Chapter 9


The sky above Vale had darkened, the deep blue of the evening stretching over the cliffs surrounding Beacon Academy. The Tempest soared high in the atmosphere, its sleek frame cutting through the thin air with ease as it approaches its destination. The familiar silhouette of Beacon Tower loomed ahead, its lights casting a soft glow over the academy below.

Jaune sat at the central console, his movements calm and deliberate as he opened a communication channel. The crisp chime of a direct link to Beacon Tower echoed through the bridge.

"Beacon Tower, this is The Tempest. Requesting clearance for landing. General Ironwood and Specialist Winter Schnee are aboard." His voice was steady, betraying nothing of the events they had just endured.

There was a pause, brief but perceptible, before a smooth voice responded.

"Mr. Arc," Ozpin's voice carried a quiet amusement. "Welcome back. You are cleared to land in the private hangar. Please proceed accordingly."

No questions. No hesitation. Just Ozpin's usual way of accepting the absurd as easily as breathing.

Jaune cut the transmission and adjusted their course, tilting the ship downward in a slow, controlled descent.

The cliffs surrounding Beacon came into view, and rather than approach directly, Jaune dipped beneath them, skimming just above the treetops before rising up at the last moment. The Tempest smoothly arced up, slipping into the academy's hangar with practiced precision, out of sight from the rest of the school.

The landing was seamless, the ship touching down without so much as a tremor. The moment the engines cycled down, the tension in the room seemed to dissolve all at once.

Team JNPR and RWBY exhaled, shoulders slumping as they let themselves relax for the first time since departing. It was strange—barely a day had passed since they had left, but after everything they had been through, it felt much longer.

Yang stretched her arms over her head. "Holy crap, I feel like we've been gone for a week."

Blake nodded, rubbing her temples. "It really doesn't feel like just yesterday."

Nora threw her arms up dramatically. "I almost forgot what a bed looks like!"

Pyrrha, still subdued, gave a small, tired smile. "At least we're back."

Ren simply sighed, resting against the nearest wall, clearly grateful for the momentary peace.

Jaune, meanwhile, had already stood from the console, his attention shifting as Ironwood and Winter exchanged glances.

Ironwood exhaled sharply, his steel-blue gaze drifting toward the hangar doors. "I imagine Ozpin will want to be briefed immediately."

Winter gave a short nod, adjusting the cuffs of her uniform. "Agreed. I would rather not delay this conversation any longer."

The ramp of The Tempest lowered with a soft hiss, allowing the two Atlas officers to make their way toward the exit. Before they could leave, however, Weiss stepped forward, her posture rigid but her expression carefully composed.

"How long will you be staying?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Winter blinked at the question, then softened, offering a rare smile. "Not long. We'll likely return to Atlas soon." She paused, then reached out and placed a hand on Weiss's shoulder. "But I'll find time to see you before we leave."

Weiss held her gaze for a moment before nodding, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Good."

With that, Winter gave a final glance toward Jaune—one that carried layers of questions left unspoken—before turning and following Ironwood out of the ship.

Jaune stood at the top of the ramp, watching as the two disappeared into the halls of Beacon, their steps purposeful, their discussion already beginning. He lingered there for a moment before turning back to the others.

"We're back," Ruby murmured, still staring out toward the academy beyond the hangar. "It's weird… it feels different."

Jaune didn't respond immediately. His gaze flickered toward the night sky outside, and for the first time in a while, he felt something settle in his chest.

This wasn't the end.


The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the massive gears turning above. The soft glow of the evening skyline filtered through the grand windows of Ozpin's office, casting long shadows across the polished wood floors.

At his desk, Ozpin sat calmly, fingers lightly resting against his ever-present mug of coffee. His sharp gaze studied the two figures standing before him—General James Ironwood and Specialist Winter Schnee—both of whom had just returned from an assignment that should have been simple, but had become anything but.

Glynda Goodwitch stood to the side, arms crossed, her sharp emerald eyes flicking between Ironwood and Winter with measured scrutiny.

There was a lingering weight in the air, a tension that had settled over the room like an impending storm.

It was Winter who finally broke the silence.

"Sir," she began, keeping her tone professional but edged with something almost imperceptible. She wasn't sure how to explain what had happened.

Ozpin gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "I take it things did not go as planned."

Ironwood exhaled sharply. "That's putting it mildly." He shifted his stance, his normally composed presence carrying an underlying weight.

Ozpin leaned back slightly in his chair, swirling his coffee. "Tell me everything."

Winter inhaled, forcing herself to maintain composure despite the memories flashing through her mind—the dark corridors, the oppressive silence, the sheer wrongness of that place.

"We located the temple without issue," she said, her voice steady but cold. "Once inside, we attempted to navigate through its chambers, but it became immediately clear that the structure was… unnatural."

Glynda arched a brow. "Unnatural in what way?"

Winter's lips pressed into a thin line.

"The temple wasn't a ruin. It wasn't a structure designed to test us—it was designed to trap us," she said, the words measured, deliberate. "The environment itself shifted, keeping us contained within a fabricated reality. We were walking in circles, unable to escape."

Glynda frowned slightly. "That sounds like advanced illusionary magic."

Ozpin took a slow sip of his coffee, watching her closely. "You're suggesting the entire temple was an illusion?"

Winter hesitated.

"No. It was real," she admitted. "But it wasn't a ruin meant to be explored." She exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly. "It was a prison."

The words sent a ripple of unease through the room.

Glynda's fingers tensed against her arms. "A prison?"

Winter nodded. "We weren't meant to retrieve anything from that place. We were meant to never leave."

The statement hung in the air.

Ironwood, arms still behind his back, nodded once in agreement. "She's right." He exchanged a glance with Winterbefore continuing. "Something was in that place, something ancient. And someone went through a great deal of effort to ensure that no one ever disturbed it."

Ozpin's expression darkened slightly. "And yet… it was disturbed."

Winter's shoulders stiffened.

"We didn't have a choice."

Her voice was quieter this time, colder, her gaze lowering slightly. "We were going to die in that place if we didn't break the cycle. The illusion wasn't a simple trick—it was a force actively working against us, ensuring we remained trapped."

She didn't mention the moment when she realized they weren't just being contained.

They were being watched.

Glynda studied her carefully. "Then how did you escape?"

Winter's breath hitched for half a second.

"We didn't," she admitted. "Jaune did."

Ozpin's fingers halted against his cup.

Silence.

Winter exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain professional. "He saw through it. The illusion, the trick of the temple, the false reality—he recognized it for what it was and broke it."

Glynda's brows furrowed slightly. "How?"

Winter's grip tightened against her gloves.

"I don't know."

The air in Ozpin's office was heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and terrible revelations. The soft hum of the CCT monitors in the background did little to ease the suffocating silence that filled the space. Outside the windows, the late evening cast long shadows across Beacon, but inside, a different kind of darkness settled over the room.

Ironwood stood rigid, arms folded across his broad chest, his expression unreadable. Winter Schnee, ever composed, was still reeling from what she had seen in the temple. Glynda Goodwitch, normally the picture of control, sat stiffly in her chair, her lips pressed into a thin line as she listened.

And at the center of it all, Ozpin stood by the large window, fingers lightly tapping against his cane, his gaze distant, haunted.

They had all seen it now. What Jaune Arc truly was.

But now, it was time to understand why.

Winter had already suspected. When she saw him in the temple, when she saw what he did, what he became when his weapon was destroyed—she knew.

But what she had just learned shook her to her core.

"The records of Jaune Arc were… lacking," she finally spoke, her voice carefully measured, though a hint of unease still clung to her words. "When I looked into him back at the camp, there was nothing. No history, no trace of his existence in the system beyond a manual entry. It was as if he had simply appeared at Beacon. Now, I know why."

Glynda exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "Because someone erased him."

"Not erased," Ironwood corrected, his voice heavy, his steel-blue eyes darkening. "Classified. His records were buried so deep that even the highest clearance wouldn't reveal them. Only the highest-ranking officials in Atlas and Vale have access to the truth. We made sure no one would connect Jaune Arc to the Invincible Human."

Winter turned to him, her jaw tightening. "Why?"

Ironwood's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "Because if they did, the people Jaune went after would know it was him."

The weight of that statement sent a chill through the room.

Glynda's brows furrowed, her emerald gaze sharp with disbelief. "Then who—who did he go after?"

A long, dreadful pause.

Then, Ozpin finally spoke.

"The White Fang," he murmured, his voice quiet, yet carrying a depth of sorrow none of them could fully understand. He turned slightly, his piercing eyes meeting theirs. "Jaune Arc… is the only survivor of the Arc Massacre."

Winter inhaled sharply. Glynda stiffened, her hands curling into fists.

Ironwood's jaw tightened as Ozpin continued, his voice laced with something deeper than regret—something almost akin to mourning.

"The White Fang didn't just kill his family. They didn't just execute them. They butchered them. Maimed them. Tortured them. And…" His voice grew quiet, his grip tightening around his cane. "And they defiled them."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Winter felt her stomach turn violently, a cold sweat creeping down her back. Glynda's breath hitched, her nails digging into her gloves.

Ozpin's eyes darkened, as though reliving the horror through Jaune's eyes.

"His father was torn apart, his limbs severed and scattered like trash. His sisters…" He exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "He had seven sisters. Every single one of them was brutalized in ways I will not repeat. And his mother—"

Glynda's hand trembled slightly, her face pale. "They—" She stopped herself, closing her eyes, trying to fight the bile rising in her throat.

Winter clenched her fists, her own mind trying to process the sheer inhumanity of it. This wasn't just murder. This wasn't war.

This was destruction.

"They left Jaune to die," Ironwood muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Slashed his throat. But he didn't. He lived."

Winter's mind reeled. He saw it. He witnessed everything. He watched his family be desecrated, heard their screams, felt the blood of his own kin spill onto his skin, powerless to do anything as the people he loved were torn apart in front of him.

And then he was left alone.

To die.

To rot.

But instead—he became something else.

A monster who hunted monsters.

The Invincible Human.

Glynda swallowed, trying to find her voice. "And what did he do after?"

Ironwood met her gaze, his expression unyielding.

"He made them pay."

Winter thought back to the temple. To the way Jaune had fought. How he didn't just kill the Terrormorph—he ripped it apart with his bare hands. How, when the beast had regenerated, it didn't matter—because Jaune refused to let it live. And how afterward, when the creatures lurked in the next chamber, he didn't hesitate.

He switched weapons.

He slaughtered them.

She shuddered, the realization sinking in.

To fight monsters, Jaune Arc had become something worse.

Something terrifying.

Glynda, still pale, let out a slow, shaky breath. "What weapons did he use?"

Winter's lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she hesitated.

She had seen them firsthand.

"When his Guardian Spear was destroyed," she began, her voice quieter now, "he didn't falter. He stood back up. And when he did, he called forth weapons I had never seen before."

She exhaled slowly, gripping her arm. "One was a chain sword—ruthless, jagged, meant for tearing flesh apart. It wasn't a Huntsman's blade. It was something far more violent. And the other…" She hesitated, still hearing the thunderous roar of the arm-mounted cannon in her mind. "A .75 caliber automatic arm cannon. The shots it fired weren't just bullets. They tore through bodies. Even Grimm that could normally regenerate—he shredded them."

Glynda and Ozpin were silent, but their eyes told her everything.

Disbelief.

Horror.

Understanding.

Ozpin's voice was quiet. "And he used those weapons… against the White Fang?"

Ironwood nodded once. "He hunted them. Not just cells. Not just bases. Strongholds. He wiped out entire factions singlehandedly. The White Fang speaks his name with fear because they have seen what he can do."

Winter clenched her fists, a cold weight pressing into her gut.

"I saw him fight in the temple," she admitted. "I saw him move, saw him destroy a creature that would have killed all of us."

She closed her eyes briefly, hearing the shriek of the Terrormorph, seeing Jaune tearing its limbs off one by one, feeling the power radiating from him as he ripped the heart from its chest.

"I knew he was something else then. But now…" Her throat felt dry. "Now I understand why."

Ozpin was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke.

"You are correct, Winter," he murmured. "Jaune Arc is not a Huntsman in the traditional sense. He does not simply fight the enemy."

His gaze lifted to hers.

"He eradicates them."

Winter shivered. Glynda looked away, trying to collect herself.

Ironwood sighed, his hand running down his face. "Ozpin. That's not even the worst part."

The headmaster turned to him, his expression unreadable.

Ironwood exhaled sharply. "He's not using the weapons he was most known for."

A chilling silence followed.

Ozpin's fingers stilled against his cane. "Explain."

Winter swallowed. "In the White Fang reports… the ones who survived said he wielded a different sword. And from the recordings that still exist, the blade he used before… it wasn't a chain sword. It wasn't that arm cannon."

Glynda felt a pit in her stomach. "Then… what is he using now?"

Ozpin's voice was quiet. Thoughtful.

"He's changed."

For a long, heavy moment, they all let that truth settle.

Winter glanced out the window, at the airship hangar where Jaune had disappeared with his team.

For the first time, she didn't feel pity for the White Fang.

She felt fear for what would happen when Jaune Arc finally found them again.

Because to stop monsters, he had become something worse.

The suffocating silence in Ozpin's office felt almost unnatural, as if the very air had turned against them, pressing against their chests with the weight of revelations they couldn't yet fully comprehend. The Invincible Human—Jaune Arc—was an anomaly. A paradox. A nightmare disguised in a Huntsman's uniform.

And now, after everything they had learned about his past, his technology posed an entirely different kind of threat.

Ironwood was the first to break the silence, his voice slow and careful, as if choosing his words with painstaking precision. "Even with all of that… his technology is beyond what any kingdom has seen or is capable of. And yet, when he speaks of it… it is absolute clarity."

Winter swallowed, arms crossed, her mind still processing the impossible. "That's what unsettles me the most." She exhaled sharply. "The ship, the weapons, the systems, the energy source—all of it should be beyond comprehension. And yet…"

Ozpin tilted his head, watching her carefully. "And yet?"

Winter's lips pressed together, the memory of the Tempest tour flashing vividly in her mind. "And yet, he speaks of it as if it's the most natural thing in the world. There was never hesitation. Never confusion. Never a moment of doubt."

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. "He knew the answer to every question before it was asked. Every system, every mechanism, every principle—he didn't just understand them. He created them."

Glynda's frown deepened. "That's impossible. There's no way a single person could design, develop, and construct something like that alone. He'd need an entire team of specialists, researchers, engineers—"

"Exactly," Winter interjected, eyes darkening. "It should be impossible. And yet, there we were, standing inside a ship that he built with his own hands. A ship that could outmaneuver, outgun, and outthink anything in Remnant."

Ironwood, silent for a moment, let out a slow breath. "He has answers to questions we haven't even thought to ask yet." His steel-blue eyes flickered to Ozpin. "And that terrifies me more than anything else."

Winter inhaled deeply before continuing. "But it's not just his technology. It's him."

Glynda arched a brow. "What do you mean?"

Winter clenched her fists, recalling every conversation, every exchange with Jaune. "He never loses control. Not once. No matter the situation, no matter who he is speaking to, he controls every conversation like we are nothing but children."

Glynda frowned. "Jaune has always been composed, but that seems—"

"No," Winter cut in, her voice sharper than she intended. "You don't understand. I've seen manipulators. I've seen generals who can turn a room to their favor with a single sentence. I've been trained by the best in Atlas to recognize deception, power plays, and conversational control." She exhaled sharply. "And he played us all."

Ozpin's fingers tapped lightly against his cane. "Go on."

Winter's expression was unreadable. "He deflected questions with ease. Redirected attention effortlessly. Whenever we pressed him, he would turn our own words against us, steering the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go. He dictated what we talked about, what we focused on, and what we ignored without us even realizing it."

Her throat tightened. "That's not something you can learn without leading. Without experience. Without time. And yet, Jaune Arc—the Invincible Human—was always alone. Always fighting. Always on the move." Her voice lowered. "So where did he learn it?"

The room fell into heavy silence once more.

Ironwood's jaw tightened. "No mere Huntsman, no matter how skilled, should be able to do that. Leaders with years of experience struggle with that level of control."

Glynda's grip on her riding crop tightened slightly, the weight of their words pressing against her own misgivings. "If what you're saying is true, then we aren't just dealing with an exceptional fighter. We are dealing with someone who commands a room with precision. Someone who guides conversations like an experienced tactician."

Winter exhaled slowly. "And that is what unsettles me the most."

Ozpin studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. But inwardly, he felt something he had not felt in a very long time.

Doubt.

Because if Winter was right—if Jaune Arc was truly leading their conversations, controlling every word spoken, guiding them into his pace with unnatural ease…

Then the question was no longer who he was.

It was whether or not the boy who had returned that night was truly Jaune Arc at all.

Ozpin did not voice this thought.

He did not let it show.

But deep in his mind, buried under layers of rationality and careful calculation, he hoped—hoped with everything in his ancient soul—that it was really Jaune Arc who had come back to life.

Because if it wasn't…

Then they had all underestimated something far worse.


The Task Force building was quiet, the air still heavy from the exhaustion of their return. Even though they had only left Beacon the day before, it felt like they had been gone far longer. The sheer weight of everything that had happened—the mission, The Tempest, the battles, the revelations—left an unspoken tension in the air.

Jaune stood at the center of the common area, rolling his shoulders, expression calm yet distant. His usual unreadable presence had returned, but there was something else in his posture—something a little heavier.

"I'll be in the forge," he said simply. "I need to work on my weapon again."

There was no need to explain further. They had seen it. His Guardian Spear—his attempt at starting over—had been destroyed in the temple, bent and shattered by the Terrormorph. And now, instead of simply repairing it, Jaune was doing something else. Something different.

He didn't wait for anyone to respond. With a subtle nod, he turned, heading out the doors toward The Tempest. His presence faded with him, leaving the room quieter than before.

Almost immediately, Nora shot up from her seat, stretching. "Alright! Now that that's settled—to the cafeteria!"

Ren's eyes widened in alarm as he bolted after her. "Nora—no! We just got back, and I know what you're thinking!"

"That I'm starving?!" she cackled, already sprinting.

"That you're going to eat the entire supply again—Nora!"

And just like that, the two were gone, vanishing down the hall in a blur of orange and green.

That left Team RWBY and Pyrrha.

The silence settled back in—this time, heavier, more pointed.

Weiss was the first to break it.

"We need to talk," she said, crossing her arms, her expression serious. "About the team situation."

Yang, leaning against the couch, raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

Weiss let out a sharp breath. "This. All of this." She gestured broadly. "Ever since we started working with Jaune—no, since that night when we boarded The Tempest—it's like we've stopped being our own team."

Blake shifted uncomfortably. "We've been on missions together. It makes sense we'd be close."

"Too close," Weiss countered. "Do you not see it? Team RWBY doesn't exist anymore—not in the way it should. We've just been… absorbed into Jaune's team."

The words hit hard—not just because they were true, but because none of them had realized it until now.

Yang frowned. "That's a little dramatic, Weiss."

"Is it?" Weiss challenged, looking directly at Ruby. "When was the last time we did something as just Team RWBY? No missions, no training, no Jaune—just us?"

Ruby blinked, opening her mouth—then hesitated.

Because she couldn't remember.

Their time had been spent with Team JNPR, with Jaune. Every mission, every training session, every decision—it all led back to him. Jaune accepted a mission? They followed. Jaune made a choice? They adapted. Jaune led the fight? They fell in line.

They weren't Team RWBY anymore.

They were just following Jaune Arc.

Blake's ears flicked, her arms folding over her chest as she processed Weiss's words. She had felt it too—how their group dynamic had shifted, how their independence had faded without them even noticing.

Yang, however, was less convinced. "I mean… okay, sure, we've been doing a lot together. But is that a bad thing? Jaune's cool, guys. He saved our asses more times than I can count. And have you seen his ship? It's like flying around in a legend!"

Weiss exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That's exactly the problem! Everything centers around him. His ship. His missions. Him. That's not what we're supposed to be. We're Team RWBY, not Jaune's backup squad."

"But it makes sense to work together," Blake pointed out.

"It does," Weiss admitted. "But only when we choose to. And right now, we're not choosing anything. We're just following him."

Ruby shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like where this was going. Not because Weiss was wrong—because she wasn't.

But because Ruby didn't want to admit it.

Jaune was her best friend. He was the first person to believe in her leadership, the first to always have her back, the first to support her no matter what. He was the one she ran to when things felt uncertain, the one who made her feel like she belonged at Beacon.

The idea of pulling away from him made something ache in her chest.

But Weiss wasn't done.

"We need to take back our independence. We need to make decisions for ourselves, to operate as our own team—not just as extensions of Jaune's." She took a breath, looking at all of them. "I don't want us to cut him off. But we can't keep doing this."

The room was quiet.

Then, unexpectedly—

"I agree."

They all turned to Pyrrha.

Yang frowned. "You do?"

Pyrrha's face was unreadable, her emerald eyes conflicted but firm. "Jaune is too independent for me to be a partner to him." She looked down slightly. "I wanted to be his partner… but the truth is, he doesn't need one. Not in the way I hoped. And if I keep forcing myself to fit into his orbit… I'll just end up standing in his shadow."

The words carried more weight than any of them expected.

Because Pyrrha wasn't just talking about Team JNPR.

She was talking about herself.

The realization sent a ripple through them all.

Blake let out a slow breath. "Then… we make a decision."

Weiss nodded. "We start acting as our own team again. We stop waiting for Jaune to lead every decision. We step back."

"And that means…?" Yang asked carefully.

Blake was the one to answer. "It means we start pulling away. Not completely, but enough to rebuild Team RWBY—our Team RWBY."

Ruby felt her heart sink.

She knew this was right.

She knew they had lost something of themselves.

But…

But it was Jaune.

Jaune, who had been there for her since the beginning. Jaune, who never hesitated to jump into battle to protect them. Jaune, who built them a goddamn ship and carried them through impossible fights.

She clenched her fists. "He's my best friend."

Weiss softened—just slightly. "And he always will be. But Ruby… we need to be ourselves too."

Silence.

Yang shifted. "I don't know, guys… Jaune's cool. He saved our asses a lot."

Blake gave her a look. "And that's the problem. We're relying on him too much."

Yang groaned. "Ugh, I get it. But… he's Jaune."

Weiss crossed her arms. "And we're Team RWBY."

Ruby hesitated.

Then, finally, she sighed.

"Fine."

Yang looked at her. "Really?"

Ruby's voice was quiet. "If this is what you all want… then we'll do it."

But in her heart—she wasn't sure she could.


The Tempest was quiet, its artificial lighting dimmed to simulate the passage of night. Most of Beacon was likely still asleep, yet Jaune remained awake, his mind sharp, his hands steady as he worked within the forge deep in the ship's armory. The steady hum of machinery accompanied him, casting a soft glow over the metal he was shaping. Sparks flickered, steel groaned, and within the heart of his vessel, the Worker of Secrets turned over the next problem that needed solving.

Jaune's current weapons—the Chainsword and Arm Cannon—were too savage. They were brutal, designed for war, for unrelenting carnage. They weren't practical when fighting alongside Beacon students. The Infinity Blade

Jaune's fingers paused over his work.

The Infinity Blade was a soul-killer. A blade that did more than cut flesh—it erased the essence of the being it struck. No resurrection, no second chances. He doubted anyone else understood what it truly did, but he did.

It was a weapon meant for something far worse than Remnant's battles.

If he used it here—if he truly used it—it would be too much.

But… could he modify the Infinity Blade's properties?

The Worker of Secrets turned the thought over like molten steel in a crucible. If he stripped away the soul-killing aspectwhile maintaining the metal's unique density and aura-negation properties, he could forge something new. Something better.

The Infinity Blade's material was unlike anything found in this world. To create more of it, to refine and shape it…

Jaune's hand curled into a fist.

It would take time.

A week—at least—to forge enough for a single weapon. A millennia had been spent crafting his arsenal back in his world. Every building, every structure, every advancement had been forged through sheer will. Here, he had to start from nothing.

His Guardian Spear had been a useful weapon. Versatile, deadly in both close and mid-range combat. But it had a flaw—if it was caught or broken, it disrupted his combat flow, limiting his movement, forcing him into a predictable pattern.

What should his next weapon be?

He considered a blade, something one-handed to allow for greater movement. But he needed range—an integrated projectile system that didn't rely on dust. Plasma? Rail acceleration? Something different.

Jaune's blue eyes flickered over the various weapon schematics he had projected onto the workbench before him. Each blueprint represented a different possibility, each one a step closer to the answer.

Yet, he found no immediate solution.

Time slipped away as he worked, his thoughts drifting through countless variations of metal composition, balancing combat styles, weight distribution—until finally, something pulled him out of his focus.

A small blinking notification in his peripheral vision.

He glanced at the ship's internal clock.

09:03 A.M.

He had been up the entire night.

That wasn't unusual. He had gone longer before. The Worker did not require sleep as others did. But what was unusual was that—

No one had contacted him.

Not Pyrrha. Not Ren or Nora. Not even Ruby.

That was strange.

He flexed his fingers, dismissing the projected blueprints before him, and pulled up the ship's calendar.

Friday.

His mind calculated quickly. The most logical explanation was that they were either resting or preparing for a trip into Vale. A day off after the past few missions made sense, even if it wasn't something he personally required.

But still—something felt off.

His instincts prickled, warning him that something had changed.

Yet, there was no immediate threat.

No pressing reason to investigate further.

For now, it wasn't his concern.

Jaune exhaled, turning back to his forge.

There was work to be done.


The Worker of Secrets felt it—the slow, deliberate shifting of fate, the moment in which the trajectory of history itself began to alter. It was an imperceptible change to the untrained mind, but to him, it was as clear as the forging of a blade—a moment where metal met fire, where raw potential met the hammer of inevitability.

Inside Jaune Arc, the echoes of his past sorrow still reverberated, a lingering ache from the realization that Team RWBY and even Pyrrha had distanced themselves from him. It was a dull, numbing weight pressing at the edges of his consciousness, an emotion that, though muted, persisted like an ember refusing to fade.

Sadness, he mused, was an irritant. It served no grand purpose, no tangible benefit, and yet, it was a fixture of the mortal condition. It distracted, it weakened, it unmade. Yet, in the young Jaune's heart, it was there, persistent, unwavering.

But it was also a tool.

Emotions were always a tool. They could be shaped, refined, manipulated. The Worker had long since understood that sadness could be reshaped into determination, that loss could be reforged into purpose.

"Why should we suffer alone?"

The thought slithered through his mind, insidious, deliberate, a whisper from the part of him that had existed long before Jaune Arc had ever taken his first breath.

"Why should we sit in isolation, wallowing in something as transient as grief?"

The sadness in Jaune did not disappear—not entirely—but it no longer grew.

"We have Ren. We have Nora. They are still here. Still loyal to you. Still standing by your side."

It was a truth too evident to ignore.

Jaune, despite his incredible strength, was not truly alone. Not yet.

And that meant there was still opportunity.

"Then why not act?"

Why not shape Ren and Nora into something greater? Why not forge them into warriors that the world could not overlook? Why not take their loyalty, their trust, and turn it into legend?

They were descendants of long-forgotten names, names that time had tried to erase. If Jaune Arc had to burn the world itself to remind it of their existence, then he would.

If the world had chosen to forget the Arc name, then he would force it to remember.

Jaune Arc would not be a name left to time.

It would be a name that dominated it.

And so the sadness slowed.

It no longer threatened to consume him. It no longer burdened his mind with its ceaseless ache.

Instead—it was guided.

Redirected.

Turned into something stronger.

Hope.

It was fragile, a tentative flicker in the abyss of his consciousness, but it was there.

The Worker of Secrets took that as acceptance.

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, Jaune activated his communicator, his fingers moving with quiet precision, a soldier enacting a mission, a king issuing a decree.

"Ren. Nora. If you would like, come stay aboard the Tempest for a few days. Pack whatever you wish to bring. There will be space. We will figure out what to do from there."

For a moment, there was only silence.

A brief, heavy pause.

Then—an explosion of sound.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?! ARE YOU ACTUALLY SAYING THAT WE GET TO STAY ON THE MOST ADVANCED, MOST INCREDIBLE, MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF ENGINEERING I HAVE EVER SEEN WITH MY OWN TWO EYES?!"

Nora's voice was a force of nature, so loud, so incredibly excited that Jaune could hear the communicator's system struggling to properly balance the volume. Her joy was uncontainable, infectious, a sheer force of raw energy that nearly overpowered the signal.

"REN, PACK YOUR STUFF! WE'RE MOVING! I AM CLAIMING A ROOM RIGHT NEXT TO THE KITCHEN!"

Jaune did not react outwardly, but something within him settled.

Then, a second voice followed, softer, calmer—but no less significant.

"We will be there soon."

Ren's words were simple, but the weight beneath them was unmistakable.

Where Nora had filled the air with sheer enthusiasm, Ren's voice carried a depth of relief—one that Jaune understood immediately.

For Ren and Nora, this situation had been uncertain, precarious. They had been cast into a space where they did not know what was happening, where Team RWBY and even Pyrrha had abandoned them without explanation.

They had called. No answer.

They had searched. Nothing.

Now?

Now, they had a place to go.

Jaune processed that.

Nora's excitement.

Ren's relief.

A small but critical shift occurred in his mind.

This wasn't just about strategy.

This wasn't just about power.

This was about something more.

Even he, in all his calculated detachment, could not deny it.

This was right.

This was needed.

This was personal.

Jaune Arc had spent years—lifetimes—alone.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he didn't have to be.

Slowly, deliberately, Jaune stood, his muscles shifting beneath his armor, the golden lights of the Tempest's forge casting his silhouette in sharp relief.

He moved toward the exit, his intent clear.

There were tools he had left in the Task Force building. He would retrieve them.

But as he walked, his gaze flickered toward the armor stand against the far wall.

It stood there, silent, unwavering.

The Invincible Human's armor.

His armor.

For so long, he had resisted it. Denied it.

He had tried to be something else—something softer, something different.

He had tried to carve out a new place for himself in this world.

But the world had never allowed him that choice.

Fate had already decided.

He had not chosen this legend.

But it was his.

Jaune Arc.

Jaune's resolve solidified as he turned away from the armor, stepping through the ship's doors.

If the world demanded a monster, then he would wear the title proudly.

If the world needed a legend, then he would ensure they never forgot his name.

And if anyone threatened those who still stood by him…

Then he would remind them why monsters feared the dark.

The Invincible Human.

And yet—

He had never thought of himself as the last Arc.

Not until now.

The realization struck him with profound weight.

He was the last.

The final heir of a name that had been wiped from existence.

And he would carry it alone.

No matter what it took.

The glow in his eyes intensified, the radiance reflected in the polished steel of his armor.

There would be no more hesitation.

No more doubts.

No more second-guessing.

Jaune Arc was his name.

And he would make sure that it would never be forgotten.

His footsteps echoed as he stepped forward, exiting the Tempest with unshakable resolve.

The last Arc had risen.

And the world would never be the same again.


The air inside Jaune's quarters was calm, the soft hum of the Tempest ever-present in the background, a quiet reminder of the world beyond them. The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the viewport, casting long shadows across the polished walls. Ren and Nora sat on the couch, while Jaune remained in his chair across from them, composed and waiting.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Ren exhaled, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly as he gathered his thoughts.

"Something isn't right."

Nora, who had been shifting in place with restless energy, finally stilled, her usual excitement dimmed, but not extinguished.

"I hate this," she muttered, gripping one of the cushions on the couch, her fingers tightening over the fabric. "We're supposed to be a team. I get that, okay? We've only been here for—what? Two weeks? And suddenly it feels like we're losing people before we even had the chance to really be a team."

She huffed, kicking her legs out in frustration before crossing them over each other.

"And I don't even get why."

Ren remained composed, but Jaune could see the faint tension in his posture.

"Neither of us do," Ren admitted, his tone steady but laced with frustration. "But I have ideas."

Jaune leaned forward slightly, listening.

Ren took a slow breath.

"Team RWBY has always been different from us," he began, his words careful, deliberate. "Not because they were better or stronger, but because we were never truly meant to be part of their dynamic. We trained with them. We fought beside them. We bled with them in Mantle and in the temple… but they were not our team."

"Not officially," Nora cut in, her voice quieter now.

Ren nodded.

"No. And that was fine, at first. They seemed to be drawn to us, to you, specifically. We accepted it as natural, even if it meant we spent more time with them than we did alone as Team JNPR. But now? Something has shifted. They're moving away from us. Or rather… moving away from you."

Jaune remained silent, unmoving.

"They left for Vale," Ren continued. "Together. They didn't send a message. They didn't tell us anything. They didn't ask if we wanted to come."

Nora's grip on the cushion tightened.

"They just left us behind."

Jaune absorbed the words, his analytical mind processing every possibility as he considered their reasoning.

Finally, he spoke.

"I have my own theories," he admitted, his voice calm, measured. "But I will not claim to know for certain what is in their hearts."

Ren nodded slightly.

"Go on."

Jaune folded his hands together, his piercing blue gaze unwavering.

"For Team RWBY, the answer is simple. Weiss stated it first—they were slowly becoming my team. Not their own. They realized it, and they made a choice to reclaim what was theirs."

"I don't like it," Nora muttered, crossing her arms.

"It's understandable," Jaune continued. "They have the right to be their own unit. I will not fault them for that."

Nora huffed in frustration, but she didn't argue.

Jaune turned his gaze toward Ren.

"Pyrrha is a different matter entirely."

Ren's expression didn't change, but Jaune could see it—the way his hands curled slightly, the faint shift in his breathing. He had already known.

"She's Mistrali," Ren said, his tone even. "In our culture, strength and honor define one's place. To be overshadowed is to be lesser. To be lesser is to be without purpose."

Jaune inclined his head slightly.

"And in her eyes, she has been made lesser."

"Because of you."

It wasn't an accusation. It was a fact.

Nora stiffened beside Ren, her expression darkening.

"That's ridiculous," she snapped. "She's still one of the best fighters in Beacon! Who cares if Jaune is stronger? He's, like, unnaturally strong!"

Ren sighed.

"That's precisely the problem, Nora."

She scowled.

"You mean because Jaune took down that thing in the temple by himself while the rest of us almost died just fighting one?"

"Yes."

Jaune did not react, though he could see the way the truth weighed on both of them.

"Jaune," Ren continued, "you don't need us."

Nora flinched.

Jaune tilted his head slightly, his gaze unreadable.

"That is incorrect."

Ren frowned.

Jaune's voice remained calm, but there was a new weight behind it now.

"I did not come to Beacon to train."

The words lingered in the air, heavy, absolute.

"I came to find those who had the strength and character to stand beside me. To fight beside me. To be people I could rely on—not out of necessity, but out of trust."

Ren and Nora stilled.

"You are my team."

Jaune's voice was firm, unshakable.

"And I will never leave you behind."

The sheer finality in his words left them speechless.

Jaune let the silence settle for a moment before continuing.

"If you seek strength, I will give you the means to achieve it. If you desire to grow, I will elevate you to heights you never thought possible. If you wish to be something more, I will make sure that when you stand beside me—when the world looks upon our team—they will see legends."

Nora stared at him.

Ren breathed out slowly.

For the first time since the distance had begun forming between them and the others—they felt something ignite inside them.

Not confusion.

Not uncertainty.

Purpose.

Nora's lips slowly curled into a smirk, her grip on the couch loosening as she straightened up.

"Well damn, fearless leader."

She grinned, punching Ren's shoulder.

"Looks like we've got work to do."

Ren let out a quiet breath, but there was a glimmer of something sharp in his expression now.

"Then let's get started."

Jaune nodded.

The choice had been made.

History had already begun shifting.

And now, there was no turning back.


The air inside the transport was lively, filled with the low hum of conversation as Team RWBY and Pyrrha settled into their seats. The rhythmic sway of the vehicle provided a steady backdrop as Vale's skyline loomed in the distance, the city's lights flickering like stars against the early morning sky.

They were together.

Just them.

For the first time since the semester started, it was just Team RWBY and Pyrrha—no Jaune, no Ren, no Nora. It should have felt normal. It should have felt right.

And yet, Ruby sat near the window, staring out at the passing scenery, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She heard Yang chuckle, leaning back into her seat, her arms stretched behind her head in a relaxed posture.

"You know, it's kinda weird that we've never actually done this before," Yang said, turning her golden eyes toward the rest of the group.

Weiss nodded, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt.

"It's about time," she agreed. "With everything going on—the temples, the missions, training, and classes—we've barely had a moment to breathe. We finally have a chance to act like a proper team."

"Instead of always being dragged into whatever Jaune's planning?" Blake added dryly, though there was no real bite in her words.

Yang grinned.

"Exactly. Feels nice, right?"

Pyrrha, seated between Weiss and Blake, offered a small smile, though her gaze was distant.

"Yes," she admitted. "It does."

Ruby wanted to agree.

She should agree.

But something about it felt… off.

She shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the hem of her cloak.

Why does it feel like we're leaving them behind?

Ren and Nora had tried to call her. Tried to call all of them.

And they had ignored them.

That wasn't right.

That wasn't her.

Weiss was still talking, something about how she wanted to check out a new bookstore in Vale, but Ruby wasn't listening.

Her mind was on Jaune.

Or rather, the fact that he hadn't tried to contact her at all.

Did he know what was going on? Did he understand why they were doing this?

Or… did he not care?

She bit her lip.

She didn't know which answer she preferred.

Jaune had always been steady, always present. He had been her first friend at Beacon, the one who always had her back in every fight, who never let her fall too far behind.

And now, for the first time since they met…

They were apart.

She swallowed, a quiet, uneasy feeling settling in her chest.

Yang nudged her shoulder.

"Yo, you okay? You're kinda quiet over there."

Ruby blinked, realizing that everyone's eyes were on her now.

"Yeah," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking."

Weiss arched an eyebrow.

"About what?"

Ruby hesitated.

For a split second, she considered telling them—about the calls, about the way it felt wrong to not answer, about how Jaune's silence felt louder than anything he could have said.

But she didn't.

Instead, she shrugged.

"Nothing important."

The conversation continued without her, the mood still light, still warm.

But Ruby sat in silence, staring out the window once more.

And the unease didn't go away.


The sun hung high in the sky as Team RWBY and Pyrrha stepped off the transport, the bustling city of Valewelcoming them with its usual energy. Crowds moved along the streets, voices merging into a steady hum of life, storefronts displaying everything from advanced weapon components to dust-infused couture.

For the first time in weeks, there was no mission, no battle, no looming threat.

It was just them, as it was supposed to be.

And Ruby was having fun.

She really was.

Weiss led the charge, immediately directing them toward an upscale bookstore, her excitement barely contained beneath her usual composed demeanor.

"I've been meaning to visit this place for weeks," she said, practically dragging Blake along. "They import texts from all over Remnant, including first-edition manuscripts and exclusive research papers."

Blake, who had been reluctant at first, perked up at the mention of rare books and willingly followed Weiss inside.

Ruby browsed the fiction section, her fingers drifting over the spines of several titles. She found herself flipping through a book on airship design, the detailed schematics and blueprints catching her eye.

She didn't know why she picked it up.

But the moment she did, she thought of Jaune.

He would have loved this.

She could already hear his voice in her head—calm, analytical, but just a little eager whenever he talked about something that interested him.

"The support struts are too exposed here… You'd need reinforced alloy plating to withstand stress at high velocities."

"These engine schematics are inefficient. They'd never achieve optimal thrust without modifying the internal compression chambers."

Jaune wasn't a goofball like some people thought. He wasn't just some unstoppable warrior, either. He had passions, things that lit a fire in him beyond battle.

Engineering. Design. Building something better than what already existed.

She snapped the book shut and put it back on the shelf.

She wasn't sure why, but her stomach twisted slightly.

Yang, browsing the action-adventure section, nudged her with an elbow.

"Find something good?"

Ruby forced a grin.

"Nah. Just looking."

Yang didn't seem convinced, but let it go.

After an hour of browsing books, Weiss insisted on taking them to a well-reviewed restaurant near the shopping district. The kind with cloth napkins, menus in elegant script, and a host that judged them the moment they stepped inside.

"Finally," Weiss sighed as they sat down. "A proper meal."

"It's just lunch," Yang muttered, already eyeing the menu.

"You have no appreciation for fine dining," Weiss replied, haughtily lifting her menu like a shield.

Ruby snickered, enjoying the back-and-forth as their orders were placed.

The food was delicious, the conversation light and cheerful.

For a moment, Ruby let herself relax.

This is good. This is normal. We're just a team having fun.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered…

Has Jaune eaten today?

He was always so meticulous about everything else, but sometimes, when deep in his work, he'd forget basic necessities.

She remembered the first time she saw him like that, back when he was modifying something in his dorm—she'd practically had to drag him away from his workbench to eat.

"You're not a robot, Jaune!" she had said, exasperated. "You need to eat!"

He had smirked at that.

"Could've fooled me."

The memory made her smile—until she realized she didn't even know where he was right now.

Was he still in the Tempest, working on something?

Would he even answer if she called?

She shook the thought away and focused on her food.

After lunch, the group wandered through the commercial district, visiting boutiques, weapon shops, and a few general stores.

"I am buying something for myself," Weiss declared, arms crossed. "Something not for missions, and something not for Beacon."

"Proud of you, princess," Yang teased.

"Don't patronize me."

They explored high-end stores, casual streetwear shops, and even a small weapon store, where Blake ended up examining a set of custom dust-infused throwing knives.

Ruby had fun.

She laughed at Yang's ridiculous outfits, at Weiss struggling to choose between two scarves, at Blake's annoyed expression when she was roped into trying on clothes.

But every time she pulled out her Scroll to check the time…

She noticed the lack of messages.

From Ren. From Nora.

From Jaune.

Not once.

She tucked her Scroll back into her pocket and kept moving forward.

"A movie!" Yang declared as the sun began to set. "Perfect way to end the day."

Weiss sighed, but didn't argue.

Blake simply shrugged.

"As long as it's not a terrible action film."

Pyrrha offered a small smile.

"I don't mind what we watch."

They picked something lighthearted, something that was pure fun without high stakes, without stress.

And for the most part, Ruby enjoyed it.

She laughed at the jokes, gasped at the big moments, and grinned at the cheesy ending.

But when the credits rolled, when the lights came back up, when they all filed out of the theater into the cool night air…

Ruby felt it again.

That wrongness.

They had spent an entire day together.

And it had been great.

And yet…

Jaune hadn't called.

Hadn't messaged.

Hadn't reached out.

Not once.

She tried to convince herself that was a good thing.

That it meant he understood why they were doing this.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized—

It didn't feel like he was waiting for them to come back.

It felt like he had already moved on.

The thought sat heavy in her chest as they walked back toward the transport.

The city lights flickered in the distance, the streets alive with energy.

But Ruby barely noticed.

Because as much fun as today had been…

She couldn't shake the feeling that, somewhere along the way—

They had lost something important.


The ride back to Beacon was quiet—too quiet.

The airship thrummed beneath them, a steady, almost soothing vibration that should have been comforting after a long, eventful day. The cabin lights cast a soft glow over the seats, flickering slightly as the ship adjusted its course. Outside, the darkening sky stretched endlessly, the city of Vale shrinking beneath them as they rose toward the cliffs of Beacon Academy.

It had been a perfect day—on the surface.

They had gone to the bookstore, where Weiss had practically sparkled at the sheer number of high-quality texts available. She had browsed the shelves with the enthusiasm of a child in a candy store, her hands moving over the bindings with something bordering on reverence. Even Blake had indulged, picking out a few novels of her own, though she kept them close to her chest, careful not to let anyone see the covers.

They had eaten at a nice restaurant, the kind Weiss had likely dined in her entire life but that the rest of them rarely ever had the chance to enjoy. Ruby had never seen so many forks laid out on a single table before, and even Yang had paused before deciding which one to use. Weiss had, of course, scoffed at their incompetence, but her expression had softened as she quietly explained the proper etiquette.

They had gone shopping, dragging each other into different stores, trying on ridiculous outfits and laughing at the absurdity. Yang had convinced Blake to try on something wildly out of her comfort zone, and Weiss had nearly fainted when she saw the price tag on a jacket that Yang had insisted was a "steal."

And then the movie—a simple, action-packed adventure that had left them all grinning and exhilarated. For a few short hours, they had forgotten about everything else.

For a few short hours, Ruby had almost believed this was normal.

But now, with the city disappearing below them, with Beacon's lights glowing in the distance, the weight of the day settled onto Ruby's shoulders like a heavy chain.

Something was wrong.

She had ignored it all day.

But now, in the dim, quiet airship, with nothing to distract her—she could feel it pressing in on her.

They had left without a word.

They had ignored their teammates.

They had spent an entire day actively choosing to separate themselves from Jaune, Ren, and Nora—not because of a fight, not because of anger, but because of something deeper, something harder to explain.

They had chosen to step away from Jaune.

And Jaune…

Had let them go.

Ruby swallowed, shifting in her seat as she pulled out her Scroll.

Her fingers hesitated over the screen.

He hadn't messaged her.

Not once.

No questions, no check-ins, no jokes, no simple 'Hey, where are you guys?'

Nothing.

It shouldn't have bothered her.

Jaune wasn't needy like that. He wasn't the type to demand attention or chase after them when they clearly wanted space.

But that was the problem, wasn't it?

He knew.

He knew, and he had just let it happen.

She clenched her jaw, suddenly feeling sick.

The words came before she could stop them.

Ruby:
Hey Jaune. I just wanted to explain why we… well, why we didn't say anything before leaving. It wasn't anything bad, really. We just—

She stopped, staring at the words on the screen.

How was she supposed to say this?

How was she supposed to tell him that they had needed space from him—not because he had done anything wrong, but because he was too much?

Too overwhelming.

Too capable.

That they had left because he was too strong, too independent, too beyond them?

That Pyrrha had been struggling with her own pride, Weiss had been questioning things she didn't want to admit, and Ruby herself had felt like she was losing something she wasn't ready to lose?

She deleted the message, rewrote it, deleted it again.

The words wouldn't come out right.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she settled on something simple.

Ruby:
We needed some space. We didn't mean to ignore you, and I just… I wanted you to know that it wasn't personal. I hope you understand.

She stared at the message.

Her hands were cold.

Her heart was beating too fast.

Finally, she forced herself to hit send.

The airship hummed softly around them, the minutes stretching into an eternity.

Her Scroll vibrated.

She exhaled sharply, relieved that he had responded quickly.

Then she read the message.

Jaune:
We know.

That was it.

That was all he said.

We know.

Not "It's okay."

Not "I understand."

Not even "Alright."

Just we know.

Two words.

And suddenly, the air felt thick and heavy, like something was pressing down on her chest.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers hovered over her Scroll, mind racing.

What did that mean?

We?

Who was we?

Ren and Nora?

Had they known?

Had they been waiting for an explanation this whole time, already understanding why they had been left behind, already expecting it before Ruby had even realized it herself?

Or—

Did Jaune mean something else?

Did he mean that he had expected this?

That he had always known that they would eventually pull away?

That this wasn't something that had just happened, but something that had always been inevitable?

Her hands trembled slightly.

She wanted to ask, to clarify, to demand an explanation.

But suddenly—

She was afraid of the answer.

The airship docked, a soft mechanical hiss filling the silence between them as the ramp extended.

Weiss stretched, rolling her shoulders as she gathered her bags.

"That was a good day," Weiss said, adjusting the strap of one of her purchases. "I think we should do this more often."

"Yeah," Yang agreed, shaking out her arms. "Feels good to just be us again."

Blake nodded, her golden eyes calm, content.

And Ruby—

Ruby forced a smile.

"Yeah," she lied. "It really does."

But as they stepped off the airship, walking back toward their dorm, her mind was still stuck on two words.

We know.

And Ruby wasn't sure if that meant they were still waiting for her—

Or if they had already moved on.


The night air was cool as the group walked through the quiet pathways of Beacon, their bags swinging lightly at their sides. The glow of streetlights cast soft pools of golden light across the pavement, their shadows stretching and shifting with every step. The academy grounds were silent, most students already having retired for the evening, leaving only the faint hum of distant insects and the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.

The day had been fun—objectively so. The kind of day that should have ended with them feeling satisfied, relaxed, and at peace.

But the atmosphere between them now was off.

Yang was the first to break the silence, her golden eyes flicking between them before she folded her arms over her chest.

"So… how do you think they're gonna react?"

Ruby's breath hitched.

"Huh?" she asked, too quickly, too stiffly.

Yang gave her a look, raising an eyebrow as she gestured vaguely.

"You know. Ren, Nora, and Jaune. What do you think they'll say when they realize what we've been doing all day?"

The question hung in the air for a second too long.

Blake frowned slightly, the amusement in her eyes from earlier fading into something more serious.

"We never really talked about that, did we?" she murmured.

The realization settled over them like a slow-building storm.

They had actively chosen to ignore their teammates today.

Avoided them.

Had gone out of their way to separate themselves from them without a single word of explanation.

And not once—not even once—had they stopped to actually acknowledge it.

Weiss huffed, flicking a stray strand of hair over her shoulder.

"Oh, please. It's not like they even noticed."

Ruby's stomach twisted.

"Jaune's probably been holed up in that ridiculous ship of his all day, working on his new weapon. You know how he gets. He's probably so focused he hasn't even realized we were gone."

She waved a dismissive hand.

"And Nora? She's probably off on some other chaotic adventure, dragging Ren along for the ride. If anything, Ren's the only one who might've noticed, but he's reasonable. He'll understand."

Ruby swallowed hard.

She wanted to believe that.

That Jaune had been too busy to care.
That Nora had moved on without a second thought.
That Ren—calm, levelheaded, rational Ren—would take it in stride, understand why they had done it, why they had needed to do it.

But she knew that wasn't true.

Because Ren had already messaged Jaune.

Because Jaune had already answered her.

We know.

Not "It's fine."
Not "No big deal."
Not even "Didn't notice."

We know.

And the fact that he hadn't followed it up with anything else was eating her alive.

Weiss sighed, adjusting the weight of her bags.

"Either way, we'll just explain it tomorrow. It's late, and they've probably gone to sleep by now anyway."

Pyrrha, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally nodded in agreement.

"She's right," she said, her voice soft but certain. "There's no point in stressing over it tonight. We'll talk to them after we've all had a good night's rest. It'll be easier when we're not exhausted."

Yang shrugged, accepting that answer easily enough.

Blake nodded slowly, but there was a slight tension in her shoulders, like she was still considering something.

And Weiss simply moved on, as if that had settled the matter.

But Ruby—

Ruby felt like her chest was about to cave in.

Her Scroll was still clutched in her fingers, her grip tight enough that her knuckles had turned white.

Tomorrow.

They would handle it tomorrow.

Except Ruby had the sinking feeling that tomorrow would be too late.

Because the message Jaune had sent her wasn't a question.

It wasn't an invitation to explain.

It was a statement.

We know.

And Ruby didn't know if that meant they were still waiting for her—

Or if they had already decided to move on without her.


Morning arrived slowly at Beacon. The sun crept lazily over the horizon, spilling golden light through the academy's windows, casting long shadows against the walls. The air held a certain stillness, the quiet of a weekend morning where students took the rare opportunity to sleep in.

One by one, Team RWBY and Pyrrha began to wake.

Weiss was the first, as expected. She was always the most disciplined, the one who rose with the sun, her morning routine efficient and structured. She moved quietly, slipping from her bed with practiced grace, her hair already smooth, her posture already perfect, even in the grogginess of waking.

Blake followed shortly after, stretching like a cat in the warmth of her blankets before reluctantly rolling out of bed. She moved with measured slowness, her golden eyes half-lidded as she sat on the edge of her mattress for a few moments, simply existing in the quiet morning light.

Yang took her time, grumbling as she stretched, her arms extending over her head, her blonde hair an absolute mess. She had no interest in waking up early, but once she was awake, she might as well get started. A quick yawn, a deep inhale, and she rolled out of bed, shaking off the last dregs of sleep.

Pyrrha stirred next, her movements calm and fluid, stretching her arms above her head before she glanced around. She hadn't slept particularly well, her thoughts still circling what had happened yesterday, but the morning air was refreshing. It was a new day, a chance to move forward.

But Ruby…

Ruby woke up last.

And she felt it.

Her sleep had been horrible, restless and filled with half-formed thoughts that blurred between dreams and anxieties. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined Jaune's message flashing on her Scroll—We know.

By the time she finally forced herself to wake up, her head felt heavy, her eyes dull, her body sluggish.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in her chest. The conversation from last night drifted through her mind in fragmented pieces. Weiss's confidence, Yang's casualness, Blake's quiet consideration, Pyrrha's calm resolution.

None of them had been as worried as she was.

And maybe that was what scared her the most.

They all met in the common room, just like they always did on Saturdays.

Breakfast was easy, something light thrown together without much thought. Yang sat cross-legged on the couch, sipping a large cup of coffee, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. Blake had curled up in one of the chairs, book in hand, but not really reading. Weiss, ever poised, had her Scroll out, idly browsing through messages while nibbling on a small pastry.

Pyrrha sat across from them, drinking a warm cup of tea, her expression calm but distant.

It was… normal.

Or at least, it felt normal.

Idle chatter filled the room.

They talked about random things, their classes, upcoming assignments, how the weather had been nice lately.

Yang joked about how the cafeteria should really offer more pancake options on the weekends, Blake offhandedly mentioned a new book series she had been eyeing, and Weiss was already going on about the Vytal Festival and the teams they'd get to see from other schools.

Everything was fine.

Except it wasn't.

Ruby sat in her usual spot, slowly blinking away the exhaustion, half-listening, half-existing in the moment. Her fingers tapped against her knee as she fought the fog in her head.

And then—

She looked up.

She looked at where Jaune usually sat.

And he wasn't there.

Her stomach dropped.

For a moment, she stared, as if expecting him to just… appear.

Like maybe he had slept in.
Maybe he would walk in any second now.
Maybe she had just missed him somehow.

But the space remained empty.

He wasn't coming.

He hadn't even tried to come.

Ruby's fingers curled into a fist in her lap, her pulse quickening.

Something was wrong.


Ruby's fingers tightened in her lap as she tried to ignore the weight pressing down on her chest.

At first, she thought she was just being paranoid, that maybe Jaune and the others had just slept in, that maybe they were just running a little late.

But it was getting harder to convince herself of that.

Her eyes flickered around the room, taking in the sight of her team. Yang was grinning, leaning back on the couch as she sipped from her massive coffee cup, throwing out another joke about how Beacon should invest in better movie nights. Weiss was engrossed in her Scroll, checking messages and schedules, barely paying attention to the conversation. Blake was calm, flipping pages in her book, and Pyrrha sat quietly, sipping her tea with that usual serene grace.

It was normal.

Too normal.

And that's what made her uneasy.

Her brows furrowed, her fingers tapping against the table as she finally voiced what had been eating away at her.

"Hey…" Ruby said, shifting uncomfortably. "Where are Jaune and the others?"

The conversation lulled slightly, just a brief pause as Yang looked over at her, one brow quirked.

"Huh?" Yang asked. "What do you mean?"

Ruby swallowed, now very aware that she had just derailed the easy atmosphere.

"I mean…" She gestured around vaguely. "They're usually here by now."

That finally made them all stop and think.

Pyrrha blinked, setting her cup down as she processed that statement. Weiss tilted her head, her fingers hovering over her Scroll, a slight crease forming between her brows. Blake actually looked up from her book.

Yang's expression remained lighthearted, but there was a flicker of something—a small, creeping realization.

Ruby could see it happening in real-time.

They had been so engrossed in their own morning that it hadn't even registered.

Jaune wasn't here.

Neither was Ren.

Nor Nora.

It didn't make sense.

Jaune was always early. Always the first one in the room, either reading ahead, working on something technical, or simply watching everything unfold from the side, making some kind of mental calculation none of them would ever be able to decipher.

Ren was always the next, seated calmly while Nora slept on his shoulder, waiting for them to wake up and start the day.

And now?

They were all absent.

Gone.

It wasn't normal.

Weiss was the first to try and rationalize it.

"They're probably just taking their time," she reasoned, though there was a tiny flicker of doubt in her voice. "I mean, Jaune's been working on his weapon, hasn't he? He was probably up late and overslept."

Blake hummed, thoughtful. "That doesn't sound like him," she muttered, closing her book.

Pyrrha exhaled slowly. "Ren, at least, should have been here," she murmured, tapping her fingers against her teacup. "He's as much of an early riser as Weiss is. And even if Nora sleeps in, she's always following him around."

That single observation made the nervous energy in the room worsen.

Ren wasn't the type to sleep in.

Jaune wasn't the type to miss things.

And Nora?

Nora wouldn't just disappear.

The tension in Ruby's chest twisted tighter as she tried to make sense of it.

Jaune's message from last night echoed in her mind.

We know.

Had he meant… this?

Had he already understood what was happening before they even realized it themselves?

Did Ren and Nora know too?

She didn't like this.

She didn't like this at all.

Yang must have noticed the way Ruby's face was shifting, because her voice softened slightly when she spoke next.

"They probably just… got busy with something," Yang said, though it was more hesitant now, less certain. "Maybe they're still at the Tempest."

Weiss frowned at that. "But why wouldn't they at least send a message? Ren's always punctual, and Jaune—" she hesitated. "He doesn't… strike me as the type to just let things slide."

Blake shifted in her seat. "We haven't really spoken to them since yesterday," she pointed out, voice quiet. "They might have noticed."

Silence.

A heavy silence.

The truth of the situation was settling in.

Jaune, Ren, and Nora weren't here.

And not only that—they hadn't even tried to contact them.

And that could only mean one thing.

They had noticed.

They had known.

And now…

They were waiting for them to do something about it.

Ruby's heart hammered in her chest.

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

Ruby didn't think.

Her body moved on its own.

The moment the realization struck—the moment her mind pieced together that Jaune, Ren, and Nora weren't here because they had chosen not to be—she felt the panic ignite in her chest like an explosion.

She didn't wait for her team to catch up.

Didn't stop to explain.

Didn't let herself process what it meant.

She just ran.

The world around her blurred, her feet pounding against the polished floors of Beacon as she sprinted faster than she ever had before.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was the Hangar.

Her mind raced, colliding with thoughts faster than she could control, each one a jagged, spiraling mess of uncertainty and fear.

They left without telling us.

Why?

Jaune wouldn't just disappear.

Ren wouldn't leave us behind.

Nora wouldn't—

The back of her throat tightened.

She wasn't even sure what she was chasing.

She didn't know if she was rushing to find them, to demand an explanation, or if she was terrified of what she might discover.

But the worst part—the part that sent an icy spike of dread through her chest—was that they hadn't even called.

Not a single message.

Not a single attempt to reach out.

Not even a goodbye.

She didn't want to believe it.

Didn't want to think that they had actually—

Her boots screeched against the floor as she turned a corner, nearly slamming into a wall in her desperation to reach the hangar.

She could hear Yang shouting behind her, calling her name, her voice filled with confusion.

But she didn't stop.

She couldn't.

Not until she saw it for herself.

Not until she knew for sure.

Please let me be wrong.

Please let them still be here.

She reached the hangar doors, her fingers trembling as she shoved them open—

And then—

The world stopped.

Gone.

Ruby's breath hitched violently in her chest.

She felt the floor tilt beneath her, her vision warping, her stomach twisting as though she had been hit with something far worse than a Grimm's strike.

The Tempest was gone.

The massive, sleek warship that Jaune had built, the one that had carried them across Mantle, that had been a constant presence in his life—

Gone.

Like it had never even been there.

The hangar was empty.

Cold.

Lifeless.

As though nothing had ever filled this space to begin with.

She couldn't breathe.

Her lungs burned, her hands clenched into tight fists, her legs suddenly felt too weak to support her.

She had run all this way—for this?

To see nothing?

To realize they were too late?

She barely registered the footsteps thudding behind her, the sound of her team catching up, their hurried breathing filling the silent void that the Tempest had left behind.

"Ruby!" Yang's voice was sharp with concern. "What the hell is going on? Why'd you—?"

She cut herself off.

Because she saw it too.

Saw what Ruby was staring at.

Saw what was missing.

The Tempest was nowhere to be found.

A new silence settled over them.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

The others skidded to a stop behind them, all of them panting from the chase.

Weiss, still catching her breath, shot Ruby a frustrated glare.

"What—" she huffed, "—is wrong with you? Running off like that, not telling us a thing—"

She followed Ruby's gaze.

And then she saw it too.

Or rather—she saw what wasn't there.

Her words died in her throat.

Blake's expression shifted, her cat-like ears flicking, her golden eyes narrowing in sharp realization.

Pyrrha was silent, her breath hitching as she took a small step forward, her green eyes wide with disbelief.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

For a long, agonizing moment—

They just stood there.

Staring.

Because there was nothing else to do.

Because there was nothing left to see.

The Tempest was gone.

And Jaune had left them behind.


Footsteps echoed through the silent hangar, steady and measured.

The tension was so thick, so unbearable, that no one reacted until a familiar voice broke the quiet.

"My, my… You all look like someone just told you your lunch money was stolen."

The calm, ever-amused voice of Professor Ozpin reached them before he did.

Slowly, he approached, his usual inscrutable smile in place, his hands lazily tucked behind his back, as though this was just another leisurely stroll through Beacon's corridors.

Blake turned first, her golden eyes wary.

Yang's shoulders were tense, her fists still clenched at her sides, a quiet frustration radiating off her in waves.

Pyrrha barely acknowledged his presence, too caught up in her own whirlwind of emotions.

And Weiss—

Weiss was the first to break the silence.

Her tone was sharp, her disbelief barely restrained as she pointed at the empty space in front of them.

"Professor," she said, voice clipped, "where did the Tempest go?"

Ozpin blinked, his expression shifting into something akin to innocent surprise.

"Oh? You didn't know?" he mused, adjusting his glasses as though this was nothing more than a casual misunderstanding.

The hairs on the back of Ruby's neck stood up.

That tone—that tone.

Weiss narrowed her eyes, unamused. "Know what?"

Ozpin gave a small chuckle, tilting his head slightly.

"Well," he said, "Jaune left yesterday for Vacuo. He mentioned needing some heavy metals for a weapon project he's been working on. Apparently, he found a supplier willing to sell in bulk."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Weiss's jaw locked. "Excuse me?"

Pyrrha stiffened.

Blake's ears twitched, her posture going eerily still.

Yang's eyes flickered to Ruby—who had gone completely rigid.

Ozpin continued, his tone as pleasant as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Yes, he and the other two—Ren and Nora, if I recall correctly—are spending the weekend there. But don't worry," he added with a small, reassuring smile, "they'll be back before classes start."

The words slammed into them like a freight train.

They stood there, staring, their minds trying to process what they had just heard.

Ruby felt something tighten in her chest.

He left.

Jaune left.

Without saying a word.

Without telling any of them.

Not even me.

Her fingers curled, gripping the hem of her sleeve, her breath catching in her throat.

"B-But…" Weiss started, trying to string together any form of rebuttal. "He didn't even—"

Ozpin chuckled again, turning as though this was hardly worth a second thought.

"Well," he mused, "I just assumed you all discussed it beforehand."

His eyes—sharp, knowing, endlessly amused—drifted over them, lingering just long enough to send a silent message.

You did this to yourselves.

Then, with a casual hum, he walked off, leaving them to wallow in their own realization.

The moment he was gone, the silence collapsed into something else entirely.

A storm of emotion.

"He left," Yang muttered, stunned. "He actually left."

Pyrrha's hands tightened into fists. "He thinks he can just—just teach us some kind of lesson?"

Weiss let out a scoff, though it lacked its usual bite. "Oh, come on, he's probably just—he's probably—"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Because there was no way to defend it.

Blake was quiet, her expression troubled as she ran through the events in her head.

And Ruby—

Ruby finally found her voice.

"…He wasn't being petty."

They all turned to her.

She swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

"He wasn't being petty. He wasn't—he wasn't running away or ignoring us just to prove a point."

Her heart pounded in her chest, a sickening realization taking root.

"He was giving us clarity."

Yang frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Ruby turned to face them fully, meeting their gazes head-on.

"This is what happens when we don't talk to each other," she said, her voice raw.

"This is what happens when we just—just assume things without explaining."

Pyrrha's eyes narrowed, her pride burning in her expression. "So what? He just thinks he's some kind of teacher, giving us a lesson in teamwork?"

Weiss crossed her arms. "Oh, please. He's probably just too busy with his work to even notice we left."

Ruby shook her head.

"He noticed."

That shut them up.

She inhaled, steadying herself.

"He knew. That's why he didn't reach out. He knew that if he did, we would have to be the ones to explain ourselves."

She exhaled, her stomach turning.

"That's why he left."

Weiss bristled, not liking the way Ruby was framing this.

"Oh, so now he's just some kind of enlightened figure?" she snapped. "What, are we supposed to just accept that he's right and we're wrong?"

Blake sighed, rubbing her temple. "I think the point is that he made it clear how things actually are. We didn't tell them what we were doing. We didn't reach out. We just… left."

Pyrrha's pride recoiled at the implication. "It wasn't some massive betrayal."

Ruby turned to her, her expression pained.

"You didn't even tell Ren and Nora."

Pyrrha froze.

That hit harder than anything else.

She hadn't even considered how they felt about this.

How Ren and Nora must have seen it.

Pyrrha looked away, clenching her jaw. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Ruby gave her a long look.

And Pyrrha felt small under it.

Yang clicked her tongue, crossing her arms. "So what now?"

No one had an answer.

Because there wasn't one.

Because the only people who could give them that answer—

Had already left.


The day stretched on, slow and heavy, the weight of the morning's realization pressing down on them like an anchor.

It wasn't as if anything had changed physically. The Task Force building was still the same—the polished floors, the well-maintained lounges, the familiar hum of the cooling system. Everything around them remained unchanged.

But the absence of three people—three very specific people—left an almost palpable emptiness.

Ruby sat at the table, hunched over Crescent Rose. Normally, maintenance was soothing. Something about carefully adjusting the delicate mechanisms, cleaning the inner workings, ensuring every fold and transition was flawless—it gave her peace.

Not today.

Today, it was just a chore.

She twisted a bolt into place, adjusting the sight with precision, but her fingers felt mechanical. Her mind wasn't engaged, her heart wasn't in it. She knew this weapon inside and out, but instead of that usual excitement—the kind of energy that came with perfecting her beloved Crescent Rose—she just felt…

Nothing.

She had barely slept, and it showed. Dark circles under her silver eyes, her movements sluggish. But more than that, it was the hollow ache in her chest that unsettled her.

The Tempest wasn't there.

Jaune, Ren, and Nora weren't here.

And it felt wrong.

Yang lounged on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, watching the others with a kind of subdued frustration.

This place felt off without Jaune around.

Say what you wanted about him, but he brought a presence to the room. It wasn't loud or overbearing, but it was solid. He matched her energy in his own way—not through jokes or laughter, but through that calm, effortless confidence.

Now?

Now it was just… quiet.

And not in a good way.

Ren wasn't here to balance things out, to be the voice of reason that kept everyone grounded.

Nora wasn't bouncing off the walls, adding a spontaneous element to their dynamic.

And Jaune—Jaune wasn't here to be the immovable center.

Even Blake, usually the calm one, hadn't said much. She was reading again, though Yang doubted she was really absorbing anything.

The whole room felt unbalanced.

Yang let out a slow breath through her nose, tapping her fingers against her knee, restless.

She hated feeling out of place.

Blake was reading—at least, that was the illusion.

Her eyes moved over the words, but they didn't really register.

Because, at the end of the day, the book didn't matter.

The room felt tense, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air, and she had no desire to be the one to break it.

Jaune leaving shouldn't have affected her this much. She wasn't exactly close to him, not in the way Ruby was. But she had grown used to him, to his presence, to the way he operated.

He was a force, a calm, immovable object amidst their chaos.

And now he was gone.

And she didn't know if he was coming back the same.

Because something about this felt final.

Weiss sat stiffly, arms crossed, tapping her nails against her sleeve. Her expression was neutral, but the tension in her shoulders spoke volumes.

Pyrrha, however, was the one truly fuming.

Her pride wouldn't let this go.

"We are making way too big a deal out of this," she finally muttered, shaking her head.

Weiss scoffed. "Oh, yes, I'm sure us sitting here like a group of abandoned children is exactly what they'd expect."

Ruby flinched at the word abandoned.

Pyrrha exhaled sharply through her nose. "They left. We didn't. And if they want to go off to Vacuo on their own, let them. I refuse to act like this is some sort of moral lesson."

Weiss huffed, shaking her head. "Agreed."

Then, after a brief pause, she stood up.

"Alright, enough of this," she announced. "If they want to go off and play metalworker in Vacuo, then fine. We are going to actually enjoy what this city has to offer."

Yang raised an eyebrow. "And that means…?"

Weiss smirked. "It means that if we're going to go out, we're doing it right. No more fast food, no more dives. We're going to some real establishments. I'm treating."

Blake looked up from her book, interested despite herself.

Pyrrha tilted her head. "You mean—"

"Yes," Weiss interrupted, flipping her hair. "High-class places. Real restaurants. Actual entertainment. You all have good dresses, don't you?"

Yang made a face. "You mean like fancy clothes?"

"Yes," Weiss deadpanned.

Blake smirked slightly. "I like this plan."

Pyrrha, her irritation slowly fading, nodded. "If nothing else, it's a good distraction."

Weiss nodded approvingly. "Good. Then go get ready, because I'm not taking any of you looking like we just rolled out of an Atlas barracks."

Yang groaned but stood up.

Ruby hesitated.

She wasn't really in the mood for a night out, but the alternative was staying here, stewing in her thoughts, staring at Crescent Rose like it could give her answers.

And that wasn't going to fix anything.

So, with a quiet sigh, she stood up too.

Weiss smirked. "Finally. Now, let's go remind ourselves why Vale is an actual civilization."

And for a moment—just a brief moment—Ruby let herself believe that this was a good idea.

Even as the unease in her gut refused to go away.


The evening was a whirlwind of luxury—a world of fine silks, polished silverware, and sparkling chandeliers that towered high above them. Weiss had fully committed to her promise of showing them what Vale had to offer, and as much as Ruby wanted to appreciate the effort, she couldn't shake the unease that had been gnawing at her since the moment they left Beacon.

Their first stop had been a boutique filled with extravagant dresses, the kind of place where the clerks glanced at them with thinly veiled skepticism until Weiss flashed her name—and her card. The transition had been instant; suddenly, the clerks were falling over themselves to assist, fetching silks, satins, and embroidered fabrics that felt more expensive than anything Ruby had ever worn.

Weiss had taken immediate control, picking out a deep blue dress for herself, something elegant yet commanding. Blake had chosen a sleek black number that flowed like liquid shadow, fitting her in a way that made it seem like she had done this a million times before. Pyrrha had settled on something traditional—a Mistralian-style dress, woven with gold threading that complemented her hair, making her look almost regal.

Ruby, on the other hand, had been dragged into a fitting room by an exasperated Weiss, who declared that her usual hoodie and combat boots were an abomination in high society. The result was a deep red cocktail dress—simple, but undeniably feminine, which made Ruby feel like a child playing dress-up.

And Yang? Yang had hated the entire process. She had practically glowered as the attendants fussed over her, eventually shoving her into something in a rich amethyst hue. The dress was beautiful, but the moment she put it on, she had sighed dramatically, adjusting the tight fabric as if it were a set of chains.

"We're gonna suffocate," Yang muttered as they stood in front of a mirror, looking at their polished reflections.

"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin," Ruby admitted, tugging at the hem of her dress.

Weiss, looking absolutely pristine, merely sighed. "You both need to stop acting like wild animals dragged into civilization."

Blake smirked. "I think that's exactly what happened."


Dinner was unreal.

They were escorted to a private dining hall with a view overlooking the city, the sky darkening into a deep, rich indigo as the lights of Vale flickered like a sea of golden stars. The restaurant's ambiance was filled with soft classical music, crystal chandeliers casting reflections across polished mahogany tables.

Everything had multiple forks.

Ruby had stared at her utensils for a full minute, utterly baffled, before Blake casually picked the correct one and started eating like she'd been raised in nobility.

The food was insanely fancy. Delicate cuts of meat arranged in artistic spirals, sauces that came in drizzled patterns, wines that were aged longer than Ruby had been alive.

"This steak is tiny," Yang complained, poking the ridiculously small piece on her plate.

Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's about quality, not quantity, you heathen."

The wine tasting had been the worst part for Ruby.

She had taken one sip, immediately scrunched her nose, and gagged. It was awful, bitter and dry, and she had absolutely no idea why rich people liked this stuff. Yang hadn't fared much better, while Weiss and Blake handled it with grace, and Pyrrha seemed to actually enjoy it.

"You just don't have a refined palate," Weiss had told her matter-of-factly.

"Or maybe it just tastes bad," Ruby had shot back.

Pyrrha had laughed at that, setting her glass down with a small smile. "It's an acquired taste."

Ruby had immediately decided she didn't want to acquire it.

From there, they had been ushered into a sleek, black limousine, the interior lined with leather, the ceiling adorned with tiny LED lights that mimicked a night sky. Ruby had never been in one before, and while the others seemed relatively at ease, she felt like she was in a movie about someone else's life.

They had stopped by a high-end shopping district, perusing designer brands that Ruby didn't even know existed. Weiss thrived here, moving between stores like she belonged, while Blake and Pyrrha blended in seamlessly.

Yang and Ruby?

They felt like imposters.

And then, finally, they arrived at the nightclub.

The place was packed, a grand hall filled with chandeliers that cast a golden glow over the swirling crowd. The music pulsed in rhythmic beats, not quite deafening, but strong enough that it settled into Ruby's bones, making her feel like she was floating in someone else's dream.

People danced—some slow, some wild, others with a kind of practiced elegance that made Ruby feel even more out of place. The dresses, the flashing lights, the sheer luxury of it all…

She didn't belong here.

Standing near the bathrooms, she pressed herself against the wall, watching as her team blended in seamlessly.

Yang was on the dance floor, moving like she was born for this, despite her earlier reluctance. Pyrrha and Weiss were deep in conversation with a man who looked far too important, his Mistralian suit clearly worth more than anything she owned.

Blake was enjoying herself, slipping through the crowd with practiced ease, the dim lighting catching the gold in her eyes as she moved.

Ruby felt small.

She had spent the whole day trying.

Trying to enjoy herself. Trying to be part of this world Weiss thrived in.

But she didn't.

She wasn't a high-class girl. She wasn't someone who enjoyed fine wine and luxury.

She was a Huntsman-in-training who liked simple things.

Tinkering with Crescent Rose.

Exploring the forests.

Sitting in the common room, listening to Jaune ramble about design principles while Ren sipped his tea and Nora playfully argued about something ridiculous.

She had spent the whole day trying to forget that things felt wrong.

But standing here—watching them all belong in a world that wasn't hers—she finally admitted it to herself.

She wanted to be back at Beacon.

She wanted to be back with everyone.

Even if it meant facing the consequences.


The streets of Vale were quiet, the night settling into a peaceful lull as the four of them made their way back to Beacon. The city lights cast long shadows across the pavement, the cool night air brushing against their skin. But the silence was interrupted—by the very loud, very wasted, Yang Xiao Long.

"Blake," Yang slurred, her body slumping against both her sister and her teammate as they half-dragged, half-carried her forward, "Blake, listen. Listen real close."

Blake sighed. "Yes, Yang?"

"I'm trapped in this dress," Yang groaned, her arms flailing uselessly, "and it's so hot. It's like—like my skin is suffocating. I need you to set me free. Cut me out of it. Like a prison break."

Ruby adjusted her grip on her sister before she tripped over her own feet. "Yang, we're not cutting you out of your dress."

"But it's evil, Rubes," Yang whined, tilting her head back dramatically, her golden curls cascading over Ruby's shoulder. "It's like—like it's eating my soul. Do you want my soul to be eaten, little sis? Do you?"

Blake, despite herself, chuckled, while Weiss groaned in absolute disgust from beside them. "This is exactly why I told you not to drink so much wine. You're an utter heathen, Yang."

Yang blinked slowly, squinting at Weiss like she was trying to figure out whether she was real or a hallucination. Then she grinned. "Weissy," she slurred, "I love you, but you gotta stop using words I don't understand when I'm this drunk. Just say 'uncivilized degenerate' like a normal person."

Weiss huffed. "That is exactly what I meant."

With immense effort, they finally reached the dorms, pushing through the quiet halls, the muffled sounds of other students already fast asleep behind closed doors. The weight of exhaustion, of the entire night, pressed against them.

"Alright," Blake exhaled, "we made it. Now, let's just—"

They dumped Yang onto her bed.

The blonde bounced once, arms sprawled out, before she let out a dramatic groan, twisting onto her stomach. "This bed is so soft. But I'm still trapped." She weakly pawed at the zipper on her dress, failing miserably. "Help. Help. The fashion police got me."

Ruby rubbed her temples. "Just sleep it off, Yang."

"Traitor."

"Goodnight, Yang," Blake muttered, already shutting the door behind them before their drunken teammate could say anything else.

Weiss sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair as she turned toward the rest of them. "I need to shower. I feel like I'm drenched in overpriced perfume."

"I need sleep," Blake mumbled.

They all exchanged tired nods, walking toward their respective rooms, quietly slipping inside without another word.

But Ruby—Ruby hesitated.

The moment she stepped inside her dorm, she didn't bother turning on the light. The glow from the window was enough, casting pale slivers of silver across the room.

She sat on her bed.

Then fell back onto the mattress, sprawled out, still in the dress.

She didn't care enough to take it off.

Everything felt… off.

Her mind was still spinning—not from alcohol, not from exhaustion, but from the lingering thoughts that wouldn't leave her alone.

She had fun today. She had enjoyed herself. She had tried.

But it had felt like an escape, not something real.

She had wanted to distract herself from the guilt, from the unshakable wrongness that had followed her all day.

And it had worked.

Until now.

Now, lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the fabric of her dress too tight against her skin, it was just her and her thoughts again.

Jaune was gone.

Ren and Nora were gone.

And she had no idea what to do about it.


The morning light streamed through the windows, bright and golden, as the weekend continued to roll forward. The energy in the dorm was markedly better than the day before—for everyone except Ruby.

The previous night's escapades, as exhausting and extravagant as they had been, had somehow lifted the spirits of her team. Weiss, despite her usual stick-in-the-mud attitude, had actually started enjoying herself somewhere between the wine tastings and the absurd amount of designer shopping. Blake, for all her reluctance, had adapted with quiet grace, as if she had spent time in places like that before—though Ruby suspected it was more out of habit than enjoyment. Pyrrha, ever the adaptable warrior, had seamlessly flowed through every situation with an almost amused curiosity, making polite conversation and even indulging in the fancy dancing with a level of elegance that had made Weiss proud.

And Yang… well, Yang had made it her personal mission to corrupt the high-class setting with her chaotic energy. And it had worked.

But Ruby?

Ruby had spent the entire night feeling like she was somewhere she didn't belong.

And this morning, as she sat half-heartedly picking at a slice of toast, she realized that feeling hadn't gone away.

"Alright," Yang suddenly slammed her hands on the table, jolting everyone awake with her usual enthusiasm. "We did Weiss' version of fun, and don't get me wrong, fancy meals, high-class dancing, and expensive wine were… an experience—"

"You got wasted," Weiss deadpanned.

Yang grinned. "A memorable experience. But now, it's my turn."

Weiss narrowed her eyes. "And what, exactly, does your turn entail?"

Yang smirked, leaning forward like she was about to drop the most scandalous secret of the century. "Oh, you know… an actual good time."

Weiss tilted her head slightly, suspicion growing. "You say that as if yesterday wasn't a good time."

"It was a good time," Yang admitted, "if you like stuffy rich people parties and tiny portions of overpriced food."

Weiss' eyebrow twitched.

Pyrrha hummed in amusement, folding her hands together. "I have to admit, I'm curious, Yang. What exactly is your idea of a good time?"

Blake sighed, already rubbing her temples as if she could sense what was coming. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You should," Weiss huffed, lifting her cup of tea with a knowing look. "Yang's definition of fun is reckless, loud, and borderline illegal."

Yang grinned wolfishly. "That just sounds like you're scared, Princess."

Weiss froze, mid-sip.

Slowly, she lowered her cup, her icy blue eyes sharp and dangerous. "Excuse me?"

Yang leaned back, clearly enjoying this. "Oh, I don't know, maybe all that fancy wine last night made you a little soft. Maybe you can't handle a little fun that doesn't involve ballrooms and overpriced cheese platters."

That was it.

Weiss' entire demeanor shifted, her pride bristling like an offended cat.

"Fine," she snapped, slamming her cup down with finality. "We'll do things your way today, Xiao Long. And I will prove that I can handle whatever nonsense you've planned."

Yang laughed, absolutely delighted.

"Atta girl, Weiss."

Blake, meanwhile, looked almost resigned.

"I'm already regretting this," she muttered.

Pyrrha, however, simply smiled, intrigued. "Well, I suppose it would be nice to see a different side of Vale."

With the plans set, Yang clapped her hands together, already buzzing with excitement.

And then Ruby spoke up for the first time all morning.

"I think… I'm gonna sit this one out."

That immediately made everyone pause.

Yang's golden eyes snapped to her sister, concern flickering across her face. "You feeling okay, Rubes?"

Weiss tilted her head slightly, looking Ruby over like a concerned parent. "It's probably the caviar," she muttered. "Or the wine you insisted on trying."

Ruby forced a weak laugh, waving her hand. "Yeah, yeah, probably one of those. Or both. Fish babies and fancy juice—bad combo."

Yang frowned deeply, scanning her sister's face before gently nudging her arm. "You want me to stay with you?"

Ruby shook her head quickly. "No, no, go have fun. I'll just—lay down, sleep it off or something." She forced another smile, hoping it was convincing enough.

Yang hesitated for a moment, her gaze searching Ruby's far-too-tired expression, before finally nodding. "Alright… but if you need me, call me. Got it?"

Ruby nodded. "Got it."

Yang stood up, stretching. "Alright, ladies, time to show you what real fun is."

As they filed out of the room, Ruby watched them go, her forced smile dropping the moment the door clicked shut.

And then, for the first time in two days—

She was alone.

With nothing but her thoughts.

And the nagging, gnawing guilt that refused to leave her.


Ruby sat there for what felt like forever, her thoughts swirling like a storm she couldn't escape from.

Her fingers twitched slightly, and before she even fully processed the motion, she found herself reaching into her pocket and pulling out her Scroll.

The screen lit up, casting a faint glow on her face in the dim common room. Jaune's last message stared back at her.

"We know."

That was all it said. No accusations. No anger. Just two simple words, but they carried a weight she couldn't shake off.

Had he meant we as in him and his team? Did Ren and Nora know, too?

Or did he mean something else?

She exhaled through her nose, tapping the screen, her thumb hovering uncertainly. Maybe… maybe she should just message him—something simple, something casual, something that wouldn't make it obvious how much she was freaking out.

Maybe just a quick—

Her thumb slipped.

Her eyes widened in absolute horror as the video call button lit up.

NO. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO—

She scrambled, panic shooting up her spine, her breath catching in her throat as the screen shifted to calling status.

END. END. END, END, END.

She jabbed at the cancel button, fingers moving far too fast—

And then the screen changed.

Her entire body locked up.

Because instead of the screen going dark—

A familiar face appeared.

Jaune.

Dressed in a dust-covered miner's outfit, looking like he had just stepped out of some industrial hellscape, a helmet pushed back onto his head, his blue eyes sharp but mildly inquisitive.

He blinked once, then greeted her like nothing was wrong.

"Good morning, Ruby."