his home.

Jaune had built this.

Every system, every design choice—everything had a purpose.

Jaune hadn't built The Tempest to be impressive.

He had built it because he needed it to survive.

And somehow, that made it even more awe-inspiring.

Ironwood, still composed but clearly intrigued, exhaled sharply.

"Alright, Arc." His voice was measured. "Show us the rest."

Jaune nodded once, motioning for them to follow.

The tour had only just begun.

The doors slid open, revealing the interior of The Tempest, and immediately, it was clear that this was not just another warship.

Ironwood stepped forward, his boots making a firm, deliberate sound against the metal flooring. His gaze, sharp and trained from years of military experience, swept across the ship's interior with methodical precision.

He had walked through the corridors of Atlas' most advanced carriers, had personally overseen the design of next-generation battlecruisers, and had stood aboard warships that represented the pinnacle of military engineering. Yet, none of those experiences prepared him for what he saw here.

This ship was different.

Winter followed a step behind, her posture straight, her expression composed, but her thoughts were already racing. She had served aboard Atlas' finest, trained in fleet logistics and aerial command, and had seen firsthand how the most advanced ships in Remnant were built.

And yet, as she stepped inside The Tempest, there was an undeniable realization settling over her.

Atlas did not build ships like

The hallway they entered was structured with an efficiency that made even Atlas' best engineering feel outdated. Every step forward revealed practicality in its purest form—there were no unnecessary embellishments, no wasted space, and no concessions to comfort at the cost of functionality.

The passage was curved, leading seamlessly to an adjacent corridor, but instead of leading to another enclosed room, the two entry points looped back into the same hallway, reducing unnecessary foot traffic.

It was a design built for speed and efficiency, cutting down the wasted time that came with maneuvering through needlessly complicated structures.

Above them, a transparent bridge stretched across the corridor, allowing quick access between decks without disrupting the flow of movement below. It was a simple yet intelligent addition—one that ensured crew members could navigate the ship as efficiently as possible.

Ironwood's eyes flicked to the four metallic ladders built into the walls—two at the front and two at the back of the corridor. These provided instant access between the levels of the ship, offering an alternative route in case of emergency or system failure.

There was no wasted space, no unnecessary complexity.

Just efficient, multi-level planning that made perfect sense.

One of the Atlas soldiers muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with something between disbelief and admiration.

"This is better planning than what we've got back in Atlas."

The engineer gave him a side glance but said nothing, too engrossed in taking in every detail of the design.

Winter's gaze swept across the corridor, taking in every meticulous decision in its design.

Atlas warships were built for tactical superiority, designed to be formidable fortresses of steel, prioritizing defensive layering, high-capacity armaments, and overwhelming military presence.

They were not designed for comfort—their crews were given what they needed to function and nothing more.

The Atlas military philosophy had always been one of sacrifice. If a soldier needed to endure cramped, impersonal conditions to ensure the war effort's efficiency, then that was simply the price of duty.

But here, within The Tempest, there was no such trade-off.

This ship was self-sustaining, built for efficiency, endurance, and adaptability.

It was not just a warship—it was a place meant to support long-term survival, meant to ensure that those who lived aboard had everything they needed to keep functioning at their best.

Atlas had spent decades refining its warship designs, and yet—standing inside this ship—Ironwood found himself realizing that The Tempest was simply better.

One of the soldiers muttered under his breath again, his voice softer this time.

"This makes our capital ships look inefficient."

Winter cast a sharp glance at him, but she didn't correct him.

Because deep down, she agreed.

Ironwood did not offer a single rebuttal.

Because he agreed as well.

The realization deepened as they entered the crew quarters.

Ironwood had expected military-standard sleeping arrangements—tight bunks, cramped personal space, and impersonal storage compartments shoved into whatever small gaps remained.

Instead, he found something far different.

The four rooms each contained four bunks, but they were built directly into the structure, integrated in a way that did not make them feel restrictive or suffocating.

The bedding was thick, insulated—not the paper-thin excuse for a mattress that most military stations issued their soldiers.

There were no loose storage chests, no clutter—each bunk had a personal locker, built directly into the walls, ensuring that everything remained organized without sacrificing space.

An Atlas engineer, who had remained quiet until now, finally broke his silence as he ran a hand over one of the built-in lockers.

"This is military precision… but without the usual sterility." His tone was unreadable, as if struggling to reconcile what he was seeing. "Every inch of this room was designed to be lived in."

The personal fold-out desks beside each bunk provided each occupant with a private space—something almost unheard of in military ships.

Even the ventilation system was seamlessly integrated, ensuring quiet airflow without the bulkiness of standard ducts.

One of the soldiers, after testing the built-in seating area, exhaled an amused breath.

"You mean to tell me you've got all this, and it doesn't feel like we're packed in a tin can? This is better than half the forward outposts we've stationed at."

Ironwood remained silent, because there was nothing to refute.

Winter, though maintaining her neutral expression, could not ignore the obvious truth.

This ship was designed not just for combat.

It was designed for endurance.

For survival.

The last stop was the sanitation and hygiene station, and once again, expectations were shattered.

Unlike the cramped, barely functional stalls of most military ships, this space was practical, yet entirely self-sufficient.

It had ample space, clean reinforced surfaces, and thoughtfully placed storage for necessary supplies.

It was not a luxury.

It was a necessity.

Ironwood ran a hand over the smooth countertop, nodding once as he let the full weight of what he had seen settle in.

Finally, he spoke.

"This ship wasn't just designed for combat or transport."

His voice was measured, thoughtful, as if fully acknowledging what had become painfully obvious.

"It was built to sustain life. Every single aspect of this space reflects that."

There was a moment of silence, a brief pause where nothing was said.

Because there was no arguing against it.

Winter let out a slow breath, stealing a glance at Ironwood.

His fingers had curled slightly, his expression calculated but wary.

She had seen that expression before.

It was the look of a man processing information he did not like.

Ironwood knew what this meant.

This wasn't just an advanced vessel.

It was proof that when it was built, he had planned for something bigger.

It meant Atlas had more to uncover.

And that terrified him.

Ironwood exhaled sharply, adjusting his posture before stepping forward.

"Let's move on."

Winter followed.

But she knew.

They weren't just touring a ship anymore.

They were uncovering a mystery.

---

The door to Jaune's quarters slid open with a silent precision, revealing the heart of The Tempest's inner sanctum. It was the final space in their tour before moving toward the main control areas, and yet, this room alone spoke volumes.

The interior, like the rest of the ship, bore the unmistakable signature of deliberate craftsmanship. Everything within it was meticulously arranged, not a single detail wasted or excessive. The lighting, though recessed and subtly positioned within the walls, cast a soft, diffused glow, keeping the space calm yet functional. There was no ostentation—no personalized touches, no excess furniture, no signs of unnecessary indulgence.

It was a captain's quarters, and yet, it lacked the presence of a traditional leader's space. There were no trophies, no mementos, no items of sentimental value that one might expect from someone who lived in their own creation. It was clean, efficient, and designed solely for utility.

The bed, positioned neatly against the far wall, was built directly into the ship itself, a subtle indicator that space optimization had been prioritized over traditional accommodations. A workstation—though far from grand—sat off to the side, appearing more like an extension of the ship's infrastructure than a personal desk for leisure or thought. Unlike other officers' rooms in military vessels, where leaders often distanced themselves from the operational core, this space was integrated into the ship itself.

What immediately drew their attention, however, was the viewport.

A reinforced, high-strength glass panel stretched across the front wall, offering an unobstructed view of space beyond the ship's nose, directly beneath the cockpit's positioning. Unlike most commanders who had a secluded office, Jaune had constructed his quarters to be part of the ship's function, never separate from it.

This wasn't just where he slept.

This was where he observed, where he monitored, where he stayed connected.

It was an odd yet intentional design choice—one that, for someone as calculated as Ironwood, spoke volumes about the man who had built this vessel.

Winter glanced at Ironwood, noting the way his gaze subtly flicked around the room, taking everything in, but offering no verbal reaction. He was processing—calculating—exactly what they were walking into.

For the first time since boarding The Tempest, the engineer at Ironwood's side froze.

His sharp eyes, trained to absorb details quickly, landed on something that made him visibly tense.

His fingers twitched, hesitating for a moment before he stepped closer toward a seamlessly integrated display panel along the far wall. It was sleek, unassuming at first glance, but the moment he saw what it projected, his entire demeanor shifted.

The interface displayed real-time diagnostics of The Tempest's operations.

Everything—hull integrity, power distribution, propulsion status, shield efficiency, environmental data, internal security readouts—was laid out in one seamless interface, streamlined for maximum accessibility.

Winter's eyes narrowed slightly as she observed the engineer's reaction.

It wasn't just that the system was advanced.

It was the way it was organized.

The data wasn't scattered across multiple screens like it would be in standard Atlas ships. There was no clutter, no unnecessary redundancies—everything was presented in one cohesive framework, optimized for efficiency and immediate action.

The engineer slowly exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This… this isn't just a monitoring system."

His fingers hesitated over the controls before he continued, almost speaking more to himself than to the group.

"This is a full command interface."

Winter's posture stiffened slightly.

"Explain," she ordered, her voice clipped and sharp.

The engineer inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts before responding.

"From this panel alone, he can see nearly every operational detail of The Tempest. Structural integrity, sensor readings, power flow, system efficiency—all of it. This level of integration isn't normal. Not even Atlas warships consolidate their data like this."

Ironwood, who had been studying the system in silence, finally took a slow step forward.

"So it's a command center."

His words were calculated, not questioning.

Jaune, standing near the entrance, gave a single nod.

"Yes."

Ironwood's eyes remained locked onto the interface.

"How much control do you have from here?"

Jaune's response was measured, his tone betraying nothing.

"Basic functions. I can reroute power, lock down sections, control environmental systems, and initiate emergency protocols." He paused slightly before adding, "But for anything major, I have to be there in person."

The engineer shook his head slowly, as if he still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"This isn't just a room," he muttered. "This is an operational hub."

Ironwood remained silent, his steel-blue eyes still scanning every detail of the interface. This was beyond anything he had anticipated.

---

Winter stood rigid, her arms crossed as she took in the implications of what they had just seen.

Something about all of this wasn't right.

Jaune Arc was an enigma.

She had been briefed on every notable student before arriving at Beacon. The top combatants, the promising Huntsmen, the ones with strong lineages and documented training.

Jaune Arc wasn't on any of those lists.

After their encounter in the ruins, she had rechecked his files. She had combed through every available record.

And what she found was nothing.

No documented combat experience before Beacon.

No training from any known institution.

No recorded lineage tying him to any well-known Huntsman family.

The only reference to the Arc name led back to a small, isolated village—one that had gone silent years ago.

And yet, here he was.

Winter's fingers subtly tapped her scroll, sending a silent transmission to Ironwood.

Winter: General. Requesting clearance for a private background investigation on Jaune Arc. Too many unknowns. We need to verify his origins.

Ironwood's scroll buzzed, but he didn't acknowledge it immediately.

Instead, he took a slow, deliberate breath, his response coming in a low whisper—one that only she could hear.

Ironwood: Not now.

Winter's jaw tightened.

Not now?

That meant something.

Ironwood had already investigated him.

And yet, he wasn't discussing it here.

Ironwood: We've already conducted a review.

Winter's fingers clenched slightly against her arms.

She had been left out of the loop.

And that meant whatever Ironwood had uncovered wasn't something he was willing to share freely.

She swallowed once before responding.

Winter: Understood. What do you need me to do?

Ironwood finally turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze meeting hers for just a fraction of a second.

Ironwood: For now, focus on The Tempest. Gather as much information as possible.

Winter nodded once, but something in the back of her mind shifted.

This wasn't just about the ship anymore.

Something larger was in motion.

And if Ironwood wasn't willing to speak openly about it, then Winter knew one thing for certain—

She would have to find the truth on her own.

---

Jaune led the group back toward the landing bay, his pace measured, his focus sharp but unreadable. The tension that had settled over the Atlas officers had not gone unnoticed. Winter and Ironwood had been watching him carefully, measuring his responses, dissecting his every move, yet he remained as impassive as ever.

As they reached the lower deck, Jaune turned toward his team, his tone calm but carrying the quiet weight of authority. "You've already seen the ship," he said plainly. "If you want, you can stay here and take some rest while we finish the tour."

Ren, ever composed, simply nodded in understanding. "That makes sense."

Nora stretched her arms over her head, her expression shifting into a mischievous grin. "Downtime? I could use a nap. This ship's beds are actually comfortable."

Pyrrha, though silent for a moment, gave a soft nod. While she wasn't eager to be left behind, she understood the logic behind Jaune's suggestion. After everything they had been through, some rest was well-earned.

But before anyone could fully decide, Ruby stepped forward. "I want to come."

Jaune blinked, regarding her for a brief moment before shifting his attention to Weiss, who had also stepped closer.

"I'm coming, too," Weiss added, her voice sharp, determined.

That was the first moment where something shifted.

The air in the room changed as every eye turned toward the two girls. There was no hesitation in their decision, no pause for thought—they had simply made up their minds, and that was that.

Even Winter and Ironwood stiffened.

This wasn't just an ordinary choice. It was a statement.

Jaune was not someone easily approached. He was powerful, calculating, and held himself with an air of absolute certainty. His very presence dictated where the focus in any room would naturally fall, and yet—Ruby and Weiss had no fear. They did not shrink before him. They did not hesitate in following.

Ironwood's gaze flicked between the two girls and Jaune, assessing the implications.

Winter, too, studied the scene carefully, her mind working through what this meant. Jaune commanded respect, whether or not he actively sought it. But more than that, he had people who chose to follow him without hesitation.

That alone was dangerous.

Jaune exhaled, then gave a simple nod. "Alright."

Without another word, he turned, leading the group onto the cargo lift, where the platform hummed to life. The floor beneath them rose smoothly, locking into place with such seamless motion that it was easy to forget it was even moving.

As they ascended, the lighting adjusted subtly, shifting in brightness and tone to match the transition between levels. The soft glow of the ship's systems guided them forward, ushering them into the next stage of the tour.

When the lift stopped, it locked into place so perfectly that it became part of the floor itself, an unbroken extension of the deck.

Jaune stepped forward without hesitation, leading them through a reinforced glass-lined corridor. Beyond the glass, the engineering bay was visible—a sprawling array of machines, interfaces, and towering structures, all positioned with near-perfect efficiency.

It was a marvel, even before they reached the heart of it.

And then they saw the reactor.

---

The moment the group entered the engineering bay, a rush of supercooled air hissed downward from above, meeting the radiant heat of the drive core with a burst of swirling mist.

The effect was immediate—a visual spectacle of steam and temperature regulation, cascading over the machinery like an ever-churning storm of opposing forces.

But none of that was what shook them.

It was the core itself.

The Atlas engineer's breath hitched as his eyes landed on the massive reactor at the center of the room. His entire body went rigid, his mind struggling to process what he was looking at.

"What… what the hell is this?" his voice barely registered above a whisper.

Jaune approached a console, adjusting something on the interface before turning back toward them. "The reactor."

The engineer clenched his jaw, forcing himself to speak through the sheer weight of disbelief. "I can see that. But what is it using? What powers this thing?"

He scanned the machinery, searching desperately for something—anything—that resembled conventional power sources.

Jaune did not hesitate.

"It doesn't use dust."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The entire group froze, as if the very breath had been stolen from their lungs.

Ironwood's expression darkened instantly. Winter's usually unshakable composure fractured, a flicker of something sharp flashing through her gaze.

Ruby's mouth parted, but no words came out.

Weiss, however, reacted the fastest.

Her face twisted in sheer disbelief, her voice rising in a mix of shock, confusion, and anger.

"You're lying!" she practically screamed, stepping forward, her hands shaking. "That's impossible! Ships, weapons, infrastructure—everything runs on dust!"

She jabbed a hand toward the reactor, her entire world splintering as she processed what Jaune had just admitted.

"Why would you even make something like this?! Dust alternatives exist! They're easier, they're safer, they're—" she struggled for words, her breath hitching before she practically shrieked, "they're already available!"

Jaune tilted his head slightly, calm, unshaken. "Not in the frontier."

The room fell completely still.

The weight of those words slammed into them like a hammer.

Weiss's body locked up. "What…?"

Jaune's voice remained steady, impassive, factual. "Dust is nearly impossible to acquire in the frontier. It's expensive, unstable when transported in bulk, and unreliable outside of established trade routes."

His words should have been obvious.

But they weren't.

Not to Weiss.

She had never truly considered what it meant for the people beyond the walls of civilization—what it meant to live in a place where dust was a luxury rather than a given.

Jaune's gaze flicked to her, almost as if reading the realization forming in her mind, before he continued. "Maybe it would have made things easier if I actually knew how to work with it."

Weiss's entire body twitched, her face turning a deeper shade of red.

Her voice cracked with sheer frustration. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IF YOU ACTUALLY KNEW HOW TO WORK WITH IT?!"

Jaune blinked at her reaction, his tone remaining utterly detached. "Dust power and dust crystals are… strange. The way they react, the level of maintenance they require, how their properties shift depending on refinement—it's too complicated."

Weiss's hands shook. "Complicated?! That's basic scientific understanding—"

Jaune simply nodded. "Exactly."

The engineer paled, his knees almost buckling.

"No. No, no, no—" He grabbed his head, his breathing erratic. "You're telling me you looked at dust-powered technology—the foundation of every energy system we've ever known—and instead of working with it, you just decided it was too complicated and made something else?"

Jaune's response was simple.

"Yes."

Winter and Ironwood exchanged glances.

For the first time, Ironwood looked genuinely disturbed.

Jaune had developed something that defied Atlas.

A power source beyond dust.

Something Atlas couldn't control.

Ironwood's voice was low, almost cautious. "You developed a power source that Atlas doesn't even understand."

Jaune met his gaze without hesitation.

"Yes."

And in that moment, Winter realized the truth.

This wasn't just a tour anymore.

This was a warning.

Jaune didn't linger in the engineering bay. Without a single glance back at the reactor, he strode toward the exit, his pace as steady and composed as ever. His movements were neither rushed nor slow—just efficient. It was clear to everyone present that Jaune had no intention of explaining anything further.

For Jaune Arc, the conversation was over.

The others, however, were still reeling.

The engineer remained frozen, staring at the reactor like a man who had glimpsed something beyond comprehension—something that shattered every fundamental rule he had ever known. His mind raced through every possible explanation, every theory that could make sense of the technology before him, and each one collapsed in on itself.

Winter, feeling the weight of his hesitation, let out a sharp exhale before reaching out, grabbing him by the shoulder, and pulling him toward the door.

"You can analyze your existential crisis later," she muttered, her voice low and edged with frustration. Though she wasn't as openly shaken as the engineer, she too was disoriented by the knowledge they had just been forced to accept. The fact remained: Jaune Arc had accomplished something that defied Atlas.

Even as they left the engineering bay, the engineer kept glancing over his shoulder, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to commit every possible detail to memory.

Jaune ignored it.

But Ironwood did not.

As they walked, General Ironwood remained silent. His eyes stayed forward, but his mind was moving at full capacity, calculating every implication of what they had just seen.

Jaune Arc's ship was an enigma, a technological marvel that should not exist. Atlas prided itself on possessing the most advanced engineering in the world—yet here, standing before them, was a creation so advanced that even their brightest minds were rendered speechless.

The Tempest was not just impressive—it was a threat.

He could see the potential, the applications if Atlas were to gain control of its systems. The power it could wield, the advancements it could bring—Jaune Arc's ship, in the hands of Atlas, could change the balance of power overnight.

But no matter how tempting that thought was, Ironwood knew the reality.

Jaune Arc was an unknown factor—a force of nature, as unreadable as he was dangerous. If Atlas attempted to take The Tempest, they would succeed—eventually.

But at what cost?

Jaune wouldn't surrender it easily. He was too calculated, too prepared. Ironwood had no doubt that the fight to claim this ship would not be swift—it would be brutal.

And in the process, rivers of blood would be spilled.

That was a risk Ironwood could not afford.

Not yet.

Not when he didn't even know the full extent of what they were dealing with.

As they entered the main area, the ship's layout opened up, revealing a holo-projector mounted at the center of the room.

It was sleek and advanced, lacking the bulkiness of traditional Atlas military displays. The design was so efficient that it almost felt unnatural, as if it were the product of an entirely different era.

The moment the group stepped closer, the projector flared to life, displaying a three-dimensional model of Remnant rotating slowly above the console.

The soldiers stiffened in surprise.

Even Winter's brows lifted slightly at the clarity of the projection.

The engineer's hands twitched, his shock momentarily replaced by curiosity. He leaned in closer, scanning the map as his mind tried to grasp the scale of what he was seeing.

This wasn't just a planetary map.

It was a living, breathing visual representation of Remnant's logistical flow.

The display wasn't static—it was pulling real-time tracking overlays, sweeping across the globe with precision.

Weather patterns. Trade routes. Civilian transport schedules.

Hundreds of data points flowed seamlessly into the system, updating constantly. The level of tracking was unlike anything the engineer had ever seen.

And then—

Ironwood's expression hardened.

Because something was missing.

No military vessels.

His steel-blue eyes flicked over the entire projection, scanning for signs of Atlas fleet movements, patrol routes, military convoys—but there were none.

The omission wasn't accidental.

It was either intentional—or restricted.

The engineer finally found his voice, though it was barely a whisper. "This—this is a ridiculous amount of data. You're pulling weather systems, transport routes, commerce records—this kind of tracking should take entire servers to process. How the hell are you cataloging all of this?"

Jaune barely glanced at him. "Filters."

The engineer blinked. "What?"

Jaune adjusted something on his Omni-tool, and the map subtly shifted, different points of data highlighting in sequence. "I programmed it to pull relevant data from the CCT and filter it through preset parameters. The system sorts it automatically, prioritizing what I need to know."

The engineer took an unconscious step forward, his mind struggling to keep up. "You mean this isn't even actively monitored? It's all pre-filtered?"

Jaune nodded. "Yes."

The engineer's breath hitched. "That should be impossible."

He didn't even want to finish the thought, but the reality was sinking in fast.

Jaune Arc wasn't just ahead of them in technology.

He was ahead of them in intelligence gathering.

Ironwood's jaw tightened. His tone was measured, but firm. "Why no military vessels?"

Jaune met his eyes, impassive. "I secured that data separately."

The room fell into silence.

Jaune continued, his voice even. "I'll only access military tracking if the force in question is hostile to me. Otherwise, should anyone board The Tempest or take control of it in a way I hadn't accounted for—" he gestured toward the display, "—that data will be locked out from them."

Ironwood's grip on his belt tightened.

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

The engineer had gone completely still.

The weight of Jaune's words hit like a cold realization.

This wasn't just about data tracking.

This was a safeguard against anyone who tried to take The Tempest from him.

Weiss clenched her fists. "You—why would you even think to do that?"

Jaune's reply was simple. "Because it made sense."

Winter's gaze flickered. "You planned for the possibility that someone might try to take control of your ship."

"Yes."

Ironwood exhaled slowly, his voice carefully controlled. "And if someone did?"

Jaune looked at him, unblinking.

"Then they'd never get what they wanted."

The silence stretched.

Heavy with implications.

Weiss looked between Jaune and the display, her mind racing, trying to find some flaw in his logic.

There wasn't one.

Ruby, for all the unease she felt, couldn't shake the creeping thought forming in the back of her mind.

Jaune Arc wasn't just ahead of them in technology.

He was ahead of them in strategy, too.

Jaune led them away from the holo-projector without a single word, his movements as precise as ever, not a single motion wasted. The Atlas group followed in tense silence, still reeling from what they had just witnessed. The implications of The Tempest's intelligence gathering systems had already shaken them, but there was no time to dwell.

As they ascended the staircase, a new station came into view.

The moment they reached the upper level, the purpose of this section became undeniably clear.

At the center of the space was a large, sleek table, lined with multiple terminals arranged neatly along its edges. The lighting above the station was soft yet direct, illuminating the workspace in a way that balanced both efficiency and comfort—a contrast to the purely utilitarian style that Atlas was accustomed to.

Jaune came to a stop and turned slightly toward them, his voice even.

"Communication hub."

The engineer inhaled sharply, his eyes darting across the terminals before flicking toward Ironwood and Winter, his expression shifting from skepticism to disbelief.

Ironwood narrowed his eyes, stepping forward, his steel-blue gaze locked onto the setup before him. "You have a fully integrated CCT connection system on a personal ship?"

Jaune nodded once. "Each terminal can connect to the CCT and make calls anywhere that can receive the signal."

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced toward Ironwood, then back at the terminals, as if trying to rationalize why such a system even existed on a vessel this size.

Finally, he managed to speak. "This is—this is absurd." He turned toward Jaune. "Ships this size barely have enough dedicated communication arrays to handle one link at a time, let alone a full station."

Jaune remained composed. "It's practical."

The engineer blinked rapidly, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is more than practical—this is an entire communications suite. Why—" he gestured toward the multiple terminals, "—why do you even have this many? You could do everything from one console."

Jaune tilted his head slightly. "I can create conferences."

Silence.

The Atlas group stared at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and growing concern.

Winter was the first to break the quiet. "You're saying… you can hold multiple calls at the same time? And coordinate different parties all in this one location?"

Jaune nodded again. "Yes."

The engineer let out a quiet, disbelieving exhale, his fingers twitching as his mind struggled to grasp the sheer processing power required to maintain something like this. "That—that's not normal. Something like this requires—" He ran a hand through his hair, his composure fraying. "—massive server power and signal strength."

Ironwood folded his arms, his tone growing sharper. "Where are the servers?"

Jaune's response was calm, direct. "Engineering bay."

The engineer nearly collapsed. "Of course they're in the engineering bay!" he shouted, his voice bordering on manic frustration. "Why wouldn't they be?! That's where you keep everything else that shouldn't exist!"

Jaune ignored the outburst. "The Tempest has a very good way of getting signal."

The room fell silent again, the weight of that simple statement pressing down on them.

Ironwood's fingers tapped against his forearm, his expression unreadable. Winter's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering between Jaune and the terminals, piecing together the greater picture.

The engineer looked like he was fighting for his sanity.

Then—

Weiss snapped.

"How is that NOT a big deal?!"

Jaune glanced at her, his tone completely neutral. "It's not."

The engineer made a choking sound.

Jaune continued, unbothered. "The more people added to the conference call, the fewer terminals remain active based on server load. This was actually the easiest part of the ship to build."

Weiss gasped in sheer outrage, while the engineer visibly short-circuited.

Jaune turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving a fuming Schnee and a spiraling engineer behind.

As they descended, the group returned to the main area, where Jaune took a slight turn and motioned toward another section of the ship.

"Workshop. Armory."

The moment they stepped inside, the functionality of the space became clear.

It was compact yet versatile, designed for quick access and ease of use. The layout prioritized efficiency, ensuring that no movement was wasted and everything was placed with purpose.

The Atlas team took in the details immediately.

Against one side of the room, prebuilt racks were already installed, capable of holding armor and weapons in an organized fashion. Though currently empty, it was evident that the space was meant to accommodate a large quantity of gear in the future—whether for long-term storage or active deployment.

Further in, a forge and crafting station were set into the workspace, compact but equipped with everything necessary for modifications, repairs, or even custom fabrication.

The engineer, despite still being on the verge of a mental breakdown, muttered under his breath. "He… he has a dedicated forge on a personal ship… What the hell…"

Winter crossed her arms. "It's efficient."

Ironwood let out a quiet breath, nodding slightly. "More than that. It means he doesn't need to rely on outside sources for equipment maintenance." He turned toward Jaune, his gaze assessing. "You don't like being dependent on others."

Jaune's response was simple. "No."

The answer hung in the air, a truth that none of them could ignore.

Jaune Arc had designed his ship not just as a vessel, but as a fortress of self-sufficiency.

No reliance on Dust.

No reliance on external infrastructure.

No reliance on anyone but himself.

As the weight of the armory's purpose settled over the group, a quiet voice finally broke the silence.

"You know I'm going to be using this room a lot, right?"

The words were spoken softly, but they carried weight.

Ruby had been quietly observing the entire time, her silver eyes flicking between the workshop's layout, the crafting tools, and the storage space. She understood what this meant.

This wasn't just a place for maintenance.

It was a place to create.

Jaune turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable, but after a brief pause, he gave her a small nod.

It was a silent agreement—an acknowledgment.

A moment of trust.

Ruby's heart lifted just a little.

It wasn't much—barely even a gesture—but for Ruby, it was everything.

It meant that Jaune trusted her with his space.

And for Ruby, that meant something.
Jaune led them out of the workshop without another word, his pace steady as he guided them down another corridor. The Atlas group followed in silence, their minds weighed down by everything they had seen so far. Every section of The Tempest had revealed another layer of its creator's meticulous planning, another glimpse into the depth of preparation and ingenuity that made up this ship. Now, Jaune was about to show them something just as vital.

The door slid open with a smooth, mechanical hiss, and the medical bay came into view. The moment they stepped inside, the group instinctively slowed, taking in the sterile yet organized space before them. The room wasn't large, but it was methodically structured, every shelf and cabinet lined with precision. Medical tools, pharmaceuticals, and diagnostic equipment were stocked neatly, each label clear and concise. There was no clutter, no wasted space—everything had been arranged for immediate accessibility, ensuring that in a crisis, no time would be lost searching for supplies.

One of the Atlas soldiers exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "This is better organized than half of our field hospitals." His words carried a mix of admiration and disbelief, as if he couldn't reconcile the idea that a single man had assembled all of this aboard a personal ship.

The engineer, still reeling from the technological marvels they had already seen, muttered under his breath, "A personal ship shouldn't even have this much stocked medical supply. You'd expect a few emergency kits, maybe a small first aid station, but not a whole lab." His fingers twitched slightly, as though resisting the urge to start rifling through the inventory just to confirm how deep this preparation ran.

Winter reached for one of the neatly labeled vials on the shelf and turned it in her fingers, her sharp gaze scanning the precise notations of dosage and chemical composition. "This isn't just a first aid station," she said, voice thoughtful, analytical. "This is a fully equipped medical bay."

Then their eyes fell on something else.

Positioned at the center of the room was a large medical device, sleek and compact, its design almost too advanced for the space it occupied. It resembled a surgical table but had adjustable components that extended outward, clearly capable of sealing a sterile field around a patient. Jaune stepped forward and activated the display with a single command. A quiet hum filled the air as soft lights flickered to life, bathing the station in a cold, sterile glow. The information that flashed across the interface was enough to send another shockwave through the room.

It wasn't just a diagnostic scanner—it was a full-fledged surgical unit. Blood transfusions, cellular regeneration, emergency life support, even deep-tissue repair. Everything was contained within this one system.

The Atlas team froze, their thoughts coming to a grinding halt.

Ironwood's expression remained unreadable, but his sharp, steel-blue eyes were locked onto the machine, scanning it with a cold intensity that betrayed just how much this revelation disturbed him. Winter's usual composure cracked for a fraction of a second, her gaze flickering with something sharp—something between awe and concern. The engineer, who had barely held himself together during the previous sections of the tour, visibly clenched his fists as he stepped closer.

"This is… this is an all-in-one solution to medical care," he muttered, staring at the screen in disbelief. "This kind of tech doesn't exist as a single unit. Every function here—surgical reconstruction, organ stabilization, emergency trauma response—these are all handled by separate, specialized machines. This thing combines all of them into one?" His voice was tinged with frustration, his mind struggling to process what he was looking at. "How did you—?" He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, shaking his head as if to force his thoughts back into place. "Of course. Of course, you built this too."

Jaune, as always, remained silent.

Then it was Ruby who spoke. Unlike the others, her voice wasn't laced with disbelief or frustration—it was filled with curiosity. "Why do you even need something like this?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "I mean… you can clearly heal yourself."

Jaune was silent for a moment before responding. His voice was quiet, steady, but firm. "Not everyone has Aura."

The room stilled.

Ruby blinked, the simple statement hanging in the air longer than it should have. Weiss, standing beside her, visibly tensed, the realization clicking into place faster than she would have liked.

Jaune hadn't built this medical bay for himself.

This wasn't about his own survival.

He had built this for others—for the people who wouldn't have Aura protecting them, for the ones who couldn't recover from injuries the way he could. For those who could, but for whom even Aura wouldn't be enough. The weight of that truth settled over them like a lead blanket.

Ruby and Weiss exchanged a glance, their previous frustrations melting away as they absorbed what this really meant. For all of Jaune's calculating demeanor, for all of his cold, detached actions, there was something beneath it all that couldn't be hidden.

Compassion.

But it wasn't the kind they were used to.

It wasn't loud, it wasn't obvious. It was quiet. Unseen. Unspoken.

Ruby swallowed, looking at him again—really looking at him. He hadn't said it with pride. Hadn't emphasized it like some grand point. It was just a fact to him.

Weiss, who had spent most of the day arguing with him, suddenly found that she had nothing left to say. She turned her gaze back to the medical bay, scanning the sterile yet practical space, and in that moment, all of her frustration vanished.

Jaune hadn't built this for personal survival.

He had built this to save lives.

The Atlas group remembered.

They remembered Jaune Arc leaping off a cliff to save one of their own, without hesitation, without regard for himself.

And now—

Now, they saw the truth laid bare before them.

This ship wasn't just a fortress of technology.

It was a sanctuary.

It was a lifeline.

Ironwood's expression remained carefully neutral, but inside, his mind was already working. This wasn't just about Jaune's capabilities anymore.

It was about his character.

Ozpin needed to know about this.

Winter's gaze flickered toward Ironwood. She could see the gears turning behind his sharp gaze, see the undeniable shift in his posture. Something larger was at play here. Something bigger than any of them realized.

Jaune Arc wasn't just a mystery to solve.

He was a variable—one that had the potential to change everything.

Winter Schnee had seen the height of Atlesian engineering. She had been raised in the shadow of the greatest technological advancements in the world, trained to respect the rigid discipline of Atlas' war machines, and conditioned to understand that no nation could rival their technological supremacy.

But The Tempest was undoing all of that.

She had expected efficiency. She had expected impressive craftsmanship. She had even expected some level of absurdity, given how the past hour had gone.

What she had not expected was for one man to single-handedly topple everything she had been taught about technological superiority.

Jaune Arc led them across the bridge, his movements as steady and deliberate as always. He was never rushed, never uncertain, never overwhelmed. The ship obeyed him with the same unquestioning precision that a weapon obeyed its wielder. It wasn't just a vessel—it was an extension of him, a reflection of a mind that refused to be limited by convention.

Below them, visible through the transparent walkway, the rest of Team RWBY and JNPR were gathered in the corridor beneath the bridge, mingling in the crew quarters like they belonged there. The scene was almost surreal—Beacon students lounging aboard a ship that defied the very foundation of modern engineering.

One of the Atlas soldiers beside her murmured, "It's all… so close together."

Another nodded, their eyes following the ladders positioned at the front and back, providing direct connections between levels. The layout was not only efficient—it was intentional. Unlike Atlesian warships, which were designed for segmented control and security, The Tempest was built for ease of movement, rapid access, and absolute adaptability.

"It's so… practical," someone else muttered.

Winter's fingers curled slightly. That was the problem, wasn't it?

Jaune Arc had not just built a ship. He had reimagined what a ship could be.

And now, as he led them through the final set of doors, Winter braced herself for whatever came next.

The moment they stepped inside, the air changed.

Winter had seen countless cockpits—sleek, precise, military-grade. This was none of those things, yet it was also so much more.

The bridge stretched forward, sleek and pristine, the floor smooth and polished, embedded with thin, flowing streams of light pulsing softly, like the ship itself was breathing. The walls were lined with subtle conduits of energy, feeding directly into the core systems.

But it was the front of the bridge that took their breath away.

A massive panoramic viewport spanned nearly the entire wall, providing an unobstructed view of the outside world.

Not a screen. Not a monitor. Not a projection.

A true, seamless, full-scale display that mimicked transparency, making it feel as though they were standing in open air, floating in the void.

The Atlas group froze.

Winter barely heard the engineer's choked whisper.

"This… this isn't just a cockpit," he muttered, his voice hollow with disbelief.

Jaune stepped forward, effortlessly moving to the central console. He flicked his fingers across the controls, and the ship awoke.

The hum of power coursed through the bridge. Screens illuminated in smooth, synchronized activation, displaying detailed, real-time information—ship diagnostics, flight path calculations, environmental conditions.

Winter had seen warships deploy battle maps with less efficiency.

Overhead displays flickered to life, revealing a live feed of Remnant's terrain, marked by topographical overlays, active weather patterns, projected flight routes—all processed instantly.

Ironwood took a measured step forward, his steel-blue eyes locked onto the data. "You have full environmental tracking built into the ship's sensors."

Jaune nodded, unbothered. "Yes."

Winter barely kept her face neutral. That level of tracking was beyond even Atlas' highest-tier ships.

The engineer's breath hitched as Jaune moved toward the left station, adjusting the settings. The display shifted, revealing a wireframe model of The Tempest, pulsing with heat signatures, pressure levels, and real-time energy flow.

The engineer let out a strangled noise, his fingers twitching.

"No. No, no, no—how are you even tracking this?!" His voice cracked as he turned to Jaune, looking borderline desperate. "This level of internal diagnostics should take a fully staffed engineering crew to manage!"

Weiss, who had recovered from her earlier meltdown but still looked visibly shaken, scanned the data and frowned.

"It's not just internal," she muttered. Her voice was quieter now, as if she was starting to understand the scale of what she was looking at. Her eyes flicked back to Jaune. "You're tracking how the ship breathes."

Winter inhaled sharply.

Jaune was monitoring The Tempest's living structure in real time.

This ship was alive.

Her gaze flickered to Jaune's expression—cold, unreadable, completely unfazed.

This was normal for him.

The engineer's hand shook. "No. No, that's not how it works. That's not how any of this works." His voice wavered. "Ships don't just… fly themselves! Not like this! Not at this level of predictive calculation!"

Jaune, still calm, still completely unaffected, turned toward him.

"They do if you build them that way."

The words hit like a gunshot.

Winter stiffened. Ironwood's jaw tightened. The engineer looked like he was going to collapse.

The entire room seemed to shrink under the weight of that realization.

Weiss groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Because he doesn't have to fly the ship manually," she muttered, her voice laced with an exhausted kind of disbelief. She gestured toward the central console. "That station runs the ship on its own. It accounts for the active flight path, weather anomalies, terrain shifts—it can fly itself."

Winter's pulse quickened.

Ironwood visibly tensed.

The engineer took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the terminal like he needed the support. "No. No, that's not possible. That's not how piloting works." His hands curled into fists. "That's not how anything works."

Jaune turned toward him, his tone calm.

"They do if you build them that way."

The engineer let out a strangled groan, his fingers pressing against his temples like he was trying to physically hold his brain together.

Winter could barely keep her own expression still.

This was not supposed to be possible.

Everything about The Tempest had already rewritten the rulebook on engineering, but this… this was something else entirely.

Atlas spent billions of lien developing AI assistance for automated piloting—and they were still decades away from anything even close to what they were seeing here.

This ship was not a mere vessel.

It was a war machine, a command center, a home, and a fortress—all in one.

And it had been built by one man.

Winter cast a glance toward Ironwood, whose face had remained rigid and unreadable, but she could see it—the tension in his posture, the cold calculation in his eyes.

This was no longer about Jaune Arc as a person.

This was about what he represented.

A complete, undeniable shift in power.

Jaune Arc had changed the game.

And Winter had the sinking feeling that not even Ozpin understood how much.

---

The hum of the Tempest's systems filled the cockpit, a near-silent backdrop to the overwhelming tension in the air. Winter stood rigid beside Ironwood, her mind still racing to process everything she had seen aboard this impossible vessel. And yet, as she tried to regain some sense of normalcy, the ship itself shattered any illusion of calm.

A shrill alarm blared across the bridge.

A flashing indicator pulsed on one of the displays. The moment Jaune's fingers moved across the console, a transmission cut through the cabin's atmosphere, the ragged, desperate voice of a woman filling the space.

"Mayday, mayday! This is civilian transport Silver Dawn! We are under pursuit by Grimm—fifteen souls on board! We've been evading, but we won't be able to dodge forever! If anyone can hear this, please—help us!"

The words hung in the air, the sheer panic in the woman's voice sending a chill down Winter's spine. Then came the thudding of boots—Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, Pyrrha, Ren, and Nora rushing up the ladders at full speed, breathless, eyes darting between the crew already present and the flashing distress signal.

Jaune's hands moved with mechanical precision, his expression unreadable as he dragged the distress signal to the navigation map. The holographic interface shifted, and in seconds, the estimated coordinates appeared.

Winter's stomach dropped.

The ship's systems calculated the route instantly. Two minutes at full speed.

"No—"

It was the engineer who spoke first, his voice shaking, his already fragile composure shattering completely.

"T-Two minutes?!" he sputtered, his gaze locked on the navigation display. "That's not possible! No ship moves that fast! Not unless—" His words failed him as he stumbled back, clutching the terminal like it could somehow ground him from the overwhelming reality before him.

Jaune didn't spare him a glance.

Instead, he turned to General Ironwood, his voice calm, absolute. "If anyone wants to get off the ship, now's the time. Once we respond to that distress call, we're heading straight back to Beacon."

Silence gripped the cockpit, the weight of the statement pressing down on all of them. Winter felt her breath catch.

"Respond to that distress call?" she thought, her gaze narrowing. This ship has weapons?

It wasn't just an advanced personal transport. It was a warship.

Ironwood exhaled, his arms crossing as his steel-blue gaze met hers. He already knew.

"It fits the classification of a warship," he muttered, confirming her worst fears. "The fleet experienced it firsthand when we had our standoff with Arc before he landed in Mantle."

Winter's throat tightened. A standoff against Atlas' fleet—and this ship wasn't deterred?

She wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the fact that Jaune's ship had combat capabilities… or the fact that he didn't seem remotely concerned about using them.

Steeling herself, Winter squared her shoulders. She turned sharply to the gathered Atlas engineers and soldiers, her voice cold and unwavering. "All of you—off the ship. Now."

The engineer didn't need to be told twice. Still trembling, he turned and all but stumbled toward the exit, the Atlas soldiers following swiftly behind. None of them argued.

Jaune watched them leave before giving a simple order. "Exit through the living quarters."

As they departed, Ironwood activated his communicator. "This is General Ironwood to the council," he said, his tone sharp, efficient. "I will be leaving for Vale to gather intelligence. Send a transport to retrieve me at Beacon."

A brief pause, then a curt acknowledgment from the other end. Winter caught the look in Ironwood's eyes. This wasn't just a matter of observation anymore. This was an intelligence collection.

A moment later, Jaune's Omni-tool flickered, displaying the confirmation: "Six people have exited The Tempest."

Jaune gave a small nod to himself, then turned back to the main controls. His voice was calm, yet there was an undeniable finality to it.

"ATC, this is The Tempest requesting clearance to depart immediately."

A nervous voice crackled through the speakers, laced with barely disguised unease.

"T-Tempest, your request is… unexpected. Please hold while we—"

Ironwood's gaze hardened. His voice, firm and commanding, cut through the hesitation like a blade.

"This is Ironwood. Clearance: Delta-Tango-Alpha. Grant it."

A beat of silence.

Then the response came, this time much quicker.

"Tempest, you are cleared for immediate departure. Maintain controlled acceleration until you leave city airspace."

Jaune's fingers barely moved as he engaged the controls.

And then the Tempest lifted.

Winter stiffened, instinctively bracing herself, but—there was nothing. No jolt. No shift in gravity. No weightlessness. Just… motion. Flawless, effortless motion.

Ironwood's brow furrowed as he reached out slightly, testing the air, as if trying to feel for any acceleration. Winter turned her gaze to Weiss, only to find the younger Schnee staring directly at her, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Now you know how I feel," Weiss muttered.

Winter didn't respond, not because she didn't want to—but because she couldn't.

Then Jaune pushed the throttle forward.

The Tempest shot forward, carving a path through Mantle's airspace with grace that shouldn't have been possible. No turbulence. No drag. No atmospheric resistance.

Ironwood and Winter's eyes widened instantly.

"How—" Winter started, but the words failed her as her breath hitched.

The world outside blurred, city lights streaking into a single seamless motion as the ship pierced through the sky, clearing Mantle's airspace with staggering speed.

And then, for the first time since stepping aboard The Tempest, General James Ironwood—the man who had stood at the helm of Atlas' military might, who had seen the most powerful airships Remnant had to offer—was left speechless.

Jaune had just started accelerating.

---

Winter Schnee had seen some of the most advanced technology in all of Remnant. She had watched Atlas push the boundaries of engineering, developing faster, stronger, more efficient airships, refining Dust-powered engines to their limits.

And yet—she had never seen anything like this.

The moment Jaune pushed the throttle forward, The Tempest surged ahead. It did not jolt, did not shake, did not even give the slightest sensation of movement. It simply moved—a seamless, instant transition from stationary to an unthinkable velocity.

Winter's breath caught in her throat. The world outside blurred into streaks of color, the lights of Mantle melting into lines of gold and silver, the entire cityscape vanishing behind them in an instant. Her mind reeled as her fingers gripped the side of the terminal, struggling to process what she was experiencing.

The first thing she noticed was the speed.

"General," she said, forcing her voice to remain level, though it was anything but steady. "How fast are we going?"

Before Ironwood could respond, Ruby let out an exhilarated cry.

"WE'RE GOING MACH 30!"

Winter's entire body locked up.

A cold, unnatural silence filled the cockpit, broken only by the calm hum of The Tempest's systems. She turned slowly, her breath hitching, her muscles tense as she faced Jaune Arc.

He sat there completely at ease, hands resting lightly on the controls, his expression unreadable as if casually cruising at an unfathomable speed was completely normal.

Winter's voice came out as a bare whisper, her tone lined with horror.
"…How are we not burning up?"

Weiss, equally stunned but clearly familiar enough with the ship to have an answer, responded before Jaune could. Though her voice wavered, there was a thin layer of confidence to it—like she only half-understood what she was saying but repeated it anyway.

"The plating is layered with an electrostatic discharge system," Weiss began, her words rushed but clear. "It ionizes the air around the hull and repels it in a way that reduces drag to near-zero levels. It works alongside an internal inertia-dampening system that recalibrates movement in real-time. So momentum, wind resistance, and turbulence don't have a chance to affect the ship's motion."

Winter's head snapped toward Weiss, her mind reeling.

"That's—" she stopped herself, forcing her breath to even out, her racing thoughts struggling to catch up with the sheer insanity of what she had just heard. "That's not possible."

Beside her, Ironwood remained perfectly still, his jaw locked, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the control panel.

Jaune casually tapped a command on his Omni-tool.

A new voice—The Tempest's onboard system—spoke in a neutral, mechanical tone.

"Defensive Systems and Combat Protocols activated. Offensive Pulse Laser Systems online."

Every single person in the cockpit froze.

Winter's mind went blank.

"…Lasers?" Ruby blinked rapidly, her expression torn between awe and complete disbelief.

"He has lasers?" Blake murmured, her voice flat, like she refused to believe the words leaving her own mouth.

"LASERS AREN'T REAL!" Weiss screeched, turning toward Jaune, her hands gripping her head in sheer frustration. "They don't exist! The energy cost is too high! The technology doesn't work!"

Jaune, completely unfazed, responded without the slightest hesitation.

"No one told me that part."

Winter's breath stalled.

It wasn't what he said. It was how he said it. Casually. Effortlessly. Like he hadn't even considered the possibility that what he was doing wasn't possible.

Weiss's face went bright red, her entire body trembling with barely contained outrage. "WHAT—WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO ONE TOLD YOU?! YOU—YOU BUILT THIS BEFORE YOU MET ME!"

Jaune gave her a flat look, his expression unreadable. "That sounds like a you problem."

Weiss let out a frustrated cry.

Winter, meanwhile, felt something cold settle in her chest.

He wasn't serious. He had never been serious. He had never needed validation or confirmation from anyone else. He simply… created things, without questioning if they should exist at all.

He made a working laser system just because no one told him he couldn't.

Winter had spent years in Atlas, training under the most elite minds, surrounded by scientists, engineers, specialists, all of them pushing the limits of technology. And yet, in the span of a single hour aboard this ship, Jaune Arc had completely unraveled everything she thought was possible.

Her hands curled into fists as she struggled to process the sheer weight of that reality.

Then Ironwood spoke.

"Mr. Arc."

His voice was low, the stillness in it unnerving.

"Does the system you activated fail to mention the existence of a defensive laser system?"

Jaune tilted his head slightly, considering the question with far too much calmness before nodding once.

"The Defensive Guardian Laser Array has been active since I turned on the defensive systems."

Another wave of silence crashed through the room.

Winter felt her stomach drop.

Ironwood's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened against the console.

Jaune didn't move.

The moment Jaune shifted gears, Winter felt it.

The Tempest, which had been hurtling through the skies at impossible speeds, suddenly slowed down with perfect precision, coming to a smooth, calculated glide. There was no jolt, no sense of inertia—just pure, seamless transition, like the ship itself was responding to a mere thought rather than manual control.

Then, without hesitation, Jaune adjusted the flight path and sent The Tempest diving.

They broke through the thick cloud cover, and the world below rushed up to meet them.

And there—in the distance—a lone civilian Bullhead zigzagged frantically through the open skies, its thrusters sputtering, its engines struggling to stay in the air. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Swarming around the ship was a nightmarish flock of flying Grimm—Nevermores, Manticores, Stryxes—circling the Bullhead like vultures, their glowing red eyes fixated on the fragile transport.

"That Bullhead is barely holding together," Ironwood muttered, his eyes locked onto the scene.

Winter clenched her fists. They wouldn't last.

Then, Jaune moved.

He shifted from the central station to the manual piloting console, his hands settling onto the controls like it was second nature. His expression remained cold, unreadable, his voice calm.

"Brace yourselves."

The ship tilted sharply, cutting through the sky like a blade, the hull humming with controlled power.

And then—

The weapons activated.

"Combat Protocols engaged."

A mechanical chime resonated through the ship, and suddenly, from the sides of The Tempest, lines of brilliant energy erupted into the sky—pulses of solid blue-white light lancing outward with terrifying precision.

The first volley struck instantly.

The lasers swept across the air like a scythe, carving through the Grimm in clean, merciless strokes. The smaller ones—Stryxes and lesser Nevermores—erupted into blackened mist, entire clusters of them disintegrating before they even had a chance to react.

"No way…" Ruby whispered, eyes wide with sheer awe.

"It's… it's cutting them down like they're nothing," Blake breathed.

Ren and Nora stared, too stunned to speak, while Pyrrha's lips parted in disbelief.

"He built a ship with actual weapons like this?" Yang muttered, half in shock, half in utter excitement.

But while Team RWBY and JNPR marveled at the display, Winter could feel a different kind of reaction from herself and the General.

Ironwood's jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the console as he watched a single ship do what entire squadrons struggled to accomplish.

And Winter?

She realized something terrifying.

"This isn't just an airship…" she whispered under her breath.

Ironwood responded without looking at her, his voice grim.

"No. This is a warship."

Winter's stomach twisted.

Atlas had spent years developing combat-ready airships—refining their mobility, their firepower, their targeting systems. And yet, none of them came close to this.

A ship that moved with absolute precision.
A ship that fired with pinpoint accuracy.
A ship that required only one pilot to devastate an entire battlefield.

She swallowed hard.

"That standoff we had before The Tempest arrived in Mantle," Ironwood continued, his voice lower now, almost as if to himself. "The fleet locked onto this ship and threatened to open fire if it entered restricted airspace."

Winter turned toward him sharply. "And?"

Ironwood exhaled. "It didn't flinch."

Winter felt a chill creep down her spine.

Before she could say anything else, Ruby gasped.

"Manticore—fast-moving—coming straight at us!"

Winter's head snapped forward, her eyes locking onto the incoming Grimm.

It was huge, its wingspan stretching wide as it barreled toward them at terrifying speed, its claws poised for a direct impact.

For a split second, Winter felt genuine concern—but then—

The Tempest responded.

Without Jaune even moving a muscle, a series of thin, solid beams of light erupted from beneath the ship, crisscrossing in an impossibly precise grid.

The Manticore never even had a chance.

The lasers cut through it in an instant, slicing it into clean, perfect segments before it could so much as touch the hull.

What remained was a puff of blackened smoke, dispersing into the wind.

And The Tempest?

Untouched.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Weiss, who had barely regained her composure from earlier, shook her head slowly, her hands clutching her arms as if trying to ground herself in reality. "I—I don't—"

Winter? She couldn't even find the words.

Jaune didn't hesitate.

He tilted the ship, adjusting their trajectory, sending them into a wide, sharp arc through the battlefield. The movements were impossibly fluid, the kind of high-speed maneuvers that should have ripped a ship apart from the sheer G-force alone—and yet, The Tempest glided through the air effortlessly, responding to Jaune's inputs like an extension of his will.

Winter gritted her teeth, her mind racing through what she was seeing.

"How is it this responsive? There's no strain—no delay in control—"

She turned toward Jaune, who had yet to show even a sliver of emotion.

"What the hell did you build?"

Jaune didn't answer.

Winter hadn't even recovered from what she'd just witnessed when Jaune tilted the ship once more—but this time, it wasn't just a maneuver.

It was an execution.

Without warning, The Tempest twisted mid-air, rolling into an inverted position as it dipped beneath the struggling Bullhead. The world turned upside down in an instant, the landscape below now above them, the clouds shifting beneath the reinforced glass of the panoramic viewport.

Winter's stomach lurched at the sheer impossibility of the maneuver, her mind screaming that this should not be happening.

No ship should be able to do this—not without struggling against the forces of gravity, not without inertia slamming them against the ceiling.

But The Tempest moved like it was free of such constraints, as if the laws of physics were mere suggestions.

Ironwood's fingers dug into the console, his expression locked in quiet, calculating disbelief. Winter could tell. He was watching Jaune, studying him. Assessing. Calculating. Understanding.

And then—Jaune opened fire.

From the topside of the ship, a barrage of pulsing blue-white beams rained down in perfect arcs, cutting through the remaining Grimm with surgical precision.

The lasers didn't just fire randomly—they traced the air in clean, methodical sweeps, each shot striking where it needed to, never once endangering the Bullhead above.

Never once missing.

The last of the Grimm howled and screeched, their monstrous forms disintegrating into black mist, their hunt brought to a brutal and absolute end.

The skies went still.

Winter, for once in her life, had no words.

The Tempest righted itself instantly, flipping back into position with a fluid motion that felt too natural, too controlled, too perfect—as if it had never been upside down in the first place.

And then, over the comms—

"Unknown ship, this is the civilian transport vessel Silver Dawn," a voice crackled through the speakers, breathless, disbelieving.

"I— I don't even know what to say. You just saved our lives."

Winter exhaled slowly, watching as the Bullhead steadied itself, now no longer under threat.

Jaune barely reacted, his fingers relaxing slightly on the controls, his posture remaining steady as if this was just another routine flight.

"You're clear now," Jaune said simply, his voice calm, neutral, unshaken.

Like he hadn't just rewritten the rules of air combat.

Jaune remained as unreadable as ever, his eyes flicking to the communications console as the grateful voice of the Silver Dawn pilot still lingered in the air. His fingers barely moved as he pressed into the comms once more, his tone as steady as ever.

"Silver Dawn, are you able to make it to your destination?"

There was a brief pause, followed by the relieved voice of the pilot.

"We took some damage, but nothing critical. We're headed back to Mantle. We can make it on our own from here."

Jaune gave a small nod, though he was already adjusting the navigation systems for their next jump. "Understood. Godspeed."

With that, the channel cut out. The Silver Dawn slowly began veering toward Mantle, its engines flickering back to full power now that the Grimm were gone.

Winter barely had time to process the last few minutes before Jaune's hands moved across the controls again, and suddenly—

The Tempest pulled upward, cutting through the air like a blade.

The force should have been unbearable. They should have been thrown back, should have felt the sheer weight of inertia press down on them, should have felt something—

But instead, there was nothing.

The ship moved with impossible smoothness, slicing through the sky at angles that should have been unthinkable for an airship of this size.

The clouds broke apart around them, white mist whipping past the windows in thin, curling streaks as The Tempest soared higher and higher, ascending toward the upper atmosphere.

And then the screen was updated.

Winter's eyes flickered toward it, her breath catching in her throat.

Destination: Beacon.

Estimated Arrival Time: 45 Minutes.

The world around her froze.

A silence stretched across the bridge—one so profound that even Ruby, who had been bursting with excitement before, fell still.

Winter felt her heartbeat slow, then spike again.

That wasn't possible.

It was supposed to take at least several hours to return from Mantle—not forty-five minutes. The usual airship transport took nearly a day and a half. Even the Atlesian military's fastest aircraft couldn't dream of making that time.

"Forty-five minutes?" she whispered, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Ironwood, who had been stone-still up until this moment, leaned in slightly, his steel-blue eyes locked onto the display.

"That's impossible," he muttered, his voice low.

Winter found herself too stunned to correct him.

The weight of that revelation was sinking in fast.

The Tempest wasn't just fast. It wasn't just efficient.

It was beyond anything they had ever known.

A normal Bullhead at maximum velocity wouldn't have even reached Vale in time to warn them of an attack. Even Atlas' most advanced cruisers would strain their engines trying to make this journey in less than ten hours.

But The Tempest?

It could do it in forty-five minutes.

"Wait," Ruby suddenly spoke up, her voice tinged with realization. "That's… actually a little faster than when we first came to Mantle."

Winter snapped out of her shock, her head whipping toward Ruby, then back to Jaune.

She hadn't even considered that.

Jaune didn't look surprised by the observation. In fact, his expression remained as unreadable as ever.

"The wind patterns are different this time," he answered smoothly. "The route we're taking has strong air currents heading in the same direction. It's giving us a small boost in speed."

Winter felt something deep inside her shatter.

Ruby blinked. "Wait—so you're telling me that this ship can just… track that? Like, the wind? In real-time?"

Ironwood's fingers curled into his palm. He was still as a statue, but Winter knew that look.

He was recalculating everything.

He was realizing what this truly meant.

The Tempest wasn't just advanced. It wasn't just faster than anything they had ever built.

It was aware.

It could track wind patterns, atmospheric conditions, and adjust itself accordingly.

No pilot would ever be able to account for this level of environmental precision. No one.

No one except Jaune.

Winter turned slowly toward him, but before she could even begin to voice her disbelief, a strangled noise came from her right.

Weiss had slumped forward against the console, her arms crossed, her forehead resting against her sleeve.

A low, exhausted groan left her lips.

"I give up."

Winter stared at her sister, barely processing what she had just said.

Weiss didn't even lift her head. She just sighed deeply, her voice utterly drained.

"I can't keep questioning it anymore. I just—" She waved a hand tiredly toward Jaune. "Fine. Sure. Whatever. Of course, you can track the wind. Why wouldn't you? Of course, you can adjust for it. Of course, your ship is somehow better at atmospheric flight than anything our kingdom has ever built. I. Don't. Care. Anymore."

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

A small chuckle.

Jaune, the impenetrable enigma of a man, the one who had barely shown any emotion throughout this entire tour, let out a faint, amused exhale.

He turned his eyes toward Weiss.

"Not my fault you didn't think of it first."

Weiss made a high-pitched, strangled noise of frustration, snapping her head up so fast Winter thought she might get whiplash.

"STOP SAYING THAT!"

The Tempest continued its smooth, unwavering ascent, slicing through the skies like a ghost.

Winter exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temple.

She had so many questions.

And she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answers.