The war room felt colder than the Vacuo desert outside.
Ruby's hand was still pressed against Jaune's breastplate, the metal cold beneath her trembling fingers. Her voice had broken halfway through the retelling of the battle, the sword flashing, the Queen's scream, the silence after it all. By the time she stopped speaking, her silver eyes were shimmering, wet with unshed tears.
"You killed her," she whispered, voice ragged. "You ended it. But what she… what she did to you…"
Her throat closed around the words. She stepped back, her hand falling to her side. Crescent Rose hung heavily behind her, useless in a room like this.
Jaune said nothing. He hadn't said a word since Ruby started telling the tale. His eyes through hidden by his helmet were cast down at the smaller girl. Not sad, not broken. Just unbearably quiet.
Weiss moved first. She placed a hand gently on Ruby's shoulder, steadying her before speaking herself.
"He did what none of us could," Weiss said, her voice calm but firm. "The Queen is gone. Because of him. That matters." She tried to see Jaune's eyes but as usual the darkness was impenetrable.
Yang crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. "Does it? After three years of serving her? After carrying out her orders?" Her golden eyes were sharp. "We don't know who he is anymore…we all have seen his handiwork."
Blake's tone was quieter but no less pointed. "I don't know if we can trust him. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
Weiss turned sharply, her icy gaze flashing. "She dismantled him, piece by piece, and he still found the strength to end her. Don't you dare call that nothing!" She exclaimed hotly.
"Ending her doesn't erase what came before," Blake countered.
Ruby flinched at their voices, squeezing her eyes shut as if the argument itself was too much.
And then Nora's voice cut through, trembling, raw.
"She used you."
The words dropped like stones.
Everyone turned.
Nora stood rigid, fists trembling at her sides, her face wet with tears she couldn't stop. She stared at Jaune like she was seeing both her teammate and a stranger at once.
"You let her use you," she said, her voice rising. "You let her turn you into her knife. For years."
Jaune finally looked up, meeting her eyes. He didn't speak. He didn't need to — the pain in his silence was enough.
Nora's voice cracked. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Waiting for you, praying you'd walk back into the room like you used to? You were my leader, Jaune. My family. And all that time, you were… hers." She spat last word like a venom.
Ren stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm, steady and supportive. But his face — normally calm — showed the same pain.
"I know it's not fair to blame you," Nora went on, shaking her head furiously. "I know she broke you. I know she made you do things you never would've done." Her breath hitched, uneven. "But it still hurts. It hurts so much to know you were there, and I couldn't reach you. None of us could."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and trembling. "I needed you, Jaune. And instead, the Queen got you…did you even try to find way back during all this time?"
The room was silent except for Nora's uneven breaths.
Jaune's lips parted, but no words came. His jaw clenched once, his shoulders hunched — as if the weight of her pain pressed harder than any blade.
Small indication that somewhere Nora's pain reached him. A silver lining of hope…
Ren steadied Nora as she sagged against him, but his own eyes lingered on Jaune with quiet sorrow. He didn't speak either. There was nothing to say.
Ruby turned her tear-streaked face back toward Jaune, silver eyes burning with grief. Weiss stayed at her side, protective, unwavering. Yang and Blake watched him from the shadows of suspicion, unwilling to let go of their doubts.
And Jaune stood in the middle of it all — silent, scarred, carrying every word like another cut across his soul.
The silence after Nora's breakdown stretched long, heavy, suffocating.
Finally, Ozpin stepped forward, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His calm voice carried, even in the oppressive quiet.
"You have all spoken from the heart. And I believe it is necessary. These truths are painful, but they must be heard." His eyes flicked briefly toward Jaune. "What you endured in the Ever After was… beyond cruelty. It twisted you into something you were never meant to be. And yet, in the end, you struck down the Queen. That choice matters."
Winter's voice followed, sharp and precise. "It matters, yes. But we cannot ignore that he spent years as her weapon. Every mission we plan, every room we allow him in we risk that weapon being turned again. We cannot afford blind trust."
Qrow let out a humorless snort, crossing his arms. "She's not wrong. I don't care if he gutted the Queen or kissed her goodnight. I've buried too many friends to gamble on someone who doesn't even know if he's still himself. I'll watch his back but I'll watch my own harder."
Professor Theodore leaned forward in his chair, the desert sun carving harsh lines into his weathered face. "I've seen soldiers who've done worse and walked free. But the difference is, they didn't scare their own allies just by standin' in the room. Right now, Arc, you ain't just a man. You're a symbol and not a good one."
On the comm screen, Glynda adjusted her glasses, her voice clipped but softer than usual. "Symbols can be reforged. But it will take time. Trust cannot be demanded, only earned." She looked directly at Jaune through the flickering connection. "And the first step is deciding if you truly stand with us or if you are still standing apart."
All eyes turned back to him.
Jaune finally lifted his gaze from the floor. His expression was calm too calm but his eyes burned with something sharper.
"You keep saying it matters that I killed her," he said, voice low but cutting. "That it proves something about my humanity."
He looked straight at Ozpin now.
"Tell me the truth. Do you really want Jaune Arc back? Or do you want the Knave, a weapon just pointed at Salem this time?"
The question hung in the air like a blade at everyone's throat.
It wasn't an easy silence. It pressed into everyone's chest, made breaths shallow and eyes dart.
Ruby swallowed hard, her lips trembling. She wanted to say something, to tell him he was wrong, that she still saw her teammate. The words caught in her throat, tangled in grief.
Weiss stood taller, arms folded, her expression composed. Beneath the calm, her knuckles had gone white. She had already chosen her side, yet even she couldn't cut through the weight of his question.
Yang shifted against the table, her crossed arms tightening, jaw clenched. She did not look away from Jaune, but she did not speak either. The suspicion in her eyes had not dimmed.
Blake's ears twitched once, but her face stayed still, unreadable. Her silence said more than words could. She did not trust the answer, whichever way it fell.
Nora stood with Ren's hand steadying her shoulder, her face streaked with tears. She looked at Jaune as though searching for the friend she remembered, finding only shadows. Her silence was not guarded. It was broken.
Ren's eyes flickered between them all. He said nothing, but the heaviness in his gaze showed he felt the cut of Jaune's words just as much as Nora.
Winter's posture was rigid, her gloved hands clasped behind her back. She stared at Jaune like she was memorizing his every twitch, weighing soldier against man, and not liking the math.
Qrow leaned back in his chair, flask loose in his hand. His red eyes stayed fixed on Jaune, but for once, the smirk was gone. He let the silence do the talking.
On the comms screen, Glynda's mouth pressed into a tight line. No words. No orders. Just the faint flicker of static across her image as the silence drew out.
"That is the choice before us all," Ozpin said softly. "And it is a choice that only you can make."
Jaune clenched his jaw yet again.
"Whatever I am in your eyes…know that I wish for the end of Salem as much as you do." He finally spoke seeing the relief on the gathered faces. "With Vorpal Blade I can end her once and for all…"
"Yet what if it doesn't work?" Ozpin spoke. "I tried using Blade of Destruction on her once and did not succeed?"
"If the Vorpal Blade is not enough…" Jaune reached to his pocked and pulled a painfully familiar key." There is other solution…this is the key that allows you to access Ever After…if Vorpal Blade fails we can always throw her there. This place have a…way to deal with individuals."
Jaune clenched his jaw again.
"Whatever I am in your eyes, know that I wish for the end of Salem as much as you do."
He finally spoke, and the weight in the room shifted. For the first time, there was a flicker of relief in the gathered faces.
"With Vorpal Blade I can end her once and for all."
Ozpin's brow furrowed. "Yet what if it does not work? I once tried to strike her with the Blade of Destruction. It did not succeed."
"If the Vorpal Blade is not enough…" Jaune reached into his pocket. Slowly, he drew out a small, metallic shape. A key. Its edges shimmered faintly in the dim light, the sight of it painfully familiar.
"There is another solution. This key opens the path to Ever After. If the Vorpal Blade fails, we can cast Salem into that world. And let it deal with her, as it has dealt with others."
The silence shattered.
"You can't be serious." Ruby's voice was sharp with disbelief.
Yang slammed a fist against the table. "You want to dump Salem on them? After everything they've been through? After what we just saw there?"
Blake's ears pressed back, her eyes narrowing. "You would make the Ever After carry our burden. You would let its people suffer just so Remnant doesn't?"
Weiss's composure faltered for the first time. "Jaune… you would condemn an entire realm to the fate we've spent years fighting here…"
Nora's voice broke into a half-sob, half-yell. "Haven't they suffered enough!?"
Jaune's eyes hardened. He did not raise his voice, but each word carried weight.
"What is the alternative? Destroy Remnant outright in another desperate gamble? Watch Salem swallow everything we know and love? I will not let that happen. Not again."
Ruby's hands shook as they clenched into fists. "That isn't a solution, Jaune. It's just moving the knife from one throat to another."
Jaune took a step forward, his presence cold, unyielding.
"It is survival. And sometimes survival means giving the burden to the world that can bear it. The Ever After is not like us. Its laws are different. Its very nature is to consume and reshape. Salem would not rule it. It would unmake her."
Yang glared, teeth bared. "Or she would unmake it. And then we'd have two worlds burning instead of one."
Ren finally spoke, his tone quiet but resolute. "Sending her there would not only be selfish. It would betray everyone who fought for freedom in that land. Cheshire. The rebels. The innocents Team RWBY swore to protect when we toppled the Queen."
Weiss turned her gaze to Jaune, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "You speak of survival, Jaune. But what you are proposing is not survival. It is passing the curse forward. It is condemning others so that we do not bleed."
Ruby's eyes brimmed with tears. "You're still letting her control you. Even now. She taught you to see people as tools to be sacrificed. And you're still thinking like her."
Jaune's helmeted face shifted then. For the first time since returning, pain flickered openly in his eyes. Getting through the darkness. He looked down at the key in his hand, its edges gleaming like guilt incarnate.
"I don't see them as tools," he said softly. "I see them as the last chance to stop her. Because if Remnant falls, there won't be anyone left to fight. Not here. Not there. Not anywhere."
The room went silent again. But this silence was no longer stunned. It was fractured, divided, hanging on the edge of an impossible choice.
Ozpin finally spoke, his tone heavy. "You may believe it is a solution, Jaune. But I fear it may be the birth of something worse…Queen of Hearts was once a human too…"
And again, the silence returned, heavier than before.
Winter's voice cut sharply through the air. "Perhaps it is not as unthinkable as you suggest. Remnant is bleeding. Our armies are depleted, Atlas lies in ruins, and Vacuo strains beneath waves of refugees. Salem only grows stronger. If we cannot kill her here, then exile may be the only alternative."
Blake's head snapped toward her, disbelief flashing in her amber eyes. "You cannot be serious."
Qrow let out a humorless laugh. "She is. And I hate to admit it, but she has a point. We're hanging on by threads. Another push from Salem, and this whole thing collapses. You think people care where she ends up as long as she's gone?"
"People should care," Ruby's voice cracked, high and pained. "We saw what Ever After became under a tyrant. We saw the scars. And now you want to throw Salem into it? To let them pay the price for our survival?"
Professor Theodore leaned forward, his heavy hands pressed to the table. His voice was low, gravelly. "I've lived my whole life preparing for the day the desert swallowed me. But I'd rather damn one strange land none of us understand than see Vacuo buried in Grimm. If the boy's key can take her away from us, I say use it."
Glynda's image flickered on the comms screen. Her lips pressed thin, but her voice was steady. "Professor Theodore is not alone in his fear. Mistral's government is fractured, Mantle no longer exists, Vale stands vulnerable, and Vacuo teeters on collapse. Our people demand survival, not ideals. If Remnant falls, there will be nothing left to debate."
Yang slammed her palm against the table. "So we just pass the nightmare along? Pretend it's mercy because it isn't our home she destroys?"
"Better them than everyone," Theodore said bluntly.
Blake's ears pressed flat against her head, her voice rising. "No. Not better them. We are not executioners. Not of Salem, and not of another world."
Weiss stepped forward then, her voice sharp as a blade. "If we do this, then we become the very thing we swore to fight. We become tyrants choosing who lives and who burns. That is not survival. That is surrender of everything worth saving."
Ruby's hands shook as she stared at Jaune, eyes brimming with tears. "Don't let them talk you into this. Don't let the Queen win even now."
Jaune's grip on the key tightened, his knuckles white. His voice came out low, ragged. "And if the alternative is the end of Remnant? If Salem devours everything here, what then? Do you think the Ever After matters more than this world? More than the people we still have left?"
The room splintered around him.
Winter's face was pale, but her eyes were hard. "I will not sacrifice what remains of Atlas for the sake of strangers. If Remnant falls, it all falls."
Theodore grunted in agreement.
Qrow shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I hate it, but damn me if I don't see the logic. We're out of time, and options."
Weiss's voice was like ice. "I will never stand for it. Never."
Ruby whispered, trembling. "Neither will I."
Blake's silence was sharp, but her glare left no doubt she stood with them.
Ren's quiet voice slipped through the chaos, calm but heavy. "If we choose this path, we are not saving Remnant. We are damning it to live with the stain of what we've done. Forever."
Nora's voice cracked, her tears falling freely. "And I don't know if I can forgive that. Not in Jaune. Not in any of us."
The chamber devolved into a storm of raised voices, sharp words, and fractured loyalties.
And at the center of it, Jaune stood, the key clenched in his hand, the question he had raised now burning into every soul present.
Was Jaune Arc their ally? Or was the Knave of Hearts still speaking through him?
And even more importantly which one they needed more right now.
The heavy doors of the council chamber slammed shut behind them, muffling the echo of divided voices inside. The hallway was wide, lined with Vacuo sandstone, but it felt suffocatingly narrow with the weight that hung between them.
Jaune walked ahead, Vorpal Blade strapped to his back, the faint gleam of the Ever After key still visible at his belt. His steps were steady, but there was no pride in them. Just a soldier's march.
Behind him, footsteps quickened. Ruby's voice broke the silence first.
"You can't really believe this."
Jaune didn't stop.
Ruby pushed forward, her silver eyes burning with tears. "Sending her there… after everything we saw, everything those people already went through. You'd just hand Salem over to them like she's their problem? Jaune, that's not you. That's not the boy who stood with us at Beacon, or the man who carried us Mistral and Atlas. That's… something else…" One could almost hear her heart shattering with those words.
Jaune's shoulders tightened, the smallest reaction, but enough.
Weiss caught up on Ruby's side. Her tone was sharp, colder than she had meant it to be. "For once, I cannot defend you. That plan… it is monstrous. Perhaps pragmatic, yes, but monstrous all the same. If you believe it, then I don't know if you're…" She bit her lip as words died on her lips.
His head tilted ever so slightly, but he kept walking.
Blake's voice followed, quiet but cutting. "I knew I didn't trust you. I wanted to, but I knew. This proves it."
Yang crossed her arms tightly, her voice low and furious. "You're sounding more like the Queen every time you open your mouth. And you don't even hear it."
Jaune's jaw flexed, the faintest twitch, then stillness.
Behind them, Nora's voice cracked. "Why, Jaune? Why would you even think of doing that? After everything that you took from them. After everything they suffered there. You'd send her back to torment it again?"
Her steps faltered, her tears coming hot and fast. "I know it's not fair. I know you didn't ask for any of this. But hearing you say that… I can't bear it. I needed to believe you were still you. That you still care. And now I don't know if I can believe that anymore."
Ren placed a hand gently on her arm, grounding her, his face unreadable but eyes heavy with quiet pain. He did not add to her words. He didn't need to.
Jaune slowed, then stopped in the middle of the hallway.
He did not turn. He did not speak.
But his head bowed ever so slightly, the faintest slump in his posture betraying the weight pressing down on him.
The others stared at him, waiting, desperate for some answer, some denial, some crack in the silence.
None came.
As if collecting himself, Jaune straightened, squared his shoulders, and moved forward down the hall. He didn't look back. He didn't speak. His footsteps rang against the sandstone until the sound thinned and faded, leaving only the ache of his absence.
Ruby stood frozen, her hand still stretched in the air, fingers trembling. "Jaune…" Her voice broke on his name, and she pulled her hand back to her chest as though the gesture itself had cut her. "He's still him. He has to be. I saw it in him, I did… but why does he sound like this? Why is he still talking like… like her?"
Weiss closed her eyes, steadying herself, though her knuckles were white as she pressed them to her side. "I always defended him," she admitted, her voice quiet but sharp. "I told myself he wasn't gone, that the Knave was only a mask. But hearing him suggest that… that he would sacrifice Ever After as if it were a chess piece…" Her composure faltered for a moment, her words catching. "I am not so sure anymore."
Nora was shaking, gripping Ren's arm as though her legs alone would not hold her. "Do you know how many nights I told myself that the next sunrise, I'd see him walk through the door, smiling like an idiot?" Her tears fell fast, streaking her cheeks. "And now he's back, but it's like…like this bitch! Ripped out something out of him. I don't even recognize him anymore." She pressed her face into her hands with a muffled sob. "And I hate myself for even saying that."
Ren's hand rubbed her back gently, his expression pained but quiet, giving her the space to grieve.
Ruby turned suddenly, her silver eyes blazing through tears. "We can't let him do this. Not him, not anyone. Ever After isn't ours to damn. We fought so hard to free it from the Queen's grip, and now Jaune…" She stopped, her voice breaking. "Now Jaune wants to punish it with Salem like it's nothing."
Blake's fists clenched. Her voice was tight with anger. "I've seen this before. People are convincing themselves that cruelty is just practicality, that hurting others is the only way forward. That's exactly what Adam did. That's what he told himself every time he bled someone dry. And look where it led him."
Yang flinched at Adam's name but nodded slowly, her amber eyes narrowing. "And Raven," she added. "Always telling herself survival justified abandoning us, abandoning me. Always convincing herself that betrayal was a strategy. Jaune's starting to sound just like them."
Ruby's tears spilled over. "No! He's not them. He's not. He's Jaune. He's our friend. He's…" Her voice shook. "…he's supposed to be better than this."
Nora lifted her head, her voice trembling with grief. "He was. That's what hurts the most."
Weiss's voice cut through, colder than usual, though pain lingered beneath it. "We cannot pretend we didn't hear him. He holds the key, and he spoke of using it as though it were his right. If Jaune insists on that plan, we may have no choice but to take it from him."
Ruby's eyes widened, horrified. "Weiss—"
"Do you think I want this?" Weiss's voice rose, sharper than she intended. This damn Vacuan dust made her eyes water. "I do not. But the Ever After has bled enough. If Jaune will not see that, then we must stop him before he condemns it again. I will not stand by and watch him become the Queen's shadow all over again."
Ruby's sob tore out of her. She turned away, burying her face in her hands.
Yang's jaw was set, unflinching. "Weiss is right. If it comes to him or Ever After, we can't let him make that call."
Blake's ears flicked with agitation. "But we need to be careful. He won't give it up willingly. Not now."
Nora's voice cracked, her whole frame shaking. "So what, we fight him? We steal from him? After everything he's been through, after everything he already lost?" She shook her head violently. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to be another person who abandons him."
Ren's voice was quiet, but it carried. "Sometimes love is not letting someone destroy themselves. Or others."
The group fell into silence then, the weight of Ren's words pressing down on them.
Ruby wiped her eyes, her voice ragged but determined. "If we have to stop him… We'll do it together. For him. For Ever After. For everyone."
Weiss nodded slowly, though her eyes lingered down the hall where Jaune had gone.
Yang and Blake exchanged a grim look.
Nora pressed herself closer to Ren, her tears unending.
And in that silent hall, they all understood: the next battle might not be against Salem.
It might be against Jaune himself.
The training hall at Shade Academy was empty at this hour. Torches guttered along the stone walls, throwing uneven shadows across the racks of weapons and sparring dummies.
Jaune entered without a word, the Vorpal Blade strapped to his back and stepped into the center of the floor.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, breathing. The silence pressed close.
Then crystal hissed as the Vorpal Blade came free.
He moved suddenly, violently. A slash to the left, a downward cut, a pivot into a thrust. The blade whistled as it carved through empty air. His boots scraped against the floor in a rhythm that was both methodical and furious.
Again.
The sword spun in his hands, arcs of silver catching the torchlight. He slashed at a wooden post, splinters flying. He pivoted low, blade dragging sparks against stone, then rose in a flurry of cuts that left nothing untouched.
Again.
Sweat gathered on his brow, his breath coming harsher, but he did not stop. He flowed from one form to the next, strikes smooth and relentless. Parry. Riposte. Overhead cleave. Spinning cut. His body remembered even when his mind fought to forget.
Again.
The post cracked under a savage blow, half of it shearing away. Jaune pressed on, striking the remains until wood splintered and collapsed at his feet.
He didn't pause. He turned to the next target and began again.
The training room echoed with steel and breath, a rhythm of violence. It wasn't practice. It wasn't discipline. It was something closer to punishment.
Sweat poured down his face, mixing with dust. His knuckles whitened on the hilt. His eyes burned with a focus that was closer to rage than training.
Again.
The Vorpal Blade bit deep into another post, cutting it nearly in two. Jaune wrenched it free with a harsh growl, his chest heaving.
He stopped only when there was nothing left to strike. The training dummies were ruined, the floor scarred with long, jagged lines.
Jaune stood in the wreckage, breathing raggedly, the sword hanging heavy in his grip.
For a long moment, the silence returned.
And in it, Jaune's reflection stared back at him from the gleam of the Vorpal Blade. Not a knight. Not a leader. Not even a man.
Something else.
He clenched his jaw, lifted the sword, and began again.
The training hall echoed with steel and breath, each strike of the Vorpal Blade cutting through silence like thunder. Jaune's movements were relentless, a storm of steel carving into dummies and posts until nothing stood whole. Splinters littered the floor, gouges scarred the stone.
He moved like a man possessed. Parry. Thrust. Spinning cut. Overhead strike. Again. Again. Again. Each blow sharper, faster, more desperate, as though striking away ghosts that clung too tightly to his skin.
From the doorway, two figures watched in silence.
Qrow leaned against the frame, flask hanging loose in his hand but unopened. His usual smirk was absent. His eyes followed Jaune's every movement with quiet gravity.
Beside him, Taiyang crossed his arms, his expression hard to read. The torchlight carved deep shadows into the lines of his face. He had seen this before, too many times. Young men burning themselves out on the edge of a blade, mistaking exhaustion for control.
"Kid's eating himself alive," Qrow muttered at last, voice low.
Taiyang's jaw tightened. "Not eating. Drowning."
Qrow let out a humorless chuckle. "Either way, he won't come up for air unless someone drags him."
Taiyang's eyes stayed fixed on Jaune. The boy's form was precise, but there was no balance in it. Each cut was too sharp, each strike too punishing, a war not against a dummy but against himself.
"Reminds me of Raven, back when she'd disappear for days," Tai said quietly. "Come back sharper, stronger, but empty. All edge, no heart."
"Yeah," Qrow said, his voice dropping. "Or me, when I thought if I just kept fighting long enough, the bottle wouldn't win."
Jaune let out a ragged breath as he split another dummy in two. He stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, sword hanging heavy at his side.
Qrow pushed off the doorframe, finally lifting his flask but still not drinking. "If we let him keep this up, he'll break before Salem ever gets the chance."
Taiyang gave a short nod. "Then we don't let him."
Together, they stepped into the room. The sound of their boots echoed against stone. Jaune's head turned slightly, eyes narrowed, his breathing still uneven.
Neither man spoke at first. They simply stopped a few paces from him, letting the silence stretch.
Then Taiyang broke it. "You'll wear yourself down faster like that. Training's not about bleeding yourself dry."
Jaune's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Qrow twirled his unopened flask once before slipping it into his coat. "You're not the only one with ghosts. You think swinging harder makes 'em go away? Trust me, it doesn't."
Jaune's eyes flicked between them, guarded, but he remained silent.
Taiyang took a step closer, his presence solid, unyielding. "You want to burn this out of yourself? Fine. But do it against something that can hit back."
He glanced at Qrow, then back at Jaune. "How about a spar?"
Qrow cracked his knuckles, a faint, tired grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Two against one, if you're feeling brave. We'll even go easy on you."
For the first time since entering the room, Jaune's grip on the Vorpal Blade shifted, the faintest sign of consideration.
The silence between them was heavy. Then Jaune nodded, setting the Vorpal Blade carefully against the wall. His boots carried him to the weapon rack, where he pulled free a practice blade, its weight close to a claymore.
He swung it a few times through the air, the steel hissing as it cut the silence. Not perfect. But good enough.
Qrow smirked faintly, drawing his own training sword, a slender replica of Harbinger. Beside him, Taiyang didn't reach for a weapon. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands, and cracked his knuckles.
"No blade for me," Tai said evenly. "Been breaking Grimm bones with these for decades. Let's see how you handle it."
The three men spread across the floor. Torchlight flickered against the battered walls and broken dummies.
For a long moment, no one moved. They simply watched each other, circling slowly, every breath measured.
Qrow broke first, darting in with a low thrust. Jaune raised his claymore, deflecting the strike with a clang. Before he could reset, Taiyang surged forward, fists up. His right hand lashed out, a hook that forced Jaune to pivot back. The claymore came up instinctively between them, absorbing the blow against flat steel. The impact rattled Jaune's arms.
Taiyang didn't let up. He pressed close, fists flashing in a rhythm of strikes — jabs, crosses, a sharp knee aimed toward Jaune's side. Jaune twisted, blocking and parrying with the broad blade, each deflection costing him strength.
Qrow slid back into range, his training sword cutting in from the side. Jaune turned just in time to catch it with the claymore's edge, sparks flickering as the weapons locked. But that moment left him open.
Tai's fist slammed against his shoulder, sending him staggering.
Jaune reset, planting his feet, chest rising and falling. He swung the claymore in a heavy arc, forcing Qrow to retreat, but Taiyang slipped under the wide swing. His palm struck Jaune's ribs, the force driving him back another step.
The sound of fists and steel echoed in the empty hall, each strike measured but heavy with intent. It wasn't a brawl, not yet. It was a conversation in movement, a test.
Jaune swung downward at Qrow, the claymore a blur of weight. Qrow caught it with his blade, their weapons screeching together. At the same time, Tai slipped in again, fists pounding against Jaune's guard, forcing him to shift his footing or be overwhelmed.
They broke apart, all three breathing harder now.
Qrow's grin was sharp, his eyes glinting. "Not bad, kid. You've got the technique. Still know how to keep two sets of eyes on you."
Tai's fists dropped to his sides, but his gaze never left Jaune. "But you're stiff. Everything you throw's got rage behind it. Rage doesn't win fights. Control does."
Jaune said nothing. His only response was to bring the claymore back into guard, silent and unyielding, ready for another exchange.
Qrow tilted his head at Tai, then back at Jaune. "Guess we'll see how long before he breaks."
The training hall echoed with steel and fists, every sound sharp against the torchlit silence. Jaune held the claymore in both hands, feet steady, his eyes fixed, his breathing measured. There was no fire in his expression, no raw fury. Only focus.
Qrow circled left, sword loose in one hand, testing jabs, flicking out to probe Jaune's guard. Taiyang stalked right, fists raised, his stance low and coiled like a spring.
Jaune didn't lunge recklessly. He didn't overextend. He waited, eyes calculating, blade angled to cover his center.
Qrow darted in, his sword snapping toward Jaune's midsection. Jaune shifted just enough, claymore sliding down to knock the thrust aside. Before Qrow could reset, Jaune twisted his wrists, blade turning in a brutal arc toward Qrow's head. It stopped an inch from his temple. Controlled. Deliberate. Deadly.
Tai moved then, closing the gap with a burst of speed. His fist lashed out, aiming for Jaune's ribs. Jaune rotated his shoulder, catching the blow on the flat of his blade. Without missing a beat, he shoved forward, forcing Tai back with sheer strength.
They broke apart again.
Qrow's eyes narrowed. "Kid doesn't swing like a kid anymore."
Tai exhaled through his nose, adjusting his footing. "No wasted movements. Every strike's meant to kill."
The fight resumed.
Qrow pressed high, feinting with an overhead slash. Jaune didn't bite. His blade stayed grounded, rising only at the last second to parry the true strike at his leg. He pivoted, shoulder-checking Qrow back before the huntsman could counter.
Tai lunged in, fists flashing. A jab toward Jaune's face, a hook at his ribs, a stomp aimed for his knee. Jaune turned each aside with short, efficient motions — the claymore blocking, his body twisting just enough to slip past the force. His counters weren't flashy. They weren't showy. They were precise. Ruthless.
Qrow chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "He's not fighting us like sparring partners. He's fighting us like enemies."
Tai's jaw tightened. "Like a soldier."
Jaune pressed forward suddenly, blade whipping in a diagonal cut that Qrow barely caught on the flat of his sword. The weight drove him back a step, boots scraping the stone floor. Tai darted in to flank, but Jaune spun, bringing the claymore around in a sweeping guard that kept both at bay.
The three reset, breathing heavier now, circling once more.
Qrow tilted his head, watching him. "This is what Ever After made you, huh? No flourishes, no wasted breath. Just efficient. Brutal."
Taiyang's fists clenched. He didn't take his eyes off Jaune. "Knave of Hearts indeed…"
Just as those words left his mouth, both older men realized that they were fighting a legend, a bogeyman their parents taught them to fear. They could easily imagine his now-repaired armor, rusted with blood. His emotionless helmet was something akin to the skull itself.
Jaune didn't respond. He didn't need to. His silence, his control, and the way he held that claymore like an executioner's tool said more than words could.
And for the first time, Qrow and Tai felt the weight of just how much Jaune Arc had changed. Both males exchanged looks. They knew that if not unleashed and brought out, the kid would ferment in his emotions and crash and burn at the worst possible moment.
Qrow's eyes hardened. Taiyang rolled his shoulders and set his feet.
They came at him with intent.
Qrow cut first, fast and precise. Two testing jabs, then a tight slash for the wrist. Jaune parried on the smallest line, blade turning the strike with barely a hiss of steel. Tai closed the distance at once, fists hammering into Jaune's guard. A short hook thudded against the flat of the claymore. A palm strike tapped his sternum. Pressure without malice, force without rage.
"Tell me something, kid," Qrow said as he slid past, edge kissing the spine of Jaune's blade. "How many begged you to stop in Ever After?"
Jaune's grip tightened. No answer.
Tai stepped in again. A jab for the cheek. A knee toward the thigh. Jaune caught both on steel and hip, then shouldered Tai back a pace. It was clean. It was efficient. It had no heart at all.
Qrow's voice stayed level. "You dragged the Queen's body down a staircase while a whole city watched. You wanted them to see it. Why?"
Jaune's footwork stuttered for a breath. He recovered at once and drove Qrow back with a measured diagonal cut. Tai slid to the flank and punched for the ribs. Jaune rolled the blade to catch the strike, then snapped his hilt forward. It stopped a finger's width from Tai's brow. Controlled. Barely.
"Still quiet," Qrow murmured. "Were you quiet when she carved you out? What did she whisper when you could not stand up anymore?"
Jaune's jaw flexed. His next parry came a fraction late. Qrow's practice blade nicked his sleeve and drew a shallow line along his forearm. Tai saw the opening and pressed, fists a steady drumbeat against Jaune's guard. Jaune retreated two steps, then three, set his heel and held.
"Every cut you throw is clean," Tai said, breathing evenly. "That is not a compliment. It means you learned to kill without thinking about it."
Qrow slid in low. "You tried to kill them, Jaune. Your friends. Say it out loud."
Jaune's eyes flashed. He drove Qrow off with a short, vicious bind and turned on Tai at once. The claymore swept across Tai's chest. Tai leaned with it and slammed a palm into Jaune's shoulder. The impact jarred his stance. His practice blade dipped, then rose again with machine steadiness.
Qrow circled. "Neo ran from you every time you showed your face. You remember the sound she made when she saw your armor in sunlight. You remember because you were there to make it."
Another flinch. Small. Real.
Tai's voice dropped. "You think calling yourself a weapon makes it easier. Weapons do not choose. Men do."
Jaune's breath grew louder. Not ragged. Present. His hands moved with brutal economy, every block the shortest possible line, every counter meant to end a throat or a knee if this were not practice. Qrow and Tai pushed harder.
Qrow feinted high and cut low for the ankle. Jaune slipped back, then forward into the pocket, shoulder-checking Qrow off balance. Tai flashed in, fists rapping the claymore and forearm in a double beat, then a hook for the jaw. Jaune tilted, the punch skimmed, and his pommel tapped Tai's collarbone with surgical precision.
Qrow recovered and spoke over the ring of steel. "You think silence makes it noble. It does not. It just makes it easy to pretend you are not the one holding the blade."
Jaune's next strike came heavier. The practice claymore hammered into Qrow's guard and shoved him two steps. Tai met the follow-up with both forearms and a planted heel. The blow drove him back one pace. Not two.
"Say it," Qrow pressed. "Say you hate what she made you. Say you hate the part that you liked, how simple it felt."
Jaune's mouth thinned. A muscle ticked in his cheek. He did not speak. He cut. He blocked. He breathed.
The pressure built. Qrow attacked with angles, wrist soft, point always hunting for a seam. Tai hunted the body, ribs, and shoulders and hips, forcing Jaune to work for every inch of space. Each time Jaune slipped the trap, another closed around him. Each time he parried, a new strike arrived on the half beat.
A shallow line opened along Jaune's neck where Qrow's blade had kissed skin through aura. Tai's knuckles thudded against the flat again. Jaune did not lash out. He did not snarl. He tightened. He refined. He kept moving.
Qrow's tone softened, which somehow made it worse. "What did she call you when you could not sleep. What did she call you when you obeyed?"
Jaune's next breath hitched.
Tai stepped in close and set his forearm against the claymore, weight forward, eyes locked. "You are not a title," he said quietly. "Not hers. Not anyone's."
Jaune drove him back with a hip and a twist, then turned and caught Qrow's blade so cleanly the sound cracked like ice. He held the bind for a heartbeat. His knuckles were white on the hilt.
"Say it," Qrow repeated. "Not for me. For you."
Jaune broke the bind and stepped away. His chest rose and fell. Sweat traced the line of his jaw. The practice blade lowered an inch. His eyes, at last, were not empty. They were sharp, and wounded, and very young in the years.
He lifted the sword again. He did not speak.
Qrow and Tai shared one more look. Then they pressed him again. The clash grew sharper, faster. What had begun as a measured spar was no longer sparring at all.
Jaune pressed forward with brutal efficiency, the practice claymore cutting arcs that hummed with intent. His strikes weren't wild; they were surgical, each one aimed to end a fight, not continue it. He did not fight like a huntsman anymore. He fought like a man who had killed too often and lived too long in the rhythm of it.
Qrow and Taiyang pushed back with equal intensity, forcing him to adjust on every beat. But for every thrust Qrow parried, Jaune countered with a blow that rattled bone. For every fist Taiyang threw, Jaune's blade found a line to punish it.
The torches flickered across the steel of his visor, the darkness within reflecting nothing. No eyes, no boy, no hesitation. Just the faceless shadow of the Knave staring back at them.
Qrow's smirk had vanished. His voice came tight between strikes. "This isn't training anymore, kid. You're going for blood."
Jaune's silence was more dangerous than any reply.
Taiyang drove forward, fists hammering. Jaune met him head-on, blade flashing in wide, ruthless sweeps that forced Tai to guard high and low. Sparks flew as fist met steel, aura flashing with each collision. Jaune's strikes grew heavier, darker, his body moving like a machine that knew nothing but the kill.
"Look at you," Qrow barked, his blade straining against Jaune's in a bind. "This isn't Jaune Arc. This is her weapon."
Jaune shoved him back and pivoted into a strike that would have split Qrow from shoulder to hip had it not been caught at the last instant. Qrow staggered under the weight, teeth gritted, boots scraping against stone.
Taiyang lunged in again, fists flying. Jaune twisted his claymore in a deadly spin, knocking Tai's guard wide and angling the blade for his chest. For a moment, it looked like he meant to drive it straight through.
The visor gleamed black, empty, soulless.
Qrow snarled, aura flaring. "Then let's see what happens when luck turns on you!"
His semblance rippled outward, subtle but inexorable, twisting the balance of chance.
As Jaune pressed, his boot caught the jagged edge of a gash in the training floor one of his own earlier strikes carved into the stone. His weight shifted. His footing faltered for the first time.
That single stagger was all Taiyang needed.
He surged forward, slipping inside the arc of Jaune's blade. One massive hand clamped onto the claymore's hilt, shoving it aside. The other shot up and seized the edge of Jaune's helmet.
With a violent wrench, Taiyang ripped it free.
The helmet clattered across the stone floor, rolling to a stop in the ruins of shattered dummies.
Jaune froze, his bare face revealed at last. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes, pale, wide, hollow, and bloodshot, stared at them with raw, unguarded hatred, mouth twisted in a snarl with his teeth bared.
"Atta boy, nice to see such a friendly face," Qrow mocked, his tone sharp enough to cut.
Jaune's eyes began to glow faintly white. His semblance was flickering on.
CLICK.
The sharp sound of Taiyang's scroll camera cut through the heavy air. Both Jaune and Qrow glanced at him.
"I think that is enough for today," Tai said, calm but firm. He turned the scroll, showing Jaune the fresh photo of his own face, contorted, monstrous, inhuman, with eyes glowing like a specter. "Is that the real you?"
Jaune's breath hitched. His sword hand trembled as he stared at the image. It was one thing to feel like a monster. It was something else entirely to see one staring back at you. One wearing your own face…
"They love you, you know?" Qrow spoke, his voice dropping low, serious. "The hammer-wielding firebolt was crying herself to sleep every night for two months after you were gone."
"My daughters always spoke highly of you…" Taiyang added. "Both Ruby and Yang consider you their friend. Yang may be harsh to you now because she's afraid. That's why she acts the way she does."
Jaune's voice came rough, ragged. "We're at war. What they feel about me doesn't matter."
"Sorry, we want to talk to Jaune now. Can you come later, Knave?" Qrow quipped, eyes sharp. "I call bullshit on that. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be in here beating yourself bloody with practice dummies."
Jaune's teeth ground together audibly.
"Yes, we are at war," Tai said, stepping forward, his voice steel wrapped in warmth. "But that doesn't mean we have to become monsters to one another. We're on the same side."
"Are we?" Jaune snapped, eyes narrowing. "You saw their reaction when I suggested throwing Salem into Ever After. They're too naïve to win this. They don't have what it takes."
Both men exchanged a glance. They could not deny the truth in his words.
"While their desire to do good for everyone is admirable, I do agree with you," Qrow sighed, rubbing at his neck. "The world's a shit place, and all we ever get are shit choices."
"If it were me, I would also choose Remnant over Ever After," Taiyang admitted, voice heavy. "You brought us hope. Maybe not for victory, but…" His eyes flicked to the Vorpal Blade propped against the wall. "…at the very least, you may have bought us time. Time to recover. Time to prepare for her return."
He fixed Jaune with a steady look. "But that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice everything you are. If things go right, there will be life after the war."
Jaune tilted his head, his eyes empty and flat. Taiyang understood instantly.
"You don't plan to live through it, do you?" he said quietly, dragging a hand through his hair.
"I don't care about living through it," Jaune admitted. His voice was steady, but in it was a void that made the words worse than a scream.
Tai's eyes narrowed. "And your friends? You don't care how your death would destroy them?"
For the briefest moment, something flickered across Jaune's face. Pain. Guilt. Maybe even longing. But just as quickly, it was gone.
He stiffened, turned without another word, and marched across the room. He gathered his helmet, the Vorpal Blade, and the Ever After key, and walked out.
The door shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Qrow let out a long exhale and tugged his flask from his coat. "Welp. At least we got him to admit he's suicidal."
Taiyang gave him a heavy look, jaw tight. "Goddamn it, Qrow."
Qrow's smirk did return this time. He just stared at the door Jaune had left through, his flask unopened in his hand, as a strand of white passed at the very edge of his vision…
The halls of Shade were quiet at this hour. Too quiet.
Jaune's boots echoed against stone, his steps steady, almost mechanical. The Vorpal Blade weighed heavily against his back, the Ever After key colder in his pocket. His hand brushed against his side where Tai's fist had landed, a dull ache beneath his Armor.
But that wasn't what lingered.
It was the image of his own face twisted, monstrous seared into his mind from Taiyang's scroll. No matter how many times he blinked, the picture didn't fade. His own glowing empty eyes staring back at him like a...
Monster.
He clenched his jaw and pushed forward, trying to drown the thought with motion, with silence, with anything else.
"Jaune."
He froze, almost begging whoever was listening for it to just be his imagination.
Weiss stepped out from the shadows of an archway. Her posture was poised, but her eyes betrayed what she had seen.
She froze, too, if only for a second. Without his helmet, this was the first time she had truly studied his face since his return. Sweat plastered his blond hair to his forehead. His skin was pale, drawn tight with exhaustion. His eyes, hollow, wide, rimmed in red, looked far older than the rest of him. The faint tremor in his jaw and the way his mouth stayed pressed in a hard line spoke more than words ever could.
There was no mask now. No visor. No Knave.
Only Jaune.
"You were watching," he said flatly, though his voice carried a rough edge.
Weiss didn't deny it. "I had to know." She took in the hollow of his cheeks, the way grief and guilt seemed carved into every line. "And now I do."
Jaune's gaze flicked away, to the floor, to the wall, anywhere but her face. Anywhere but her eyes…he could not handle what he had seen in them.
Weiss stepped closer, her heels clicking softly. "You told them you don't care about living through this." Her voice was calm, but the steel underneath it trembled. "That you don't care what happens to your friends after you're gone."
Silence.
"You're wrong." Her voice cracked, a sharp fracture in the ice. "And you know it."
Jaune finally looked at her. Pale, bloodshot eyes met hers. For once, there was no helmet, no darkness, nothing to shield him.
"Weiss—"
"No." She cut him off, sharper now. "Do not dismiss me. Do not give me silence as if that will make me walk away. I saw you. I heard you. And I see you now, without that helmet."
Her hands curled at her sides, knuckles white. "You think you're a monster because of what she made you do. Because of what you became in Ever After. But if you truly were a monster, you wouldn't be here, tearing yourself apart harder than anyone else could."
Jaune's lips parted, but no words came. His grip tightened on the strap of his blade.
Weiss's voice softened, though her eyes burned. "Don't you dare tell me, my friend is already dead while you stand in front of me breathing. Don't you dare let her win again by making you believe that lie."
For a long moment, Jaune's face twitched with conflict, grief, rage, and shame, all nakedly visible on his face
Weiss lifted her chin, her words quiet but unwavering. "I need Jaune Arc. Not the Knave. Not the monster in that photo. You. The true you."
Jaune's throat worked as if he wanted to answer, but no words came. He only stood there, trembling faintly, his face open and unguarded in a way that left him looking both terrifyingly strong and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Weiss reached out, hesitated, then set her hand against his bare cheek. The cool touch of her hand met the heat of his skin, making him freeze.
"You're still here," she whispered, softer now, her words trembling. "You can be whoever you want to be… not her weapon. Not her shadow. You're Jaune Arc."
For the first time, Jaune's eyes wavered. He searched her face, pale, composed, luminous even under the weary strain. Her touch was gentle, steady, nothing like the Queen's cruel grip. Where the Queen had taken control, Weiss offered release. Where the Queen had bound him, Weiss was trying to free him.
For a fleeting moment, Jaune let himself feel it. The warmth. The possibility. The truth in her voice. He wanted to melt into this gentle softness she was offering…
But then, unbidden, another image stabbed through his mind.
Weiss, not standing before him now, but falling. Her body arched back, eyes wide in pain, Cinder's burning spear driving clean through her chest. Her pale uniform stained crimson. Her breath caught in a silent scream.
The memory was too sharp, too sudden, as though it hadn't risen on its own but been shoved into the forefront of his mind by some unseen hand.
Jaune's breath hitched. His eyes flinched away from hers. The faint softness vanished, shuttered behind a hard, empty stare.
Weiss froze, feeling the change, her hand still against his cheek, though now it might as well have been against cold stone.
"Jaune…" she breathed, her voice almost breaking.
But he had already shut himself away. His jaw tightened. His eyes dimmed back into that hollow emptiness.
Weiss slowly let her hand fall, watching as the boy she knew slipped back behind the mask the Queen had left behind.
Jaune stepped back, stiff and silent, clutching the strap of his blade as though it anchored him.
Without a word, he turned and began to walk.
The hall seemed to grow colder as he left her standing there, hand still faintly trembling, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she had reached him and something had pulled him away.
"Jaune Arc. Stop."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it struck like steel. Not anger. Not desperation. Pure resolve.
Jaune froze mid-step. His shoulders tensed. Slowly, he turned his head back toward her.
Weiss stood tall, her chin high, her eyes unwavering. Her hand still trembled faintly from before, but her voice was steady. "You don't get to decide alone. Not your life, not the fate of Remnant, and certainly not the Ever After. You carry too much, yes, but that doesn't give you the right to decide who else will suffer for it."
His expression hardened, the hollowness in his eyes narrowing into a guarded stare.
Weiss stepped forward, every word deliberate. "You think you're bound by what she made of you. You're not. And if you can't fight for yourself, then I will fight for you. Every day. Until you see it."
For the first time, something flickered in Jaune's face, confusion, disbelief, the faintest tremor of something softer trying to surface.
But Weiss's gaze sharpened, her tone hardening into an edge of steel. "But hear me now, Jaune. If you ever try to use the Ever After as a dumping ground for Salem, I will stop you. Every single time. Even if it means standing against you."
Silence.
Jaune's eyes locked on hers, pale and unreadable. For a moment, the tension stretched like a drawn bowstring.
Then he turned away again, his steps resuming, slower now.
Weiss remained where she was, her heart pounding but her resolve unshaken. She had given him both promise and warning, love and defiance.
And even as his shadow lengthened down the hall, she whispered under her breath, more to herself than to him:
"I won't let her have you. Not again. Not ever."
Far beneath the sandstone streets of Vacuo, where Shade's reach grew thin and the council's ears could not hear, two figures stood in a chamber lit only by a single flickering lamp.
The first leaned casually against a cracked pillar, his posture loose, his voice dry and bored. "So. The prodigal children return. The little huntresses and their wayward knight plus the mute. And the city already trembles with their presence."
The second figure was pacing, each step sharp, restless, like a predator in a too-small cage. His voice was bright with manic delight. "Oh, it thrills me! They swagger back, believing themselves saviours. Ha! Little sparks dancing in the dark, thinking they can blind the void. Don't you see? This is better than we could have hoped!"
The first waved a hand dismissively. "Hope, excitement, fear all the same. They'll either delay her for a time, or they'll be devoured with the rest when Salem finally arrives. None of it matters. Vacuo is a dumpster on fire already. Nothing will save it."
A giggle, high and sharp, echoed off the stone. "You always sound so dreadfully bored. Where is your appreciation for art? For the spectacle? The people scream louder when they still believe they can be saved. That is the beauty of it! That is the song!"
The aloof figure turned his head, unimpressed. "You talk too much."
"Perhaps," the other purred, voice dripping with amusement. "But you will thank me when the song reaches its crescendo. When their courage cracks, when their ideals collapse, when their screams turn sweet."
He stopped pacing, tilting his head, the faint light catching against something metallic at his back. His grin widened, teeth flashing in the half-dark.
With a hiss of servos, the cybernetic scorpion tail unfurled, gleaming steel tipped with venom. It swayed lazily in the air behind him, predatory and alive.
"Oh," he whispered with glee, his eyes alight with madness. "How I have missed the dance."