The trip to Shade's Headmaster's office was swift. Too swift, honestly.
The Jackalope's movement defied explanation, bounding across rooftops and sandstone courtyards without making a sound. It moved so quickly, and so impossibly gracefully that most of the people in the compound didn't even realize it had passed by.
By the time Jaune and Pyrrha dismounted at the steps of the academy's upper tower, their hair wind-tossed and armor rattling, not a single sentry had seen them approach.
Headmaster Theodore greeted them at the open door of his office. The air inside was cooler, faintly bitter with Dust from old filters, and the room still bore the hallmarks of a warrior's workspace, maps, weapons, and a desk that had clearly taken a punch or two in its lifetime.
He looked Jaune over once, eyes sharp, mouth tugging into a dry, approving smile.
"You really are the damn knight from the fairy tale," he said. "Vacuo owes you."
"I didn't do it alone," Jaune said, patting the Jackalope. "And I'm not here for thanks."
Theodore nodded once. Serious now. "Then what are you here for?"
Jaune stepped aside.
The Jackalope padded forward. Its golden antlers glinted in the filtered light, and its white fur shone unnaturally clean despite the dust. It sat perfectly still, watching the Headmaster with intelligent, unreadable eyes.
And then, it changed.
Its shape rippled, not in some magical burst, but like the surface of calm water suddenly disturbed. The limbs lengthened. The form twisted. The softness bled into sharpness.
In seconds, the Jackalope was gone.
In its place stood the Jabberwalker.
It loomed silently behind Jaune, tall and thin and terrible, its body striped in violet and gold, its expression obscured by that pale, horned mask. No longer fluffy. No longer comforting.
Theodore took an instinctive half-step back.
Pyrrha tensed.
The Jabberwalker didn't move.
Jaune turned back to the Headmaster and spoke, calm and clear.
"This is what Salem fears. This is what followed me out of the Ever After. I didn't summon it. I didn't control it. I will just guide it."
Theodore's voice was low. "And what does it want?"
"To do it's take," Jaune replied. "It wants to end this. That's why it's dangerous."
He stepped forward, looking Theodore square in the eyes.
"But it also understands one thing. Something no one's ever really tried. It doesn't want to slay Salem. It doesn't want to destroy her."
The room felt heavier.
"It wants to give her what she wants," Jaune said.
There was silence.
Theodore looked between Jaune and the creature. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Jaune said slowly, "that for centuries, we've been trying to stop her. Kill her. Seal her. Outfight her."
He gestured toward the Jabberwalker, whose eyes shimmered faintly behind the mask.
"But what if the answer was never to defeat her? What if the answer was to understand her?"
Pyrrha blinked, startled by the softness in his voice. The certainty.
"She's been chasing death," Jaune said. "All this time. Twisting the world because she couldn't die. Because the gods cursed her with immortality, and she never wanted it."
He turned back to Theodore, then down to Pyrrha.
"She's not afraid of pain. Or loss. She's afraid of not getting what she wants."
Pyrrha's breath caught.
Theodore looked deeply unsettled. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying this thing," Jaune motioned back to the Jabberwalker, "can end the cycle. Not by killing Salem. Not by destroying her. But by offering her what no one else ever has."
He swallowed. "Peace. Release."
"Death?" Pyrrha asked, quietly.
"True death," Jaune answered. "A death that sticks. The kind she's been begging for, without even realizing it."
Theodore leaned back in his chair. His fingers drummed slowly against the armrest, the sound sharp in the silence. He stared at the Jabberwalker, eyes narrowed.
"And you trust it?"
"I trust that it doesn't lie," Jaune said. "It's not human. It doesn't want or need the things we do. But it chose to follow me. It chose to come here."
Pyrrha stepped closer to Jaune, her voice low. "But do you believe that's the right answer? To give her what she wants?"
Jaune looked at her.
And nodded.
"We've fought. We've bled. We've seen too many people die. But if we can end this, truly end it without more death, without burning down another kingdom, then yes. I believe it's worth trying."
Pyrrha's eyes lingered on him. Then drifted to the Jabberwalker. Then back to him.
She didn't speak.
But she didn't argue either.
Theodore finally stood. Walked to the window. Stared out in the city.
He exhaled.
Then turned back to them with a look that was neither approval nor doubt, but something warier. Something that belonged to a man who'd seen too many plans go wrong.
"Then I hope to hell you're right," he said. "Because if you're not—"
"I know," Jaune said softly.
The silence after Jaune's final words was long. Heavy.
Theodore, now stood by the window still, staring out at the endless lines of sandstone and shimmered heat, arms folded across his chest like he was weighing the weight of the world and maybe he was.
Then he turned, jaw set.
"I'll call Team RWBY," he said. "Have them create a portal. One that takes you straight to her."
Pyrrha stiffened slightly at the words. So did Winter, though her face remained unreadable.
From the corner of the room, a voice spoke, sharp and questioning.
"Just like that?" Miss Rumpole said, arms folded over her square frame. She stepped forward from the shadows, the metal crate she'd been perched on creaking under her boots. "No fallback plan? No battalion in reserve? We're sending a boy with a fairy tale and a monster into the lair of the apocalypse?"
Theodore's gaze flicked toward her. He didn't raise his voice.
"Miss Rumpole," he said, slowly, "how many cities have we lost?"
Rumpole didn't answer.
"How many refugees have come through this gate? How many Huntsmen have died trying to buy time for a war we never understood?" He stepped forward, boots echoing in the stone room. "We've patched the wounds. We've held the walls. But this… this might be the only damn move we haven't tried."
Rumpole's eyes narrowed. "And if it fails?"
"Then it fails." Theodore shrugged. "But at least we finally aimed for the heart."
He turned his head toward Jaune, who stood still beside Pyrrha, the Jabberwalker silent behind them both.
"Are you confident?" Rumpole asked, her voice quieter now.
Jaune met her eyes without hesitation. "Yes."
There was no pride in it. No fire. Just quiet certainty.
Winter Schnee stepped forward then, her white coat fluttering faintly as she moved into the center of the room.
"With the state Remnant is in now," she said, her voice clipped but calm, "we can't afford another drawn-out war. A decisive strike, if it has even the slimmest chance of ending this… must be taken."
Theodore nodded slowly. "Then it's settled."
He looked back to Jaune, arms folding once more behind his back.
"You're going alone?"
"Yes."
There was no pause in the answer. No doubt.
But Pyrrha stepped forward before anyone else could speak. Her armor clinked softly, her hand half-raised—not reaching for him, not quite—eyes locked on his face.
Her lips parted.
But Jaune met her gaze.
And she froze.
Because at that moment, he didn't say a word.
He just looked at her.
And something in that look, quiet, warm, unshakable, told her everything.
Trust me.
Pyrrha closed her mouth. Slowly let her arm fall back to her side.
She nodded. Once.
It was the hardest nod she'd ever given.
But she gave it.
Because she had never trusted anyone more.
After using a device, Team RWBY was called to Vacuo.
The air rippled as the portal slit open and stabilized.
Team RWBY stepped through first.
Did they come from a fight?
Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang, all armed, all worn thin. Their eyes were shadowed with fatigue, clothing scorched in places, aura clearly strained. They looked like they'd been through hell and only just clawed their way out.
Ruby led the way, her expression tight, the hem of her cloak torn. Her scythe was folded on her back, but her grip twitched—like she didn't trust the calm. Like she'd only just stopped fighting and wasn't ready to let herself believe it was over.
Weiss followed close, silver-white hair pulled back into a hasty bun, her posture a notch stiffer than usual. Her rapier was still in her hand.
Blake looked worse for wear, arm in a sling, twin blades sheathed but her eyes sharp.
Yang brought up the rear, hair loose, one gauntlet half-dented, her usual fire dimmed, but not gone. Her expression tightened further when she saw who was waiting.
"Jaune," Ruby breathed, blinking as if to make sure she wasn't seeing things. "You're here."
Jaune gave a small, lopsided smile. "Alive."
"More than weird," Yang muttered. "You missed a lot."
He nodded. "So did you guys."
Ruby exhaled shakily, then turned to Theodore, who stepped forward from the edge of the courtyard.
"We got the call," she said. "But… we weren't expecting this." Her eyes flicked toward the enormous, white-furred jackalope resting silently at Jaune's side. "That thing…?"
"We'll get to that," Theodore said. "First, your report."
Blake stepped forward. "It's done," she said simply. "Cinder's gone."
"What?" Pyrrha asked quietly, eyes widening. "She—how?"
Yang answered. "With Raven Branwen's help."
There was a pause. Then a visible reaction from Jaune. As if he finally remembered. The rage. The seething. For a moment it came back, then was gone. As if recalling what happened to the Farmer's Guild.
His posture tensed. His mouth opened then closed again.
He didn't speak Raven's name.
Didn't need to.
The hurt flickered behind his eyes for just a second. Then it was gone.
"Raven Branwen," Weiss clarified, sensing the undercurrent. "Yang's mother."
Jaune nodded once. "Right."
"Cinder's dead," Ruby continued. "We confirmed it. No aura, no pulse. We made sure."
Jaune didn't smile. "Good."
Weiss crossed her arms. "And now you want us to open a portal to Salem."
"Correct," Theodore said, voice hard. "We're taking a chance. A big one. But after what Vacuo's seen… this is it."
Weiss frowned. "There's no backup. No second strike. Once we send him through, he's alone."
"I know," Jaune said. "I've made peace with it."
Weiss looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "You're insane."
"I get that a lot."
He turned slightly. "By the way… how's Oscar?"
Ruby's face softened. "He's in Vale. Glynda took him in after… Atlas. He's safe."
"And Oz?"
The silence was sharp.
Blake looked away. Yang's jaw clenched.
Weiss answered.
"He's… taken over completely. Oscar's gone quiet. He still acts like himself. Still sounds like Oscar, but…"
"But it's him," Jaune finished, quietly.
Weiss gave a tight nod. "I'm sorry."
Jaune closed his eyes for a beat. His knuckles whitened, just slightly. But when he looked back up, the grief was buried beneath resolve.
"I figured it'd happen," he said. "Just hoped I'd see him before it did."
No one responded.
Then Weiss stepped forward, posture straight.
"When we open the portal," she said, "we'll have to close it immediately. The risk is too great. If Salem senses it…"
"She will," Jaune agreed. "So don't wait. As soon as I'm through, seal it."
The group moved out into the courtyard.
Soldiers, Huntresses, Specialists, they lined the walls, armed to the teeth. Dust cannons were prepped, airships loomed above, engines idle but hot. The Jabberwalker, still in its jackalope form, shifted silently beside Jaune. Its golden antlers shimmered faintly in the light.
The wind in Vacuo kicked up, scattering sand across the courtyard.
Weiss stepped forward, raising the Staff. "She's probably still in her castle," she said. "Deep in the Land of Darkness. We can drop you just outside. But getting to her…"
"That part's mine," Jaune said.
Pyrrha approached.
She didn't touch him. Not yet. But her presence was solid, steady.
She met his eyes.
"See you later," she said softly.
Jaune nodded.
Then mounted the Jackalope.
The Staff brightened. Space warped, rippling outward like a drop of water falling into still glass.
The portal opened.
Without a word, Jaune nudged his mount forward.
It leapt.
And the moment they passed through, the portal shattered like glass, vanishing into the air.
The Land of Darkness greeted him in silence.
A vast, dead plain stretched in all directions. Barren rock split the land like ancient scars. Gravity Dust crystals jutted from the ground like broken monuments, pulsing with dim violet light. The sky was red, deep and heavy like it had never known a sun.
Pools of black tar bubbled and churned.
From them, Grimm emerged.
Crawling. Slithering. Screeching.
Dozens at first.
Then hundreds.
And beyond it all, towering on a mound of jagged stone and crystal, stood Salem's castle.
A monolith of obsidian and purple glass. Its windows glowed with flickering candlelight. Spires jutted into the sky like claws. The air around it felt wrong. Heavy. Slow. Like time itself twisted there.
Jaune didn't wait.
He drew his sword.
The Jackalope roared forward, a blur of gold and white against the red. Grimm surged from the sides, all kinds, but the mount leapt clean over them, its antlers humming with quiet power.
Jaune's blade swung once.
A wave of golden light tore through a line of Grimm, dissolving them into smoke and dust.
More poured from the tar pools.
He didn't stop.
The castle stood in front.
And Jaune rode toward it.
Toward the end.