Pyrrha had fought battles across half the world. She'd led charges, cut down Grimm older than cities, and stood her ground while Kingdom crumbled behind her. But standing here, at a checkpoint with her spear slung across her back and a single satchel over her shoulder, she felt… heavy.
It had been months since Jaune left.
The last she saw of him was that moment at the yard, his figure vanishing into a portal of shattered light, a final glance over his shoulder, and a nod that said "trust me." And she had. But every day after, with no message, no update, that trust began to ache.
She didn't know what to call the ache in her chest.
Only that it wouldn't let her sit still.
So she didn't.
She stayed and helped in Vacuo. Huntsmen were always in short supply. She coordinated defense lines and fought Grimm. But when the Grimm stopped coming in swarms, when the skies began to clear, she knew she couldn't wait any longer.
The fight was over.
But her search wasn't.
Argus had changed. Although there were parts of the city that still needed rebuilding. The people walked exhausted but somewhat proud. There were new buildings going up, but her childhood memories still stuck to the stones like moss. The streets carried the same sea salt scent. Same food stalls near the docks. And the same small café, on the edge of the market district, where her mother used to wait after tournaments somewhat still intact.
That's where Pyrrha found her.
Her mother was. The moment she turned and saw her daughter, all the distance between them vanished. They embraced in silence, the kind only family could share—tight, wordless, full of all the things they never said but always knew.
"You're thinner," her mother said finally, brushing dust from Pyrrha's cheek.
"You're gentler," Pyrrha replied with a small laugh.
They sat. Talked. Caught up. Her mother wanted to know about the battles, but Pyrrha only gave her pieces. She talked about the victories, the teamwork. Left out the part where she almost died more times than she could count.
And she didn't mention Jaune. That was for later. She'll drag him back to this city and then have dinner.
"I'm going after someone," she said quietly. "Someone important."
Her mother gave her a look. Not disapproving. Just… knowing.
"He seems to make you smile more than I've seen in years," her mother said.
Pyrrha ducked her head.
"Go find him," her mother said, with a softness in her voice Pyrrha hadn't expected. "And when you do, tell him I'll want dinner plans."
Pyrrha choked on a laugh, nodded, and held her mother's hand a little longer before leaving.
The trail was old.
But not cold.
She'd tracked Grimm before. Not people. Still, she found her way. A supply runner mentioned him passing through, something about golden antlers and a mountain path. A scout near Mistral swore he saw a white-armored man feeding a jackalope carrots near the stream.
And eventually, Pyrrha found herself walking up to the Farmer's Guild in a town just shy of the foothills.
It was a squat, stone-walled place, with big carts out front and the smell of loam and fresh grain hanging thick in the air. People gave her curious glances as she entered, probably the spear and that she was still famous.
Inside, the Guildmaster was an older man with a prosthetic . His name was Ochre. And he looked her over once, then offered her a cup of water without asking why she'd come.
She didn't need to say Jaune's name. Just described him.
Ochre chuckled, low and surprised.
"Arc's back, alright. Been holed up on that damn hill of his for weeks. Took the land back from the weeds. Cleared out a whole nest of Boarbatusks by himself too. Glad to have him around.."
"Where?" Pyrrha asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ochre handed her a marked map. "Follow the north ridge. You'll see a line of broken fencing. Can't miss it. He's probably fixing his farm of his."
Pyrrha bowed in thanks. O
Ochre just waved her off.
The trail leading to Jaune's farm wound through gentle hills and groves of wild trees, a contrast to the battlefields Pyrrha had grown used to. The sky above was a soft blue, clouds drifting slowly, lazily, in the warmth of a Mistrali morning. Birds chirped. Insects hummed.
And ahead, standing proud through the brambles and wild grass, was the farm
Pyrrha slowed at the crest of the path, hand rising to brush windswept red hair from her face.
She hadn't expected it to be this big.
The farmhouse alone was two stories of worn but solid lumber, its white paint long since faded into something sunbleached and charming. A chimney jutted from one side, faint smoke still curling into the air. Someone had built it to last. Her eyes caught the arched frame above the main path, Renkin Farm, the letters were old but legible. Below it, half-leant against the post, was a new wooden sign, the paint not yet dry. Arc Farm.
She didn't squint to read it.
She smiled instead.
A greenhouse stood beside the main path. Their glass was streaked with dirt and time, but most panes still held. Behind the house, the land rolled outward into gentle fields, overgrown with weeds and wild growth, but clearly once-tilled land. Furrows still marked the soil in places, half-eaten by nature.
There were signs of life everywhere.
A chicken coop had been rebuilt. The fencing around the western paddock looked recent. Water channels cut through parts of the earth. A trail of fresh wooden planks lay like breadcrumbs leading to an old irrigation pipe half-exposed beneath a tarp.
And near it, cursing under his breath and half-submerged in a shallow ditch, was Jaune.
Pyrrha tilted her head and watched.
He was shirtless, covered in sweat, one arm deep inside the rusted pipe, trying to wrench something loose with a pair of half-bent pliers. He was muttering something about sediment buildup, and the fact that he'd actually studied all this made her smile wider than it should have.
The sun was at his back, catching gold on his shoulders and the damp edges of his hair.
He hadn't noticed her yet. Just enjoying the show.
Pyrrha then stepped forward, soft as a whisper, stopping just a few feet behind him.
"Working hard or hardly working, Rusted Knight?" she said, sweet and teasing.
The result was immediate and glorious.
Jaune jolted so violently he cracked his head on the inside of the pipe, scrambled backward, slipped on the mud, and landed flat on his back with a wet splat, arms flailing like a startled cat.
Pyrrha blinked.
Then burst out laughing.
Jaune groaned from the ground, eyes screwed shut. He didn't activate his aura. "Oww…"
Pyrrha leaned over him, hands on her knees, grinning. "Hello to you too."
He opened one eye, saw her, then blinked. His voice came out hoarse. "...Pyrrha?"
She knelt beside him, strands of red hair brushing his cheek. "In the flesh."
Jaune looked like he couldn't decide whether to smile or panic.
"You, how did you do, what are you doing here?"
Pyrrha shrugged innocently. "Heard rumors about a fairy tale wandering around with a Jackalope. Thought I'd check if it was true."
Jaune sat up slowly, covered in mud from the shoulders down. "You could've sent a letter or a text."
"I could've." She smirked. "But you know how it is. CCT's still not fixed."
"Yeah," he muttered, trying to wipe the mud out of his chest. "I was finally winning against that pipe."
"Clearly," Pyrrha said, helping him to his feet with one strong pull. Her hand lingered on his for just a second longer than necessary. "This place is beautiful."
"It will be again," he said, brushing mud off his legs. "Eventually."
She glanced around again. "You've done a lot already."
Jaune shrugged. "Helps to have nothing trying to kill me for a change. And the Jabber likes digging."
"Still have her?"
He pointed toward the barn. "Jackalope form. She's sleeping. Eats like a horse and a half. I'll go bankrupt with her around"
Pyrrha followed the gesture, then smiled again.
"I thought you'd be halfway across the world," Jaune said after a pause. "Didn't think you'd come looking."
"I waited," she said, brushing her hands together. "But waiting only works when there's a door to knock on."
"You're here now."
"I am."
They stood quietly for a moment, the breeze tugging gently at her cloak, ruffling his hair.
Then Pyrrha tilted her head. "Are you going to show me around, or do I have to scare you silly?"
Jaune laughed, warm, genuine, still a little shy. "Alright, alright."
Jaune led Pyrrha down a narrow dirt path, his boots leaving soft impressions in the soil. He moved with an easy confidence now—less like a huntsman, more like a man finally at home.
"This used to be soybeans," he said, gesturing to an open stretch of land. "It'll take a while, but I'm thinking of rotating some crops. The water system runs under that ridge. Once I get it patched and flowing again, we'll have irrigation."
"We?" Pyrrha asked playfully.
Jaune blinked, then scratched the back of his head. "I mean—I—uh…"
She laughed. "Relax. I'm teasing."
He flushed and motioned her forward.
They passed the chicken coop next, where a few hens clucked lazily in the sun. Jaune knelt to refill their trough, and one particularly brave hen tried to peck his boot. He gave it a look. "That one's a menace. She's plotting something."
Pyrrha folded her arms, amused. "Maybe she just wants your attention."
"Not like I need more people competing for that," he muttered.
She smirked.
Next was the greenhouse, where sunlight filtered through half-cleaned glass. Inside, small starter crops were growing—herbs, tomatoes, a few strawberries. It smelled like life and patience.
"You did this?" Pyrrha asked softly.
Jaune nodded. "Started slow. Got some seeds from the guild. Fixed the soil. The Jabber helped clear the weeds."
Pyrrha leaned in, brushing her fingers gently over a tiny leaf. "It's beautiful."
They moved past the house, old but clean, newly reinforced and up a small slope to a fenced clearing with a view of the whole valley. The barn stood behind them, and the world stretched wide in every direction.
Jaune stopped and looked out.
"This was home," he said, almost to himself. "Before everything."
He turned to her. "I want to make it something again."
Pyrrha stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes soft. The wind tugged gently at her sash.
"It already is," she said.
They lingered there for a while. The clouds drifted. The shadows lengthened. The scent of warm earth and wildflowers filled the air.
Then Pyrrha turned to him, a quiet grin pulling at her lips.
"It seems… Farmer Jaune has a farm again."
Jaune grinned. "Heh, guess I do. So, uh, coffee?"
Pyrrha nodded and followed him into the house.
It was a new beginning.
NOTE:
This is probably the longest fic I've written so far. Like it says in my profile, I do this for fun and practice. So uh, time to share as a milestone? My writing process is a bit weird. I usually start by writing down single lines or in a greentext format, like a list, mapping out how the chapter will go like the key scenes, moments I want to include and reach, and the general flow. Then I flesh those out into full paragraphs. I write scenes in first person first, focusing on getting the moment right without slipping into purple prose or repeating information which, I've noticed, tends to be a common issue for me. Funny enough, I end up spending most of my time editing. I kinda use Hemingway Editor for the initial draft, then move it over to ProWritingAid to save it cause my gdoc's a mess and I can't be bothered to organize it. Honestly, the only feature I really like in ProWritingAid is the Word Explorer which I end up spending way too much time experimenting with word choices. Eventually, I convert everything into third person. It might sound like a weird process, but it makes me feel like I write faster that way and its kinda the 'editing' trick someone taught me while doing gigs for proofreading. I do try to make my sentences sound polished or a little "fancy," but I don't always succeed. Punctuation still gives me a hard time. Ironically, I've done editing and proofreading professionally, read tons of work, and still feel like I struggle with it. And yeah, I've deleted a lot of my stuff. If I'm not feeling it, I just get rid of it. A lot of times I'll reread something while sober and wonder, "How did it end up like this?" That usually kills my motivation to keep going and I just can't do it man. It kinda bothers me seeing it unfinished so I just wiped it so it doesn't live rent free inside my head. Sorry.
Still, I only got into fanfiction in 2023. Games weren't really doing it for me anymore, and RWBY caught my attention again. And I only got into RWBY because a friend shared the Red Trailer with me, knowing I was a fan of Monty's Dead Fantasy. Anyway, I decided to give fic writing a try and wrote enough stockpiles/ideas. I usually write when there's nothing to do at work, my job's slow most of the time, though it gets hectic and exhausting when there's actual work to be done. So yeah, this kinda became a hobby, writing fics general became my kind of fun.
Just wanted to share. Sorry for yapping. I hate leaving notes unrelated to the fic, probably won't do it again, but I feel like I need to since a lot asked me a lot enough now lol.
Anyway, thanks for reading. I really appreciate anyone who suffers through what I write since I feel like still need more practice and I have to stop overusing EM dashes.
P.S Check profile to see ongoing fics I have.